It was a frenzied period of transition for everyone in the Boiling Isles. Belos was dead, the Day of Unity crisis was averted, the covens fell into disarray and fought amongst themselves for control of the empire, despite the Titan having chosen a s...
"CHILDREN OF THE ISLES, THE TITAN CALLS UPON YOU NOW!"
"Oh, hey. 'Scuse me."
"THE FALSE EMPRESS HAS ALLOWED MAGIC TO RUN RAMPANT! THE CHAOTIC ENERGIES THREATEN TO DESTROY THE ISLES AND ALL WHO INHABIT IT!"
"Just gonna squeeze by here real quick."
"WHO AMONG YOU WILL STAND WITH ME TO RETURN THE EMPIRE AND THE COVEN SYSTEM TO THEIR FORMER GLORY?!"
"Whoops, pardon my boots, sir."
"THIS AFFRONT TO THE TITAN CANNOT ST-- Ugh, do you mind?"
"Sorry, just trying to make my way to the bar. Sheesh."
Jerrika didn't need this, not on top of the miserable day she's had so far. Overtime at the forge was bad enough, but during that shift, that stupid cinder had to fly right into her remaining eye. She'd also swear that she had to deal with some of the most fastidious customers that she had ever encountered. 'This shortsword is a centimeter too long.' 'I need those editions in hardcover.' 'I only have three Heart Squids, can't you just work with that?' Like pulling teeth with those guys. Slitherbeast teeth. All she wanted was to just chill at her favorite booth at Wailway for some apple blood and the best dang demon wings in all of Latissa. Apparently, even that was too much to ask, since some dingus invited a bunch of people to talk about the 'good old days,' or whatever. Seriously, Belos is dead and every coup against the new Empress has failed miserably, so what makes these chumps think they can succeed where even the former coven heads failed? At any rate, they were taking up her booth, and she swears to Titan that if one more thing goes wrong today, she just might snap!
"Jerrika! How's your day going?"
"Eh, can't complain."
Atlas' unflinchingly upbeat attitude towards his work was always a sight to behold, especially in the face of the idiocy currently unfolding in his establishment. Jerrika could only surmise that there was some forbidden, ancient magic at work within him. Though she may never learn his dark secrets, he's always a sight for her literally sore eye. "The usual, please." she stammered.
"Hah! Good thing you wanted that." Atlas said. "You seemed stressed when you came in. Had that resting give-me-the-usual face, so I got your order started already. Your wings'll be ready in a minute, and I just got a shipment of that imported apple blood in stock today."
Jerrika's face lit up. "You mean-"
And before her very eye, Atlas placed a bottle of shimmering green before her. The words 'Pride of Maria Ann: premium quality Granny Smith du Sang' that were emblazoned on the bottle filled her heart with unbridled joy. "Atty, my man, you are a life saver!" she exclaimed as he handed her a glass.
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A bell dinged, indicating that Jerrika's demon wings were ready to be served. "What kind of sauce you want?" Atlas asked. "Infernal? Molten habanero? Iliacston reaper?"
