"Chairs, my lord?” (Patreon)

Rebecca asked doubtfully.

"Much safer," I declared with a nod.

“Forget magickin' up gourds an' chairs," Burnside interrupted, staggering under the weight of an armload of weapons. "Teach Becca somethin' useful! Have her try to magick all ma new weapons to be so sharp they can cut thangs without even touchin 'em!”

“Aren’t you dangerous enough already?” I sighed.

“Never!”

“At any rate, you can’t keep those," I pointed out. "We’re collecting them to equip our troops when we, uh, actually get some troops to equip.”

“Aw, come on!" Burnside pouted, clutching the ungainly bundle of blades to her. "I never ask for nothin! … Well, I ain’t ast for nothin in the last few minutes… Please! Purty please! Oh purty PURTY please with Persoc Itoome an puppy eyes on top!”

“Pardon me," I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Am I your Emperor and employer, or am I your babysitter?”

“Well, if you’re into th-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” I growled. “All right ... If it will keep you QUIET, you may keep ONE weapon. Pick a good one, because, as the elflets say: No taksie backsies.”

Burnside giggled maniacally as she dumped the weapons on the ground and squatted over them to start the selection process.

“My lord, you spoil her overmuch,” Rebecca informed me rather coldly.

"Let’s just get back to your training," I said with a sigh. "I’ll apport the nearest chair for you to practice on.” I reached out with my mind and drew in the nearest chair. I suddenly heard a reverberant thump followed by an “oomph” from the nearby tunnel.

“AAAAHHHH!!!" Ms. Thomson wailed from somewhere within. "Mr. Calaveras, the shades are stealing the chairs again!”

I would have to apologize to her later. Right now, I was doing this.

“All right," I told Rebecca. "Just like with the pumpkin, search your inner mind and name the chair. Name it with its True Name, which defines the very essence of what it is.”

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