"What, magic?" The mage replied, smiling at his brother.
"Yeh." The younger one prompted. He wiped the soot from his hands on the blacksmith's apron he wore before scratching at his short beard.
"Hmm." The mage stroked his chin, and pulled his hood back. He was young, for a wizard, and his full head of black hair was a source of some jealousy among his peers. Which caused him no end of confusion, considering they were wizards and could change their hair into, I don't know, snakes or something if they wanted. How hard could black hair be? "Well... you know when you're having an argument?"
"Shasson, I have a wife. Yes, I am familiar with arguments." He said wryly. Shasson smiled back, and continued.
"Ok, well, when you're arguing with someone about something with which you have absolute certainty, when you're filled with the conviction of the righteous... and they suddenly come to understand you're right and shift their opinion to support you? That's what magic is like."
"Huh."
"Except you're arguing with the laws of gods and nature and physics, and you might not be right after all but you've still managed to convince everything that exists that there should be fire right here, in the palm of my hand... whether it's true or not." Shasson continued, conjuring a small orb of flame in his palm.
"Huh." The blacksmith repeated. Shasson grinned proudly at his magical prowess. His brother stared at him, unimpressed.
"I was expecting something a little more... fantastic. Oh well. That's nice Shasson. Chicken for dinner tonight." And he turned back to his work, crafting a new set of horse shoes.
Shasson fumed behind him, lifting the flame up as though to throw it... before extinguishing it and heading in to the house, muttering about conjuring chickens of doom.
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