An unusual request...

[Jean-Paul de Chêne]

Jean-Paul slouched casually towards the groundskeeper's shed, feeling extremely puzzled. He'd looked for breakfast in the cafeteria, and had been sorely dissapointed. Jean-Paul's...unusual ancestry restricted his diet to plant products only, and though the vegan options the school provided were edible, in his eyes they were still far from tasty. He felt that, out of all of humanities little quirks, the persistance of the ridiculous notion that burning food improved the flavor was by far the strangest.

Then, he'd wandered outside to ask a nearby tree spirit where he could find some better food. She told him to ask the groundskeeper for permission to take from the garden, and had directed him to the hut Jean-Paul stood before. He found this intensely puzzling, for several reasons. Plants, and therefore plant spirits, generally took a dim view of human caretakers. Gardeners and suchlike were grudgingly tolerated neccesities at best, and insufferable nuisances at worst. The dryad had spoken of the groundskeeper with extreme respect; unusual, to say the least. Most dryads would have either given or denied permission themselves, rather than directing one of their kin, even just a half-spirit, to a human authority. Even simply knowing how to find his hut was odd, given dryads general lack of concern for such things.

In any case, as Jean-Paul knocked on the door and called out, it was with rather extreme misgivings as to what would happen next.

[William Jason Fredericks]

There was a small crash from inside and then a moment of silence. Then the steady rhythm of booted feet approaching the other side of the door.

_{"Who would....ungodly hour...middle of...not a motorway"}

The door opened and there stood Fredericks, dressed as usual in his overalls. He held a small clump of pennyroyal in his left hand. He had not been expecting someone of Jean-Paul's height and he had to crane his neck. His eyes narrowed.

_{"And least not...girl with the metal dodads..."}

"Whada you wan...." He sniffed the air "...sphagnum? I was righ in da middle of making ma black puddin."

[Jean-Paul de Chêne]

Jean-Paul practically fainted out of sheer suprise. He had expected the gardener to be unusual, certainly, but this...

Most, if not all, magic-users have the ability to recognize others who share magical powers, especially if the type of magic is similar to their own. Many believers in the occult refer to this as 'aura'. Though there are many who detest the term*, it stuck rather firmly nevertheless. The point was, the aura of pure, unadulterated life that seemed to be flowing off the old man was almost palpable. Jean-Paul wouldn't have been suprised if flowers starting growing around his feet or some other such nonsense. Some effort seemed to have been taken to mask this effect, but Jean-Paul had studied life magic for decades, and wasn't about to be fooled that easily.

Jean-Paul's mind raced. There was a possibility that the man-shaped being standing before him was some sort of human, but it was beginning to seem less and less likely. A more plausible alternative would be that he was some sort of natural spirit; not a minor personification like the dryads, but something much more powerful. Some sort of demigod from a long-forgotton local religion, perhaps, who had remained a part of the land despite the lack of faith in him.

Whatever the old man was, he was undeniably a powerful being, and should be shown respect. Jean-Paul hesitated for a moment as he tried to recall the bizzare patterns of arboreal ettiquette his mother had demanded that he learn. He dropped to one knee bowed his head, and began babbling various greetings, apologies, and formalities (peppered with a totally superfluous number of honorifics), all in High Quercus, the language of the oak trees.

*Generally genuine magic-users, who refer to such occult believers as 'idiots'.