Jadenshire mornings tended to be a bustling-enough province all on it's own, primarily due to the tourism that naturally would lend itself to one of the most influential places within Serendipity. The streets saw more traffic than not even in the evenings-- the mornings and afternoons were, therefore, often crowded with passersby, native or otherwise. Some came for the sights-- The jade river was a common attraction, for instance. Others came in search of rare jewels, and rarer magics still. Alchemists and enchanters alike saw a great profit from the populous-- magics and mysteries alike found a home in the hearts of Jadenshire's public.
Sans Quinn.
He didn't have a particular disinterest in magic, per se-- He was quite a capable spellcaster, curse lifter and arcanist, after all. Having dedicated his life to the arts, Quinn was not only no stranger to the mystical, but very well versed in it. His home, which sat along the commercial district of Jadenshire, served a double purpose as his shop. His wares were specific to enchantments-- evidenced by the... 'unique' nature of his storefront. Magicked brooms and mops cleaned and swept the floor, enchant-crafted cloths wiped at the windows, and luminous, levitating lamps lined the walls, wielding white light where windows failed to cast the sun's rays. The place felt alive-- the unnaturally natural movements of inanimate objects imitating the hustle and bustle of outdoor life. Yet it was Quinn who, ironically enough, sat lifeless-- Stationed at the front desk of his establishment, eyes glazed over as they darted back and forth, left to right to left, over a rather sizeable tome he'd decided to take the quiet portions of the day to work through. As always, it was a tome of enchantments, spells, hexes and cures for curses.
As always, to his dismay, it didn't seem to have the cure for what ailed him in particular. And as the minutes of reading became hours uninterrupted, the young man's frustration did begin to grow. Unknowningly, he began to grow impatient. That impatience simmered into disdain, and that disdain broiled under his skin until--
"...No," He suddenly spoke, his eyes widening as a familiar warmth in his chest began to build. He had been foolish-- negligent. How could he have not noticed? This frustration, this disappointment, these building emotions-- His heart began to race. Panic. Fear. Despite knowing these sudden rushes of emotion wouldn't help, he couldn't control their onset.
The young man stumbled out of his chair, falling to the floor. His head began to spin-- His thoughts unorganized, chaotic. It was happening again. "No-- my shop-- not now!" He struggled to return to his feet, and in his haste, cast a half-baked spell-- a gust of wind, intended to knock the front door of his store closed, preventing any from entering. It missed, of course-- further still was it too weak and unrefined of a spell to have anywhere close to the effect he desired, instead causing and unnatural gust of wind to flush outward from within his shop, likely only drawing more attention. "No-- Not yet! I-- wait!!" He pleaded with his own body, but to no avail. Fight thought he did, he could not stop what came next, as the heat that had grown within his body had, at last, exploded forth.
From the outside, the gust of wind aside, one might only have seen a sudden flash of bright, blue light-- bright enough to blind for a moment, before Quinn's shop with dark, and all grew silent again. Within, crumpled over on the ground, lay the body of a mage, silent and unmoving; Curly, raven-black hair hiding their face.
