"Cavanathus Ankantis!"

The earth cracked, trees bent, and bandits were sent flying, bodies breaking painfully upon impact. Qalhet's field of vision was filled with carnage.

"Bullshit. Garbage. Trash." Kursott sat in her wheelchair, peering through her binoculars which she gripped furiously with her aged, slender fingers. "Are you seeing this, Tursin?"

Tursin brushed his goatee with a finger and a thumb, "Yes... What was that, a class-120 thunder spell with a 30-meter blast?"

"Yeah, with no casting time and only a verbal component! That's the fifth time he's done that today!" She jerked the binoculars away from her face and spun her chair around to face Tursin. "He's not a normal caster, Tursin..."

"That much is obvious..."

The hill on which the two wizards watched from was a safe distance from the carnage below, but both wizards were nervous. Kursott College and Tursin Tech were the two most prestigious colleges on the continent, and Qalhet's divisive paradigm could be disastrous for enrollment. Why go to a fancy college if you can just bullshit your way through magic?

Bzzt!

A flash of light and an electric crackle announced the arrival of the halfling Dr. Bullfreckle, owner of a local medical practice, grandson of the great Elias Bullfreckle, and current president of the Bullfreckle Academy for Magically Inclined Youths. "Sorry I'm late, friends."

"Greetings, doctor!" said Tursin warmly.

"What's the matter, did your teleportation spell act up again?" Kursott said dismissively. It was no secret that Kursott questioned why Tursin was so friendly with Bullfreckle, who was on the fringes of arcane academia.

"Well, hello to you too, Kurse," Bullfreckle said, recoiling from Kursott's snarky comment. "No, I was actually busy consulting with a patient and coining a name for a new and mysterious disorder." It was an obvious brag, spoken at a volume where Kursott couldn't ignore it, though she did. She watched Qalhet chop a bandit in half with a fiery hand and then drop kick another off of a horse, unleashing a massive burst of electricity. The bandit hit the ground... and then he exploded.

"Woah, tell me more," Tursin said, interested in Bullfreckle's new discovery.

"It's a learning disorder specific to changelings: protea spontanea."

"Hmmm. I like the ring of it," Tursin said stroking his goatee in ponderance.

"It's bullshit. Bullshit like Qalhet's verbals... 'cavanthus', my ass. What does that even mean?" Kursott watched Qalhet ride a bandit like a surfboard. He then kicked the bandit into the air, and then the bandit exploded.

"Hey, Tursin likes it. I don't remember asking your opinion!" Bullfreckle was feeling a little bolder than usual. Kursott didn't care. She watched Qalhet twist and mangle a bandit like a balloon animal.

"Yeah, yeah, did you come here to watch this bullshit or not? He's about to dribble this guy like a rueball." She looked in disbelief through her binoculars.

Bullfreckle sighed and walked beside Kursott getting a clearer view of the carnage below. He was stunned by the demolished trees and great craters, not to mention the corpses... especially the bandit that was twisted like a ball of yarn. Qalhet repeatedly bashed this ball against the ground, until he lifted it over his head and shot it into a nearby tree, where it landed with a sickening crack. The tree was then struck by lightning. And yes, it exploded.

"This guy is sick," Bullfreckle said. He was nearly sick himself from seeing the gory mess left in Qalhet's wake.

"He's sick. He's bullshit..." Kursott lowered the binoculars from her face. "But he's damn good."

"Indeed," Tursin said grimly.

Qalhet, covered in blood and surrounded by the exploded remains of bandits and trees alike, stood victorious. He turned to face the trio who watched from high on the hill. He opened his mouth wide and his voice boomed with a joking tone. "Hey! Maybe you'll invite me to the Collegiate Spellcaster's Gala this year, huh?" His voice echoed through the valley. He loudly chuckled and then turned his attention to pulling out the six human teeth that were forcibly embedded into the soles of his boots over the course of this routine bandit ambush.

Kursott muttered under her breath, "Molitz willing, he'll be dead by that time."

"Are you going to kill him?" Bullfreckle asked.

"We don't have another option," Tursin muttered with regret. "Personal motivations aside, he's simply too dangerous to live... He's going to run out of bandits soon."