Karma For Karl

Karl had been a wizard for almost 300 years. He had been party to the slow demise of his kind, an awkward march of progress had given way to a trot and then a full speed eye-blistering burn as the rocket age birthed a slew of innovations. Technology made his powers seem trivial. The people who once sought his council and kings who once funded his studies into the metaphysical nature of the universe were long dead. His lank form wrapped in an ill-fitting gray linen cloak was wound tight in a constant unease. Yet for all his anxiety and discontentment with 21-century life, his chief concern was as pedestrian as millions of others: Boredom.

Like many other wizards, Karl became familiar on the convention circuit, Dumbeldorring or Merlinning his way from city to city. Performing pyrotechnic parlor tricks, signing autographs, posing for innumerable selfies and officiating the occasional wedding. This lifestyle and the payday that came along with it provided a welcome relief from boredom for a time. The true value of money for a wizard in today's world and why any of them would degrade themselves at fantasy conventions are the psychedelic drugs one can buy, as well as a steady supply of medical marijuana. One could lament the end of the heroic age, or as in Karl’s case, one could simply drop acid.

It had been decades since the last time the council summoned him, and longer still since they had provided anything of particular merit to stump the apathy that had taken root in every fiber of his being. Karl had a dim view of the wizards council. In his mind, they were a group of men sitting in a self-important circlejerk at the head of an archaic society of magic people. With no plan to return wizards to the place of prominence they once enjoyed he couldn't understand the loyalty his brethren felt. The council's chief concern in light of being unable to do anything about the serious problems of the age was the assignment of apprentices.

The word Karl most often applied to these men was pedophiles. Not because they sexually preyed upon young children, but because they brokered power using children as leverage and reward to keep the dwindling number of magic folk under their influence. Having an apprentice meant status, but more importantly, it meant a generous stipend and a child slave who would be yours to command for many years. Karl had been without an apprentice since he lost one during the french revolution, a sore subject still.

Thirty minutes before his official summons would activate and transmit him across time and space to find out what the council wanted with him. Just enough time to do a dab and take a dump he thought to himself while prepping his oil rig. Being a wizard had its advantages, with a slight touch he could raise the temperature of the titanium nail to a glowing red. Why anyone would bother with a blow torch just to get ripped was beyond his lazy comprehension. He settled his mind with a huge pull, hiked up his robe and sat down to take care of the second item on his agenda.
A flash and his body and mind separate for a moment while the transmission spell takes hold. Time stands still during transport, but the experience can often leave a memory. People sense the instant as lasting some period of time, or at least recall comprehensible thoughts and emotions. The last raging thought coursing through his brain is that those god damn assholes had done it again.

Karl’s arrival into the outer salon of the wizards council was marked with an unceremonious brown stain on the antique rug. He felt a satisfaction that if nothing else, the councils dick move had cost them a hefty dry cleaning bill. Post-transmission the brain fog is intense, the huge cloud from the Hemlock wax he inhaled before his journey wasn't helping either. Karl was having a hard time recalling if there had been a receptionist behind the tall oak desk the last time he was here. Had his brain been operating at maximal capacity he might have noticed the sticky puddle seeping from behind the desk, the result of the bludgeoned and battered witch who managed the day to day operations of the council.

Karl followed his indignant rage, storming into the main hall, a glowing aura of blue fire emanating from his upper body. The significance of this fire, a dire warning of danger, was not clear until it was too late. Karl caught a glimpse of it in a reflection a second after his dramatic flinging open of the heavy carved doors. The creature inside was not one Karl recognized, but evidenced by the ragged pile of bodies, a heavy smear of gore and bone fragments slicked across the stone floor, it was not a creature Karl much wanted to familiarize himself with. He had interrupted a large spider-like monster while it was deftly rifling through the counsel files, its many eyes turning in unison to cast disapproval on the interrupter.

Unreal speed propels the grotesque mass across the room, its large mandibles snapping audibly while its front legs stabbed vicious paths towards the old wizened form. Karl remembered his oil rig tucked into the main pocket of his cloak. While dodging the methodical stabs and lunges that were corralling him into a corner, his fingers grasped the titanium nail. Pulling the metal from its holder Carl recites the spell under his breath,"deriga volitas." The nail glows orange-red and then begins to burn silver. In that instant Karl propelled the nail, backhanded and true into the snapping jaws of the beast. The impact sends shards of burning metal searing through the spiders head killing it in an agonized smoky shriek.

He had suffered severe burns to his hand, but at least he wasn't bored anymore.