>>5917701You still protest and swat at her when she grabs your hat, though.
“Hey!”
“First of all, I MADE you this hat,” Testa reminds you. “And second, relax, would you? I just need something to enchant for the binding spell.”
You watch as she unbuckles the belt around your hat, which—in the wizardly tradition of Hawksong—serves as your hatband. She places it in the centre of the circle, carefully and on tiptoe, so as not to scuff any of the chalk lines or topple the candles. You snatch your hat back, placing it upon your head with a huff, and take your position.
“You could have used your own, you know,” you say.
“No,” she says with a smile and wink. “Mine’s cuter.”
You roll your eyes, and together begin the spell. It is no simple spell, woven immediately and instantly, but something almost like a rite or ritual in and of itself.
“<Create Magic Item>,” Testa intones, and then: “<Bound Item>!”
“<Free Senses>!” you add hurriedly, which the mystic matrices of flowing aura from the swirling candle-smoke are in alignment, flowing from point to point and following the artificial leylines of the circle.
Together, your energies and intent intermingle, and settle like a haze upon the one-time hatband. The belt absorbs the magic, turning from mid-brown to a darker as the smoke sticks to it, flecks of ash settling upon it in a speckled pattern of grey and black, until the ash is gone and the candles extinguished. So, too, the small, polished gems set between them-material components necessary to make the spell function and the enchantment last, and likely the source of the curious, sparkling shine which your mage-senses pick up when you lift the belt and turn it this way and that in your hands.
“There,” Testa exhales, releasing a held breath, and very nearly wiping her sweat from her forehead before she catches herself, to avoids smearing her foundation. “Now, your turn. Make me elfy.”
“Can’t,” you reply.
“Wh-what?!”
You maintain your stern visage for a moment, before cracking up into a smile.
“We’re both low on energy, and it’s not a New Moon,” you reply.
“W-well, then you better not get yourself killed fighting this Lizard King guy, alright?!” she says. “You owe me!”
“Thanks, Testa,” you say. “Seriously.”
Testa’s annoyance dies out like one more sputtering candle at your gratitude, and she waves it away.
“Yeah yeah,” she says. “Just get going before—”
“TESTA!”
