Chapter 0.3: Vesper and Inara

Vesper, Inara, tell us your story.

The grand chamber was a vast expanse of carved gray stone, vaulted chamber ceiling arching high overhead like the canopy of some petrified forest. An enchanted chandelier cast shards of glittering pseudo-sunlight across the room, illuminating the thirteen wizards sitting in their high chairs. Thrones might have been a better word, for each was hewn from ancient wood and entwined with ghostly silver metal. I — we — stood in the center of the room, pinned down beneath the weight of the Council's gaze.

"The Gift of magic," one of the wizards said, an elderly woman with more wrinkles than skin, "is just that, a gift. Yet not all see fit to put their blessing to good use."

Inara shivered slightly, a faint touch of fear bleeding across the barrier before she quashed it.

Who is that? I asked, breaching the silence that had lain between us since receiving the summons.

Annoyance tinged Inara's response. Archmage Thalia. Now be quiet.

"There is a man by the name of Kael Gaspar," Thalia continued, "Whose reckless use of magic has endangered the mundane on not one, but three occasions."

I snorted in the privacy of the mindscape. Since when does the Council give a damn about what happens to mundanes?

Think beyond yourself, Inara scolded me. If a wizard stirs up trouble, that means attention from every anti-supernatural organization in the city.

Oh, so it's plain selfishness. I accompanied the message with a sense of smugness and superiority.

Inara ignored me and, belatedly, I realized that Thalia had continued speaking. "... third incident involved raising a wolf shifter's corpse and turning it loose in a crowded market square. The Moonscar clan demands retribution, and is not picky where they get it."

My body bowed under Inara's command. I would have remained straight-backed, for what did I owe this pack of ivory tower mages? Not a damn thing.

"You wish for me to find Kael?" Inara hesitated. "What then?"

The Council glanced at each other and another one of them spoke, a spindly man draped in rich red robes. "Weeds must be torn out, root and stem. Bring his head to us as proof of your success."

Inara flinched, but mastered herself after half a second. "If that is the will of the Council."

"It is," Thalia said. "Now go."

I bowed again, then retreated from the great chamber, boots clacking against the stone floor. Look at that, I told Inara. Seems like your Council isn't quite as kindly as you thought.

You're awfully chatty today, Inara shot back. What's got you crawling out of the woodwork?

It's my body you're using. If you're going to risk getting us killed, I think I ought to have some say in our decisions.

Condescension bled across the barrier moments before her voice. And what could a mundane like you possibly have to offer?

Arrogant prick. What's your plan, then? Barge in without thinking?

Silence. Then, You have a better suggestion?

We'll need backup if we're going to be fighting a mage. There's a supernatural bar a few blocks from here that I used to frequent, where people looking for work tend to hang out. I accompanied the message with a sense of place and direction — instructions on where to find the bar.

Inara didn't respond, but I felt our steps change as she shifted direction. We made the trip in silence, arriving at the Eldritch Hollow ten minutes later.

My fingers grazed the front door's worn brass handle and the door creaked open, revealing a dim room lit by enchanted orbs suspended from a ceiling cloaked in shadow. Amid the tables and chairs grew an ancient, gnarled oak, its branches weaving through the rafters while its roots slithered through the floorboards. The tree had been a dryad in a former life — so the legends said. Teasing out fact from fiction was a nearly impossible task in Boston.

Patrons of varied kin lined the tables and barstools. A werewolf in half-form, his fur as dark as obsidian and eyes like molten gold, bared his teeth in a grin over a goblet of ruby-red wine. A table in the corner was occupied by witches, their pointed hats twitching with every silent word as they passed tarot cards between them. An ethereal specter, barely visible, nursed a translucent ale, his forlorn gaze fixed upon a weathered old bracelet.

Behind the counter stood Bram, the ancient barkeep, a hulking troll with a soft spot for moonshine. His moss-covered skin blended with the wooden backdrop, and his eyes glinted with the verdant green of ancient forests. His laughter rumbled like an earthquake as he shared a jest with a sylph perched on the counter, her wings shedding stardust that glittered in the dim light.

Bram spotted me and his thick lips split in a broad grin. "Vesper!"

I tried to greet him, but my mouth refused to open. Give me the body.

Inara hesitated. Will you —

I'll switch out after this. Trust me.

Reluctantly, she let go. I fell forward, through the invisible wall separating me from reality, and then it was just me in control. My hand raised when I willed it, fingers flexing as I grinned. It felt good to be back. How long had it been since I last fronted? Weeks?

I strode up to the bar, settling onto one of the dented metal stools. "My usual."

Bram nodded and set about pouring our drink. "Been a while since you dropped by. Thought something might've happened."

"Something did." I got my soul fused with a prissy mage who took over my life. "Listen, we've got a job, but could use some muscle. Know anyone who might be interested?"

The troll lifted one bushy eyebrow as he handed me my drink, a tall glass of glowing orange-red liquid. "We?"

"Uh, I meant I, of course. Though I'm hoping to change that."

Bram pointed at a table across the room. "That guy said he was looking for work. Might be interested."

I grinned and thanked him, then headed across the room, weaving around the werewolf to get to the corner table.

So, fun fact: If you're practicing Street Epistemology, as any self respecting rationalist should, sometimes the nutters are actually fucking right. And so Alric found himself getting introduced to the world of magic.

As a generic 6'0" white man with a basement tan that could rival vampires (not that he knows for sure, because all info online about supernatural bullshit somewhat contradicts itself), he usually fades into the background. Grey cap, grey shirt, black jeans, white sneakers, black backpack. Barely perceived, rarely remembered.

That is, if, around his neck, he didn't have a prominent polaroid camera hanging at all times. You will definitely notice him when its bright flash fills the room.

And so, one evening, Alric finds himself strolling a supposedly magical neighborhood, in the hopes of running into anything interesting. Choosing streets at random, of course - you always have to choose at random if you suspect people setting up Truman Show bullshit. Generic looking shops, bunch of apartments, a few bars and pubs. Random choice, "pub". Another random choice, that pub over there. He approaches, and then descends the narrow, wet cobblestone stairs, gripping the railing hard (he really doesn't need to add a head injury to all of this). Arriving at the bottom, he pushes the door open and finds himself looking into a brightly lit room: Oaken tables, oaken bar. And a dozen very lumberjack looking men sitting around tables, drinking, playing cards.

He's in the middle of Boston. There's no pride flag in sight. He quickly deduces that none of this makes normal sense.

He slowly lifts his camera to his face, clicks the button, and a bright flash fills the room.

Oh. With the flash illuminating the bar, Alric notices that a) it's not just lumberjacks here, but also pointy hats and b) the pub is significantly bigger than the gloomy first impression implied. Is that a tree in the middle of the bar??

A few heads turn, some more human than others. Confusion? Confusion. At least no aggression, as far as he can see. He puts the photo into his backpack and starts making his way into the direction of the bar, previously only partially visible from the entrance. Keeping his eyes on the room and the exit route in mind, he slowly makes his way to the bar. Satisfied that noone seems to take strong steps into his direction, he turns around - and finds himself face to face with an - Ogre?? what the

"jesus fuck what dark souls game did you escape from" he utters, taking a few steps back. how did I miss something that big, motherfucker just blends into the fucking background

Before I made it halfway across the room, a brilliant white flash cleaved the air. Blinking spots from my eyes I stared at the man who had just stepped into the Eldritch Hollow — the quintessential mundane, as if conjured from the Realm of Forms itself. Six feet tall, clad in ordinary gray clothes, his face achingly average save for the bemused smile, as if he couldn't quite believe his eyes. And in his hands, a camera.

That's courting disaster, Inara said.

No kidding. Nightwalker was slang for supernatural creatures for a reason — the days of the Masquerade were long gone, but secrecy and paranoia still ruled our world. For good reason, too. Most mundanes were a few bad days away from forming a superstitious torch-wielding mob. And yet... I couldn't help but empathize with the stranger. I had once been a curious mundane too, only brought into the world of magic when I received a cryptic invitation to the College Arcanum's entrance exam.

An exam that I had promptly failed. Arcanum's mind-wiping would have been a final insult, but I'd outwitted the bastards with a scrawled reminder to myself.

Some of my thoughts must have leaked across the barrier, for Inara stirred in the back of my mind. The Council of Wizards has reasons for secrecy.

The gray-clad mundane slowly walked through the crowded room, smile fixed on his face — until he saw Bram. Then his composure shattered. He stumbled back, whispering something under his breath. I winced in sympathy. My first reaction to the hulking troll hadn't been nearly as measured.

Bram's maw, a crypt of colossal tombstone-like teeth, parted in a grotesque grin. "Welcome to the Hollow, stranger. Care for a drink?"

His rumbling growl washed over the silent room, breaking the tension. Conversations swelled as people turned away from the mundane — most of them, anyway.

I glanced at the corner table, finding it empty. Fuck. There went my muscle. Well. It wasn't as if the Council had given me a time limit. Might as well chat with the stranger and see where it went, assuming he didn't just bolt. Bram's smile tended to inspire swift feet.

It's a bartender monster shut up brain if it were to kill me it wouldn't say welcome He takes a deep breath in, and out.

"Welcome to the Hollow? The Hollow? You know what, I'll give the universe a point for getting my reference there. Hell, make it two for being so incredibly fitting." Alric's tone makes it clear that he's not particularly interested in going into more detail here. He takes another deep breath. "Give me the most nerve-calming thing you have for 22 bucks, you're one scary motherfucker. Also, one moment." Camera, click, flash. "You're the first ogre I've come across."

Bram's massive hands are still surprisingly tender in their care of glasses. He mixes Alric a drink (1 part coke, 1 part of which he can't read the label - for all he knows, its language is straight out of Doom) and slides the glass over. "Troll. I'm a troll, not an ogre."

stop making assumptions "Oh shit, fuck, didn't mean any offense. I have no fucking clue dude." Alric slides off his backpack, puts his leg through the straps, pulls out one of the metal chairs and takes place at the bar. "How much for the drink?"

Bram's deep voice has some amusement to it. "22 bucks."

"You know what, fair enough." Alric pulls the money out of his wallet and slides it over. "Keep the change. Also - what is this? I've never seen that kind of bottle." He leans over the bar a little bit to take a closer look. "Ah fuck it let's just find out the hard way." Leaning back, he takes a big gulp - its taste is mostly masked by the coke, but there's some bite to it, and he thinks he notices some notes of cinnamon? He coughs a little and puts the glass back down. "So tell me, how the fuck do I get my hands on any reliable info on magic? The internet is full of bullshit."

I reversed course and headed back to the bar, arriving just in time to hear the stranger asking Bram how to learn about magic. Dropping onto the stool next to him, I flashed him a grin. "An aspiring mage, huh? Well, there's the College Arcanum — but if you're here you didn't receive an invitation from them." I shrugged. "Or you did and don't remember it. Those bastards love their mindwiping spells."

"MOTHERFUCKERS" Alric shouts. He was halfway through taking a second sip as he heard the voice next to him utter those dreadful words, and he slams his drink down. "I- obvi- fucking shit, I am aware of the idea of ideas erasing themselves or people fucking with your mind but I never got around to setting up a system to deal with that because it's all fiction and then I got into all this and I obviously should've implemented that but I forgot"

He looks distressed as he takes a deep gulp from his drink.

"Though on second thought, I probably at least would've sent myself a signal on someone having fucked with my mind - I've read fiction about that and it'd have been the immediately obvious solution in that kind of situation. But then again, if they're mind wiping you, they wouldn't give you time for that kind of thing." He's calmed down somewhat. this stuff is great "Hey big man, that's not just alcohol in there is it?"

Bram offered the mundane another terrifying smile. "Enchanted dream whiskey," he explained in a deep rumble. "Imported from the fae realm."

"If it makes you feel better, there's a good chance they didn't invite you." I wasn't quite able to keep the bitterness from my voice. "You have to be born with the Gift, and they're rather... picky." I shrugged. "Anyway, if not the Arcanum, your best bet is to find a mage willing to take you on as an apprentice." A pause. "I'm Vesper, by the way."

I didn't bother to mention Inara. People, especially mundanes, tended to freak out when they learned a body could contain more than one mind — if they didn't think I was crazy. Or lying. I wasn't sure which was worse.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Alric. I take it they didn't invite you? I'd love to ask you a few questions, but I'm freshly out of cash for drinks to bribe you with. How about I just owe you a small favor down the line? Standard favor conditions in the human realm, now that we've established that fucking fae are a thing."

"Also, big man, magically-calming drinks in a bar full of mon- full of highly competent and strong but potentially easily provoked individuals, fucking brilliant."

"They did invite me, just wiped my mind after. Didn't notice the message I left for myself on my arm, though." I rolled back my sleeve, revealing the pale, angular letters I had cut into myself one fateful day in an Arcanum bathroom: MAGIC IS REAL. "Kinda hard to disbelieve when you wake up in bed bleeding, with no memory of cutting."

This time, at least. It hadn't been coincidence that I had a razor with me that day.

"You know what, that's actually somewhat reasonable. I respect it." Another gulp. "Okay, so, no pointy hat, no invitation to Hogwarts. Are you currently trying to become an apprentice, looking for your mage here? Or do you already have an apprenticeship going on?"

I laughed under my breath. "If only it were so simple. Most mages aren't interesting in teaching an apprentice, and those that do tend to be picky about who they accept." My good humor faded away. "Trust me, I've been down that road and without a bloodline or a powerful Gift, you'll be lucky to get the door slammed in your face. No, everything I learned about magic, I... well, it's a bit of self-taught, a bit of something else."

I assure you, it's almost entirely the 'something else'. Your knowledge of the Art is vanishingly insignificant.

"Shut up," I muttered. Louder, to Alric. "Listen, if you want to be a mage, maybe I could teach you a few things — if you're willing to help out with a job I'm running."

What?! Are you insane? I'm not going to hold some mundane's hand while he fumbles his way through basic invocations for three years. It's a waste of time.

Nurturing the spark of ambition is NEVER a waste of time. Not everyone gets magic handed to them on a fucking silver platter, I shot back. Some of us had to figure it all out on our own, scrabbling for the scraps dropped by the Arcanum. You don't even know what this guy is capable of, and you're already dismissing him out of hand.

(Alric can tell that Vesper isn't quite paying attention to the conversation anymore, she has a distant look in her eyes and her mouth moves slightly as she responds to Inara, even though they're mostly talking in the mindscape.)

"I'm going to add all that you said there to my ever-increasing list of questions, but besides that, we might have a deal here. Let me hear first, what kind of job?" He's definitely not one to put trust into a person he just met, but she might get him closer to some understanding of magic. There haven't been any opportunities like that yet, and he won't wait for the next one.

"We've been tasked with putting an end to the bloody madness of one Kael Gaspar, a rogue wizard." I paused. "Help me out and I will personally tutor you in the Art — and if we manage to get our hands on any of Kael's grimoires, I'll share them with you. Though I can't promise that you'll be able to use what you learn. The Gift is not distributed evenly, even among those lucky enough to be born with it at all."

"I'm definitely interested, we might get something going here. But just so we're on the same page, what gift?"

"Well, that's what Arcanum calls it. You know, the spark of magic, the source of power deep within you." I frowned as Alric's confusion deepened. "You do have the Gift, right? I assumed — since you were trying to find someone to teach you — have you not been tested?"

Well, so much about that. She's going to explain to him that she's not going to teach him aaaand he'll be back at square one. "I don't think I have. Would I know?"

What a waste of time, Inara muttered. I told you. We should have just left him to his fate.

"You would definitely know, the test only takes a few minutes but it requires your willing participation. I know the ritual —" well, Inara does "— and if you like I could check now? Might get lucky, you never know."

"Hey big guy, she's not going to curse me or do anything else unexpected to me, right? Just a check, no magics cast on me or anything like that."

Bram chuckles. "I would need your Name to know that." A mischievous light glints in his eye. The sylph at the bar briefly looks interested in the conversation.

I tapped the countertop to get Alric's attention. "Seriously? If I wanted to curse you, I would have just done it. Curses don't exactly require permission."

"You would need my name to guess her intentions? You won't get it, but I respect the try." and then, turning to Vesper "Look, I don't know how any of this works. But I guess, point taken. How does this work?"

"Smart choice. A Name has power, one freely given more so. As for the test, it's simple. Er, one moment."

Inara. Switch in and test this guy for me.

Why? Inara asked. The chances of him being a wizard are miniscule.

Please? Look, if you do this and he's just a mundane, we can leave afterward. Get to work tracking down Kael. That's what you want, right?

Resentment washed across the barrier, followed by a single curt word Fine.

The body swayed slightly as we switched. Hopefully Alric wouldn't have noticed.

"Give me your hand," Inara ordered. "Then close your eyes..."

Five minutes later, it was done. "Nope," Inara said, taking her hand back and staring down our nose at him. "You have as much magical potential as a clump of dirt."

Told you so, she added, smugness curling off the words. Now let's get to work.

"Not 'name,' Name. To know if any magics had been cast on you, even in your past." Bram clarifies. "You're already picking up quick to know not to give that away." He goes back to tending the bar.

Noticing alters switching: [1, 5] Result: Success! 🎯

Avoiding being noticed switching.: [3, 6 💥 5 = 11]-2 Result: Success with 1 raise! 🎯🎯

Spellcasting, can he feel magic?: [3, 6 💥 4 = 10]-2 Result: Success with 1 raise! 🎯🎯

Alric feels something when the woman who claims to be a mage takes his hand. She didn't mention if he would feel something or not, so Alric is not primed to expect what he should or shouldn't feel. It's a sensation like a small hallucination, like he's feeling Vesper's presence looming over him from a direction orthogonal to the usual directions, brushing in from outside. In from outside. Not from up, not from in front of him, not from her hands, but from outside. That direction. He's aware of a new direction, even if he can do nothing to move in that direction.

Oh. Oh.

Puzzle pieces start clicking into place. Universe, you've done fucked up. The thing Alric feels isn't like where he focuses really hard and starts feeling heat or whatever in his body, no, but rather a completely new sense. It's like he's seeing or hearing for the first time, but elsewhere.

Hypothesis. Obvious one, someone, something, her or someone else, is fucking with him.

"Okay. Okay. I'd like to point out that I'm still under the influence of the calming drink, so don't take the following as a threat. Just be aware that I have a zero tolerance policy for mind fuckery. If this is you ribbing into the new guy, fair enough, you had your fun, but this would be the point to cut it, because if I leave this place with a wrong understanding and hope, and all of that turns out to be a joke on your part, that future version of me, not under the influence of any calming drinks, will return, and burn this place to the ground. To emphasize: Not a threat, that version of me would do that independently from me telling you."

He takes this opportunity to pause and take a breath.

Hypothesis. This is actually real. Magic is actually real. Alric's eyes flicker for a few seconds, and he turns to Vesper. "Predictions, tell me where I'm wrong: Souls are a thing. You use your soul to do magic." short pause. "You just will things to happen, and they happen." pause. "You have a limited amount of mana you can use, but the better you become at magic, the more mana you have or the more efficient you are at using it, or both." pause "You have a chance of failing to cast a spell, but the more energy you use on it or the more often you've used that spell, the more likely it is to succeed." longer pause "There's magical animals, isn't there. There's generally no magical things, unless imbued with magic by a mage. Those enchantments though cost the mage its mana, some amount at least, until taken back. You can make items magical without lending mana like that, but it's really fucking hard unless you've done it before, and even then."

"You would try to burn the Hollow down," Inara said, amusement bleeding through the barrier. "And I assure you, I have better things to do with my time than trick gullible mundanes. Magic is entirely real. Would you like a demonstration to ease your burgeoning paranoia?"

You never could resist a chance to show someone up, I said. I hope whatever you have in mind isn't going to hurt him. He's a bit eccentric but he doesn't deserve that.

"Okay yeah, my bad, I shouldn't have expected you to be able to follow me there. Let me explain:

I understand magic is a thing, I've just felt it. You don't need to spend your energy to prove it to me. What I'm asking is, was everything I said about it correct?"

"Not even close, though it hardly matters." She sneered down at him, every inch the arrogant Arcanum wizard. "No amount of knowledge can stoke a nonexistent flame."

There's no need to be so cruel, I said. Kindness costs us nothing.

"Do you actually understand how magic works? I mean, you don't just have the ability to cast spells, but actually know how the underlying theory works? Like, I'm capable of following recipes for food, but that doesn't mean I know exactly what happens on a chemical level when I follow the steps, you know?

It's difficult for me to make out any flaws in my reasoning, because it's perfectly implied from what I've observed." Give me answers you arrogant prick.

"What?" Inara grits her teeth together. "Of course I know how magic works, you stupid mundane. I am Inara Sellain, classically trained at Arcanum and apprenticed to Archmage Alina Sellain from the day I could talk. I've forgotten more about magic than you've ever learned."

"Okay, Inara, I believe you. You're a capable mage. Would you please point out what of the things I said were wrong, so I may be less of a stain on this world?" There is no sarcasm in his voice - he actually tries to be low status here. Please just give me answers so I can get my research going.

"I'm not looking for an apprentice and explaining the gaps in your understanding would take all day." Inara glanced at Bram, who was talking to a scruffy man at the far end of the bar, low voice rumbling as he said something about forests. "But since it looks like I have a few minutes, perhaps I can simplify it for you.

"The essence of wizardry is repetition." Inara's voice has an odd cadence, as if she's reciting something learned by rote. "Like water eroding rock, every use of power leaves an imprint in the Weft of the World. Each generation of wizards digs the channels deeper, until magic ceases to be an effort of will and simply flows.

"The Gifted soul contains a pool of magical power that can be poured through the etched channels in the Weft. Will is required, but insufficient. To tap into the channels of magic, one must repeat the patterns that surround them. Gestures, incantations, inscriptions — all demand exacting precision. A single misspoken syllable means the difference between success and failure. Mana splashed carelessly onto the Weft drains away into a thousand conflicting effects, ultimately achieving nothing.

"Magic is part of you, woven through your very essence. Practice — repetition — makes your power stronger. Overuse damages it. Resting recharges it. And if you are born without it, you will never have it and even the most elaborate ritual will never be more than empty gestures and hollow words." The condescending sneer returns to Inara's face. "Which is why this is a waste of both our time. No matter how much knowledge I pour into you, your cup will never fill. You would be better served by knowing your place in the world and sticking to it."

She turns away from Alric and waves Bram over. "Your guy ran off. Know anyone else who might be interested?"

Alric is taking quick notes using shorthand, writing everything down verbatim. "Fascinating. Well, Vesper slash Inara, I appreciate everything you've taught me today. Big guy, I love your pub, it's a wonderful location, great service, I'm looking forward to my next visit." And with that, he slides off the chair, puts his backpack back on, and in one smooth motion glides out the entrance and into the night. There is research to be done.

A minute later, a motorcyle pulls up in front of the Hollow, and Hope comes in, taking off her helmet. "Hey Bram. Any leads on work?"

Tall, wearing a stereotypical urban detective's leather duster, with two guns at her waist — I know her. A mercenary hunter. "Hey, Hope," Inara says. She grins crookedly. "Seems like we finally ran into each other without a monster ripping stuff up in the background."

"Vesper! Good to see you in one piece. You here on business?"

"The Wizards' Council tasked me with hunting down a would-be necromancer," Inara said. She grinned and gave Hope's guns a pointed look. "It's a kill order."

"I see. I expect we'll be able to see for ourselves he needs killing when we find him?"

"Most likely. He raised a shifter and set it loose in a crowd a week ago — unless the Council is sorely misinformed, this is the sort of guy that the world would be much better off without."

"Alright. Just got to check. I don't trust the Wizard's Council enough to kill just on their word. You got a lead on his location?"

She's right to distrust them, I said. Even without the... other stuff, they're a bunch of insular old fools.

One bad apple does not spoil the entire Council. Whoever was responsible for what we found that night WILL be brought to justice, but that's no reason to wage war against the entire institution.

"The shifter was part of the Moonscar clan," Inara said. "I planned to start with them, see if we could find anything from the body or where he died."

"Sounds good. Shall we go?"

I gestured towards the door. "Lets."

Finally, Inara said. Someone who knows what they're doing.

"You got wheels, or you want the back seat?" Hope holds out her helmet.

Some tedious investigative work later, Hope and Vesper stand before an abandoned building. A dim light can be seen through the boarded-up windows. Hope opens the door, walks in, and cheerfully announces: "I have a kill order for one Kael Gaspar?"

Rolled: [7, 5] Result: Success! 🎯

damage 1.1: [4, 0] Result: Success! 🎯

damage 1.2: [1, 0] Result: Failure ❌

5 damage vs 4 toughness -> Kael is Shaken

second shot: [10 💥 2 = 12, 1] Result: Success with 2 raises! 🎯🎯🎯

Rolled: [1, 0] Result: Failure ❌

Rolled: [1, 0] Result: Failure ❌

Rolled: [5, 0] Result: Success! 🎯

7 damage vs 4 toughness, already shaken, 1 wound Kael gets out one word of a presumably unpleasant spell. "IMPERAZ-" blam blam ... and drops.

"Clear!"