Work Text:
- I am going to burn the Universe!
- Uh-huh.
It was apparent, Zargothrax did not enjoy this sort of reaction to his Grand Plan, for the wizard tilted his head and waited.
- Did you not hear? – He inquired, a few minutes later, while swaying slightly and holding onto his cup with both hands as though it were the only thing to keep him from falling over. – I will… literally… burn… the Universe!
- I heard you, - Ralathor took a sip from his own mug. It was some kind of a miserable, cheap resemblance to an alcoholic drink that cost way too much for the mediocre ingredients that had gone in there, but the mortals, he knew, had run their resources and economy on Earth promptly into the ground. – What’s prompted that one, now?
- What’s prompted… - Zargothrax sulked. – As though you don’t see!
- You’ll have to be a bit less vague than that.
On one hand, Ralathor knew he should not really be here, drinking with the Sworn Arch-Enemy of the Space Empire of Fife who had been freed, or rather, defrosted (and had had quite the conniption when Ralathor had called it that) from his prison of liquid ice mere couple weeks ago and was currently being sought after, like some kind of a fancy prize, by every single knight, peasant, head hunter, barbarian movie star, prince, and everybody else in the empire.
On the other hand, Ralathor really, truly, did not care.
- Here I was thinking, we had done away with that nonsense! – Zargothrax complained, unaware of anything that was going on in the head of the host right now. – And then I wake up! And who do you think is pulling me from the ice?! Wizard! Garbage! How did that happen?!
- I assume your second-in-command has already explained to you everything that happened while you were busy playing a human icicle.
- Bull-fucking-shit! – The wizard declared, his speech slightly slurred, and downed what yet remained in the mug, in one go. - We FiGuRed oUt HoW BeiNg WiZarD wOrkS. Shitstains, not wizards; that’s who they all are!
Ralathor did not argue about that. He merely reached over and moved the bottle away from his visitor, and Zargothrax sulked but did not complain.
- Well, they’re not real wizards, though, - the hermit finally mentioned, in a rather matter-off-hand fashion that yet did not dismiss their grievances with the subject at hand. – They have figured out how to do things… differently. There’s no ritual, for starters. Nobody dies. Well. Unless they decide to die after the… hmm… procedure… that is.
- How much can they do? – Zargothrax leant in closer, his voice down to a whisper, as though they were sitting in the middle of a pub in the middle of the nosiest, most curious village this side of River Tay, not somewhere in caves beneath the Caledonian Highlands where Ralathor had decided to make his home. – I haven’t seen a lot happen, actually. Seen that woman… what’s her name… do her thing. Some other guys, too. But that’s all, small fishes. Tharon-Zul’s never lifted a finger for magic in my presence, and he’s supposed to be the very best they have!
- Ten percent, - Ralathor folded his arms and thought for a while, - but that’s already pushing. Never seen anyone actually do much of a magic without exerting themselves. Have seen a few folks die while they attempted to go over that. Legal ones never do. Illegal ones, though… whole other thing. Not pretty, what happens then. Once they cross over, their nervous system checks out, and their brain fries. Sometimes literally. Depends on what they’ve had put under their skin. If some guy just wants to use magic to sort through papers on the shelf, or tend to plants, he’s going to be miles better off than somebody who wants to make all the robots in their close proximity dance the hula just because they can.
- So, you think we shouldn’t worry?
Ralathor rubbed his chin as he contemplated again, a little longer this time.
- I think we shouldn’t worry just yet.
Zargothrax huffed before reaching for the bottle. Ralathor did not seek to stop him; after all, it was not his job to make sure evil wizards who could not hold their liquor almost to the point of ridiculous, did not get their hands on said beverages.
The sorcerer poured himself a generous portion.
- And still! – Zargothrax gestured with the cup, with all the self-importance of a drunken wizard, and wildly enough for Ralathor to start wondering where the enchanted floor mop could be right now. Last he remembered seeing it, it had been busy washing the floor in what was currently the library. – I am going to burn the Universe!