Chapter Six - More than a Farmer

The Brown Wizard Delta stretched out in endless green plains, a rich expanse of fertile earth that pulsed with life and vitality. The river, wide and powerful, wound its way through the land, carrying minerals from the mountains and flooding the fields every few years with a surge of nutrients. This cycle, ancient and unchanging, had been cultivated by Brown Wizards for centuries, their magic woven into the very soil. Though their craft was mocked by some—"just farmers," they were called—these wizards were more than mere tillers of the earth. They were caretakers of life, nurturers of growth, and wielders of a power that lay hidden beneath layers of humbleness.

The sun beat down on the wizard as he worked in a patch of young beets and cabbage, his dark brown robes blending so seamlessly with the soil that he looked more like part of the land than a man. His brow, weathered and scorched from countless hours in the open fields, furrowed with focus as he pressed freshly germinated seeds into the earth. He took his time, savoring the act of sowing, his hands rough but reverent as he connected with the soil beneath him.

But as he knelt there, an odd sound caught his ear—a slight creak as a small craft drifted by on the river, carrying four goblins far from their homeland. He looked up, squinting, and chuckled under his breath as he watched the goblins glancing about in confused awe, their long journey etched into their faces. They drifted past, oblivious to the scene they were leaving behind.

Returning his attention to the field, the wizard rose, brushing the dirt from his hands. As he looked down at the rows of beets he'd tended that day, his gaze lingered on an oddly shaped mound of earth off to the side, just beyond the carefully plotted rows. He walked over, his step unhurried but purposeful. And there, protruding from the mound, was a single, pale finger, poking through the thin layer of dirt like a secret struggling to break free.

With a quick glance around, the wizard nudged the soil with the tip of his boot, sending a few clods tumbling over the exposed finger until it vanished once more beneath the earth. He didn't rush, didn’t fumble, simply let the dirt settle into place, erasing any sign of what lay beneath. To anyone watching, it would seem like nothing more than a farmer tending a minor imperfection in his field.

A voice called from across the expanse—a field elf, announcing his meal was ready. He waved the elf off, taking a final, careful look at the field. His eyes, hard to read under the shadow of his hat, held a weight, an intensity that was at odds with his calm demeanor. It was difficult to judge his age; his face was etched with sun and soil, and there was a timelessness about him that made him seem both young and ancient.

To the untrained eye, he was just another Brown Wizard, a farmer toiling over his crops. But to those who knew better, he was more—a guardian of secrets, a force of the earth, and someone who took his responsibilities as seriously as the roots that held the soil together. And as he turned toward the simple wooden farmhouse, the last traces of the hidden finger buried behind him, there was a quiet, unmistakable resolve in his stride.

This was the Brown Wizard Inquisitor, a title spoken in hushed tones across the land. Known for his unyielding pursuit of truth and justice, he was not one to be easily disturbed from his domain. He had been called to the Blue Wizard Capital, much to his displeasure. It was planting season, a time when the land demanded all of him. He resented the call, the interruption, and the suspicion it aroused.

And as he strode toward the farmhouse, his mind already simmered with a quiet fury. Someone would pay for this disturbance.

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