Piles of parchment, paper, and books are strewn across the desk. The wizard shakes their writing hand to ease the grasping stiffness, then picks up the magical quill again; it glows in their hand, creating the necessary ink as they write. The wizard’s eyes are bloodshot, sunken, with dark bags under them, and the eyelids flutter in an effort to stave off sleep. They look up to see you approach, stifle a yawn, and greet you as warmly as their sleep-deprived body permits.

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