Bountiful is a city filled with various races. Its walls are open for everyone, with a few notable exceptions. Today, one of these exceptions is trudging his way to the city.

Clad in a black shirt, pants, and cloak — the traveler’s lack of color (and fashion sense) was clear to everyone. The weary traveler is Jeremy Fjord, but most people call him “The Ram”. Perhaps it was the distinct aura of death and evil that permeated his body or maybe the set of shorned horns he sported — ornamental of course.

It took Jeremy more than an hour to reach Bountiful’s walls. He could have arrived sooner, but he had to take a roundabout route for certain reasons. The walk to the city was a bit tiresome, but the young necromancer wizard has yet to find a steed that wouldn’t buckle at his presence.

Perhaps it was the persistent aura of death or the psychic bursts that cause almost every living being to shrink in primal fear. He took great efforts to hold back the psychic bursts — but he consciously activated the aura of death. Walking to the city was an ordeal in itself — what more if you added mosquitoes, snakes, bees, and other critters that bite or sting.

From the plague demons, he learned about the tiny unseen creatures that wreak havoc on the human body. The thought of boils, pustules, and internal infection had him constantly setting up a limited anti-life barrier to filter all life smaller than a cat.

It caused problems — big problems. Not everyone liked the feeling of having the life sucked out of them, but the threat of minuscule terrors outweighed his fear of pitchfork-wielding townspeople.

The plague demons called the organisms jerms — most likely to mock him. It showed him how little demons thought of him, even after the decades of constant contact. They were a constant presence in his mind, like that inner voice that demands carnage or arson. At first, he thought everyone had their own demons, before realizing he was a special case.

He was not truly possessed. A conduit to hell merely existed in his soul and demons could enter his thoughts freely. Demons had tried bribing, threatening, and tempting him to do their will, with little to no success. Jeremy did his own thing, but he did gravitate towards the demons of greed.

Gold — that was his weakness. Right now, that weakness materialized in his lack of it. He needed more to fund his research, and his research was directed to efforts that would earn him more gold. To that end, he was back in Bountiful.

The city residents were still his primary source of income, and a chance run-in with the city lord made his presence tolerated. Yes, there were debates on whether to send soldiers to wipe out a dangerous necromancer — but a previous favor to the lord put the scales on his favor.

One of the guards notices his approaching figure. Dark hooded cloak... walking staff... an aura thick with blood, carnage, and all things that lurk in the dark… this was the Ram, the guard was sure of it. The figure halts in front of the gates, not taking a step further toward the open doors. The wizard is smiling, but the guard notes a hint of fatigue underneath his smoldering red eyes. He signals to a younger guard, murmuring something about proving one’s self and upholding the pride of the city guards.

A seemingly new guard approaches Jeremy. His hesitation out in the open as he kept glancing at the other guards behind him. This was probably a rite of passage for the young guard and the wizard is just the method of execution.

“Good day sir,” Jeremy greeted, pulling back his hood and exposing filed-off horns on his brow. Greeting a new guard was nothing new to the wizard. He had done so five to six times in the past year, and it was starting to get tiring.

“Stop where you are,” the guard commanded. He pulls up a fist-sized crystal orb from his pocket, the same one Jeremy sees every time he comes to the city.

“Do you intend to cause ca...carnage, destruction, or wa...wanton evil within the city?” the guard asks, clearly perturbed.

“No.” the man answered with a smile.

The orb glows crimson, signaling evil intent. The orb almost drops from the guard’s hand. Normal travelers would add wisps of pink to the clear orb due to guilt or dishonesty — but this was deep crimson. The vilest murderers and assassins could probably get the orb to a dark shade of orange, but that was mere theory. Kerys, the bandit king who raided town after town, only managed to register as orange when he got accidentally caught during a drunken stupor. Crimson — no, deep crimson — was unheard of.

The shaken guard glanced at his captain. While he was informed of what with results would be, staring at the orb while standing in the presence of this… embodiment of evil left him dazed and confused.

“This again Levan?” Jeremy asks with a note of irritation. “I know it’s tradition, but look at the poor boy.”

A guard captain steps in, taking over the duty of the clearly shaken greenhorn. “Every new guard should at least know how it feels like to stand in your presence,” Levan answered. “It would be a shame if they froze once the city finally bears arms against you.”

There was a trace of mirth in his voice and perhaps an inkling of doubt. Jeremy knew the guard captain wouldn’t hesitate to kill him, or at least attempt to, and that was one of his endearing features. The city needed loyal men to thrive, and Levan was as loyal as they came.

“Here are my papers,” he says, passing three scrolls to the captain. While he had permission to enter the city, a few members of the council imposed strict measures to record his comings and goings. Three days was his limit, but his current job should only last an hour or two.

“The Lilac residence?” the guard asks as he browses through the scrolls. He was familiar with Jeremy, having known him for more than a year or so. People called the young necromancer wizard “The Ram” — not to his face, but through whispers behind his back. It was probably the shorn horns on his head. He had an inkling they were ornamental, like a circlet or something — but this person’s aura certainly made them feel authentic.

“Everything seems to be in order,” he says, passing the scrolls back to Jeremy. One scroll was a request from a resident to have him enter to perform a certain job, another was an endorsement from the city lord that had to be renewed every two months, and the last was a report from various outposts stating that there were no missing people (that they knew of) within miles of the wizard’s known lodging.

“Thanks, I guess,” the wizard took two of the scrolls, leaving the report from the outposts with the captain.

“By the way,” Levan spoke as he passed, “Wentworth wants a word with you. Something about an infestation.”

Jeremy waved a hand in acknowledgment, not bothering to turn around. It seemed like his trip would be a productive one since he had another job waiting on the wing.

He entered the town with a bit of fanfare — and by fanfare, it meant a bit of screaming, some pointing, and a lot of whispering. The townspeople have acclimated to his presence to a certain degree. At least there wasn’t an angry mob wielding pitchforks and calling for blood. The most vigilant of them would form groups intent on running him out of town — but they’ll just end up monitoring his movements and watching from afar.

He would have to suffer the stares and whispers of onlookers for another fifteen minutes. He thought about provoking or scaring them — but it would serve no purpose. These were the people he wanted to win over, and eventually, do business with.

There were a few carriages for people to ride, but his issues with horses extended to coach drivers. Spending a few coppers for a short ride didn’t seem frugal, and the wizard was as frugal as they came. Conditions improved with his every minute of walking. Wooden hovels gave way to stone houses, and soon, large manors.

He was glad to reach the heart of the city. Rich people were less inclined to throw stones, sling mud, or form bloodthirsty mobs. They tended to use armed guards, but only if they felt threatened. A few of these nobles were his regular clients.

His job at the Lilac house involved vermin. The mistress of the house wanted to host a gathering of sorts, and the presence of a rat or two could besmirch her reputation. Getting rid of rats might seem like something fledgling adventurers would do — but that’s hardly the case. Rat extermination quests were usually given to noble children playing at being adventurers, and the clients were usually fellow nobles doing their parents a favor. Some would add one or two dire rats into the mix, to scare off children into pursuing the adventuring life.

In truth, children pretending to be adventurers are quite inefficient in clearing large manors of vermin. Actual adventurers won’t bother with extermination duties unless the fee was extremely high and the guild usually scoffed at nobles and their elitist problems. The rich residents of the city needed a specialist, and nobody excelled in killing like the Ram.

Jeremy remembered his first rat job. It was through the connections of the City Lord that he got his first commission. The client seemed hesitant, even calling for guards when he entered the residence. Fortunately, things turned out fine. Although Lord Inoa was visibly shaken, he couldn’t deny the efficiency and thoroughness of his work. That one job opened up several doors for the young wizard. He did get a few requests that were on the dubious side. Raising the dead, performing curses, and quiet assassinations were outside his portfolio — but he could provide cures for simple ailments and other alchemical sundries.

The Lilac house was one of his biggest clients. They were a merchant house and their supplies were always at risk of vermin. The seasonal jobs quickly turned into a monthly thing, and now he was called in every two weeks.

There were no large estates within the confines of the city. The Lilac manor was big, but it was limited by space. The wizard preferred an estate outside the city, one staffed with a dozen or so servants. The three-story house had a lone single guard sitting by the door. He probably stood on more formal occasions — but standing for hours in plate armor day in and day out would probably be impossible.

“Flint.”

“Scourge.”

The wizard smirked at the comment. “You’ve already known me for a year Flint. You can just call me Jeremy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Scourge,” the guard replied.

He liked Flint. The guard was dutiful, and Jeremy heard stories of how a guard of Lilac defended a vile necromancer from a few detractors. While Flint was probably defending the merchant house’s reputation instead of him — at least he knew the bloke didn’t consider him wholly evil.

A maid led him to the drawing room. Lady Amaranth was already waiting, sipping on what was probably tea. The maid announced his arrival, and Jeremy performed a quick bow to show the required respect for ranks.

“I see you’ve arrived quite early Jeremy,” the mistress of the house put down her tea and stood to welcome the young wizard.

“It is always good to see you milady,” Jeremy took the proffered hand. Very few people took efforts to shake his hand, something which he preferred greatly. Lady Amaranth was an exception. Her handshake was a symbol of trust, something learned from years of being a merchant.

“There will be a small gathering of friends, partners, and potential investors in my home in two days' time,” Lady Amaranth explained. “I need you to perform a cleansing to ensure nothing untoward happens.”

The wizard noticed a few rasps between her words. This was another opportunity to ply his skills in a more unconventional method. Dealing with rats is what brought him to the nobles’ attention — but if he could resolve the lady’s other issue, it could be a game changer.

“Are you perhaps ill milady?” he asked. “Perhaps a soreness or itching in your throat?”

“You noticed?” she frowned. “Mayhaps I should postpone the meet for a few days to get some bloodletting to get rid of this malady.”

“No need Lady Amaranth. I can get rid of your illness with a simple spell, although you might have mild stomach troubles for the day.”

“That would be a tempting offer,” she answered. “Will you need to sacrifice livestock or draw some of my servant’s life essence?”

“Nothing of the sort milady!” the wizard answered with feigned shock and outrage. “The stomach troubles would be sacrifice enough. Some cheese, wine, or cider should bring things back to normal in no time.”

Lady Amaranth pondered for a bit, weighing the potential consequences of the offer. Still, the wizard proved trustworthy, even with his strange aura of death and malice. Years as a merchant taught her to think with her head, even if her heart — even soul — was warning her of danger.

“A day of mild stomach troubles shouldn’t be an issue, and I do love my wines and cheese,” she acquiesced. “How much are you charging for this service wizard?”

“It’s up to you milady. You can send me a gold or two after your gathering,” the wizard smiled at her acceptance. “Would you prefer to treat your illness now, or after I’m done with my duties?”

“Later wizard. I would need time to steel my nerves for this ritual of yours.”

He knew she was joking, or was she?