There he stood, like many before him, wondering what he’d done.

Charges against were kept secret until the day of the trial. It was one of the many staples of the Wizards’ Guild, along with excessive drinking, lollygagging, and general avoidance of anything resembling work. Classifying allegations only served to ensure the accused had no time to do what wizards did best: think something up.

“It says here,” said Councilwoman Muppy, the chair of the guild, “that Treneth of Dahl is accusing Master Xebdigon Whizzfiddle of never having successfully completed a quest.”

“To the letter,” Treneth amended.

“Hmmm?”

“I am accusing Master Whizzfiddle of never having successfully completed a quest to the letter of the contract.”

Whizzfiddle plucked through the cobwebs of his memories. He assumed that somewhere along the vastness of his experience there rested at least one actualized contract. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind. He had learned at a young age that people had little desire to continue with a dangerous adventure after the first couple of setbacks.

“I assume you have evidence of this?” Whizzfiddle said.

Treneth held up a folder and approached the bench. “These are all of the contracts that Whizzfiddle has been a party to over the last eleven hundred years. I have perused each of these contracts—”

“So you just glanced over them,” Whizzfiddle interrupted, “and you put charges against me?”

“You need to find a dictionary, sir,” Treneth answered with a snotty grin. “The term ‘peruse’ has been watered down through improper use over the years. Let’s just say that I have carefully examined each contract and have found that not a single one has been done to the letter.” He began pacing in front of the council members. “Now, you’ll find no complaints on his record. All of his clients seemed pleased to work with the man. However,” he said, stopping in front of Whizzfiddle, “according to the recent update to the Wizards’ Guild membership requirements, each wizard must fulfill all obligations stated in a contract at least one in twenty times.”

Whizzfiddle cleared his throat. “Then I shall do so effective immediately.”

“A wise decision, were it available to you. You see, the legislation asseverates that it applies to the last one hundred quests.”

“Preposterous!” Whizzfiddle declared, making a mental note to look up “asseverates,” making a further note to find someone who could spell it.

“I wholeheartedly agree,” Treneth replied in earnest.

“You do?”

“I do.” Treneth sauntered back to the prosecution’s chair. “I think we would all agree how preposterous—to use your term—it is that our longest tenured member has never finished a single quest properly.”

Whizzfiddle scowled at the man’s back. Always one for details was Treneth of Dahl. Cunning, cagey, crafty, and a slurry of other words that the elder wizard attributed to his former apprentice, most of which were ascribable to any wizard. But they seemed to fit extra well with Treneth. And now these descriptors were being used in a careful pursuit to get back at Whizzfiddle for releasing his former apprentice so many years ago.

The council set about debating. 

After thirty minutes of waiting for the verdict, Whizzfiddle’s legs began to cramp. It wasn’t easy being perpetually old. He had been gifted this perpetuity of life by completing a Fate Quest that slowed his aging process to the point where one year for him was like one day to everyone else. If only this quest had been available to him when he was 50, life would have gone much more smoothly. Sadly, it didn’t avail itself until he’d turned 650.

He retrieved his staff and decided to stroll around the council floor to stretch his muscles. 

Whizzfiddle had sat on the council in the past, nearly half a lifetime ago. The room itself hadn’t changed much over the years. It still had the high ceilings with the thick oak crossbeams. While it served as the Wizards’ Guild chambers at certain hours, it was normally the home of Hibberton’s School for Gifted Attiliators, which explained all of the crossbows and target boards, and the arrows that littered the floor. Originally, the guild had attempted affiliation with Hibberton’s School for Crafty Cooks. Due to a speech impediment of the Hibberton’s trust manager, where he had a tendency to make a “kw” sound for the letter “c,” the Thieves’ Guild had won the location. Still, Whizzfiddle reflected, their location turned out better than what the Sewing Club and the Farmer’s Federation got: the Gong Farmer Academy and the Kipper’s Cotters, respectively.

Finally, he went back to his chair and turned his focus on his former apprentice. Other than looking a couple hundred years older, Treneth was still as prim and proper as ever. If anything, the gray streaks in his thick helmet of hair made him look more dapper. Even the man’s leather gloves had a nice shine to them. 

The volume of the panel’s debate gradually increased and laughter fell in with the discussion. Councilman Ibork, the grossly overweight halfling, tended to snort when he laughed; the Croomplatt twins, Councilman Elik and Esin—who appeared human, but nobody was one hundred percent certain of that fact—yelled the only word they could command in standard language, “ha,” which could have many meanings depending on context, but happened to fall in perfectly with jovial pursuits; and even the elf, Councilman Zotrinder, the most vocally reserved member of the council, proffered a “heh heh.” 

“Madam Councilwoman,” Treneth said after a time, “can I assume that the council has reached a decision?”  

“Not quite,” Muppy said as she adjusted her robe. “There are many options and this may take time.”

“May I offer a suggestion?”

She pursed her lips. “Why not?”

“Very well,” Treneth said, rising. “It is clear that you all have reservations about removing Whizzfiddle’s membership, even if it is the right thing to do. Thus, I would suggest that you deem it necessary for the defendant to seek and contract a new quest promptly, say within the next twenty-four hours. He then must complete that contract to the letter within one month. Failure to comply or succeed to the fullest extent will result in immediate discharge from the guild.”

Whizzfiddle saw a bunch of nodding heads and found he was nodding too. He stopped.

The council resumed their huddle for a few more moments. 

“Yes,” Muppy declared finally, “we’ll do that.”