7. You hog all the best jobs
You honestly couldn’t what to wear; the Grand Wizard’s robes, or the Master Thief’s Mask? Though when you thought about it, the Armour of the Assassin King does look pretty snazzy in a certain light. You dwelled briefly upon how easy it was to become leader of all three organisations. Kind of odd, now you that thought about it. You’d been in the kingdom for what, four months, and they were putting you in charge just for completing some quests? What was up with that? Didn’t they have better candidates?
The same notion had been occupying the mind of one senior wizard. At the spritely age of seventy two, he was sure the role of Grand Wizard was his, and he had such grand plans. Under his guidance, he’d lead the world into a new age of magic, where it was no longer something to be feared. He’d been on a diplomatic trip to a neighbouring kingdom at the time. All he was able to ascertain was that there’d been some upheaval in the guild and that you, of all people, had been appointed as Grand Wizard.
But why? You’d been learning magic for all of six months, as far he could tell, but had been elected to the highest office in the guild! And, as he quickly discovered, you were also head of at least three other guilds. He pored over the guild charter to see if there was anything against that but you couldn’t find a specific rule prohibiting it.
Still, he reasoned that he could talk you round, that his personal mission to make magic more widely accepted could continue. But the only time he ever saw you was when you when it came to collect your wages and you were gone as swiftly as you’d filled your pockets. Actually, no, that’s not entirely true; he did see you outside the guild once. You were striding through the centre of town, flinging fireballs in every direction, setting fire to at least three market stalls and several passers by.
“Is it too late to retrain?” he wondered.
8. You never surrender
You never know when to quit. Some might view this as a positive boon but to the crew of the one starship it’s the last thing they wanted to hear. They’ve just spent the last two hours watching a superior enemy force whittle away the armada, ion beams scything through hull after hull, until they’re the only vessel left. Fires have erupted across multiple decks, the shields are at 35% and, finally admitting defeat, the captain issued the order to pull back, to hit hyperspace and regroup.
But then new orders came in from command. Your orders. “Press on forward”. What good was one ship going to make anyway? Might as well let it go and start again. “Madness!” yelled the captain, losing his composure. A swift glance around the command deck revealed that his fellow officers were equally strained and, well aware of the consequences of disobeying an order, redoubled his order to retreat. Dwarfed by the vessel nipping at its heels, the ship started to turn around and the hyperspace countdown began, each second feeling like an eternity.
Then, nothing. There was no need for the captain or crew to ask what’s happened; the words flashing up on the screen spelt it out. “Command Override”. The ship turned to face the enemy again but, with weapons locked out, there was no opportunity to return fire. The engines flared as the ship picked up speed. Ramming speed.
“Figures,” thought the captain in the few seconds before the ship smashes ineffectually into the colossal enemy mothership. Then, nothing. He never even found out why he was fighting.