Mirrored from Sythyry.
Me: “To some extent! I need to keep a fair bit of money liquid. I regularly find myself having to buy something insanely expensive, like a Grace of Mircannis not long ago.”
Eitharheinen: “The way you keep your money liquid, it dribbles right out of your purse.”
Me: “Deluges, even, at the end.”
Eitharheinen: “You have no excuse! You must go and do what any sensible enchanter would do! Convert these ‘liquid assets’ which you keep in the bank, where they evaporate like water that is breathed on, into cash, and metal, and gemstones, and other permanent and valuable things. Put these things in safe places. Spend a year or two enchanting suitable protective devices — I’m sure you know how to do that — and do not neglect the construction of animata and mighty spell-built guardians. And traps, of course. And it never hurts, for caches kept outside of the cities, to encourage a family or two of dangerous beasts to live there. Quite often they can be acquired quite cheaply, often for the cost of supplying them with the occasional guntry or crate of chickens. That is how sensible mages of quality and power have done it for thousands and thousands of years — not because it is traditional, but because it works well! It is cheaper than a bank, and far less likely to be robbed or embezzled!”
Me: “Fine, fine. When I come home I’ll build a dungeon or two.” It’s not as if I haven’t been meaning to do so for … well, Mynthë told me to do it too, so quite a long time.
Hiring Policies of Eitharheinen [19 Lage 4385]
Eitharheinen: “It’s a good thing you decided to go with Enchantment! If you were only a karcist like your cousin Saza, you’d be perpetually begging money from me and Hezimikkinen!”
(Fair enough. Saza can hardly disagree. Still, why is ~mother~ complaining about something that even she admits I did right?)
Me: “Well, then, I have decided to become an enchanter. I will have decided to become an enchanter. I have had decided to become an enchanter. I used to have decided to become an enchanter. I’m actually a decent one, even according to your ~mother~.” (Viz. Glikkonen, the one person in the immediate family whose credentials as a tree-class enchanter are indisputable; zie invented a significant fraction of the basics of the discipline.)
Eitharheinen: “Pah, ~mother~ is not half the wizard zie’s cracked up to be.” (Well, only a few people dispute those credentials. Zir child, my ~mother~, being one of those few.)
Me: “Even assuming, arguendo, that that were true, whose fault would it be? Who has been trading for thousands of years on Glikkonen’s reputation? Surely not Zimi, who is less than a thousand years old.” (Answer: Eitharheinen.)
Eitharheinen: “Don’t play dense with me, young lizard! I know perfectly well how Glikkonen did all that work that zie gets credit for, and you of all people should pay heed to zir lesson!”
Me: “What lesson is that?”
Eitharheinen: “Zie has an exceedingly good staff.”
Me: “I would call it more of a wand, if it’s the one I’m thinking of, and it’s not that good. Zie made it two thousand years ago, if it’s the one I’m thinking of. I could do as well myself with only a few weeks — not that it wasn’t a wonderful working for its era, mind you. Besides, it’s a mystical weapon, not an enchantment tool, or any other kind of tool.”
Eitharheinen: “You know perfectly well what I mean. Not a magic item! Zie gets the best people on the World Tree to work with zir, for a period of a few years or decades. Zie always has. They’re mostly more brilliant by far than zie is, but zie gets a quarter-share of any ideas or workings they come up with, and over 4380 years that amounts to something.” (I half-disagree — Glikkonen’s brilliant too. Some of zir protegées and students and associates are more brilliant than zie is, which fact zie does take advantage of, but the crowning deeds in zir reputation were done alone.)
Me: “True. Sometime, perhaps, my name will attract that kind of attention.”
Eitharheinen: “You are missing the point, my dear! Who, pray tell, is on your staff?”
Me: “My current wizard’s assistant is Phaniet, who is quite good.”
Eitharheinen: “She seems competent. She does not seem brilliant. You can do much better. But you do not! You only hire your fellow transaffectionate people! I do not deny that some of your sort have a certain degree of skill, but — how many, many excellent staff of all sorts you do not even consider, because they are decent people!”
Me: “Phaniet is, as noted, quite good! I shall not complain overmuch of the woman who was my assistant when I did the works that persuaded ~grand-mother~ of my quality!”
Eitharheinen: “Phaniet may, arguendo, be a gemstone in a dungheap. I don’t think much of your choice of accountants, though, and she was picked by the same exhaustive and detailed screening process of asking ‘Are you traff? Will you pleasure me? Can you add? You may be my accountant!’”
Me: “Rather more than that!”
Eitharheinen: “Yes, rather more. You exerted yourself to find someone with a considerable degree of skill in accounting and poor morals, and — behold! She has a considerable degree of skill in accounting and poor morals, and she uses both features against you. It is a matter of luck, only, that you have not had that sort of person as your assistant, or seneschal, or secretary, or something else crucial.”
Me: “Grackle grackle grargle grackle!” I may have actually said something coherent, and rather more intense, but it was awfully hard to argue.
Eitharheinen: “Sythyry! You are being rude!”
Me: “I certainly hope so!”
Eitharheinen: “Then you must go to bed. You are a polite young lizard until you are over-tired; but when you start grackling at me, it is time for you to sleep.”
As if I were ten years old, not a hundred and fifty (or considerably more by my own timeline.)
Me: “Ah, of course. Good night!”
Eitharheinen: “Good night!”
It at least gave me a decent escape from The Conversation.