"Hello, Magical Support, have you tried revoking and invoking again?"

"Er... Hi, I'm sorry, it seems my spell can't be cast anymore..."

"Have you checked your Magicka?"

"Oh... Er... No, sorry. I'll call back. Thank you."

The Magitechnician passed his hand over his communication pool and sighed. That was the third call of the day, and each one had lowered his already incredibly weak faith in the people of Skyrim. When he had joined the Winterhold Academy, he had hoped to change the world for the better, even considering for a time becoming the Archmage. When exactly had that gone wrong?

"Solialin! Could you please come here? Jo'Raya has great news for you."

Now Solialin thought about it, it must have been when he had agreed to help Jo'Raya in his "ground-breaking idea that would forever change the world as we know it". Yeah, sure. Helping low-level mages to control their spells, what a job. He had agreed to give a hand for some months... It had been twenty-five years last week.

"Sure. I'm coming."

Solialin got up and went to the nearby room, where his Khajit friend (though sometimes it was hard to say if they still were) was waiting. The Altmer stopped and shot a quizzical look to Jo'Raya.

"Sol, you told Jo'Raya you had too much work recently?"

Recently must mean at least a year in Khajit language, he thought bitterly. Still, he nodded silently.

"Then you'll be delighted! Jo'Raya found you an intern!"

Solialin's eyes widened. He half-hoped he had misunderstood.

"Excuse me?"

"Jo'Raya found an intern to help you!" he answered without realising - or maybe refusing to acknowledge - the growing shock in Solialin's features. "He's in his last studentship year at the Academy, and he's apparently quite gifted! He'll be there tomorrow morning, Jo'Raya hopes you'll teach him how to use the tools!"

Solialin stood, thunderstruck. He idly wondered if a well-aimed Firebolt would bring back his friend (it was especially hard to call him this right now) to his senses.

"Well, Jo'Raya's done. Jo'Raya hopes Solalin will have a good day."

No. A Firebolt wouldn't suffice.

A minute later, the High Elf was sitting at his desk, still unsure if it had been a very bad dream, or just Sheogorath playing with his mind. But before he had time to ponder whether was correct, his pool shivered. He sighed and answered.

"Hello, Magical Support, have you tried revoking and invoking again?"

All in all, Solialin was thinking the following morning, maybe it would have been best if Sheogorath had begun to play with him. At least he could have blamed the Daedra lord if he began doing weird things, such as burning his desk and the whole building to the ground and then laughing madly. Not that this particular idea had ever occurred to him, of course. Yet when he finally opened his office door, he wondered during a split second whether the Jarl would hold him guilty if presented with all the evidences.

"Solialin! Jo'Raya is glad to see you. Jo'Raya would like you to meet Jorilaf Swift-Helm, your new co-worker."

Being possessed by Sheogorath. Or Molag Bal. Burn everything and then pretend so. No one could prove otherwise.

"I'm delighted to meet you, Jorilaf", Solialin lied easily. One cannot spend twenty-five years faking interest in whatever spell an apprentice couldn't cast after his second try without developing a certain affinity in lying.

"So am I, Master Solialin. I hope I won't disappoint you", said the Nord sitting behind Jo'Raya. At least he seemed to have understood he wasn't on the same level as the High Elf, despite what the Khajit had said.

"Well, Jo'Raya has important matters to take care of. Jo'Raya will be in his office."

Both furless beings were left in an awkward silence. Solialin hesitated and finally spoke.

"So... Last year, eh?"

"Yes Master."

"Do you have a specialization?"

"Yes I... I am particularly versed in Illusion and Restoration spells."

Great. A Nord thinking of himself as a priest. At least he seemed to have understood that going head first in the melee was a very bad idea.

"But I guess you know the basics in the other schools?"

"I... Er... Yes, of course."

"Great." Solialin knew this kind of 'yes' actually meant 'no', but in an instant of weakness, thought Jorilaf would learn while working with him. "Well, your desk is right here, along with your PC. You have a fresh stack of blank paper, a quill and some ink and... What's the matter?"

"I'm sorry... What's a PC?"

Solialin barely held up a deep sigh. Now he had to teach him all his vernacular. "PC stands for Pool of Communication. That's the basin here. For each call, you'll have to fill this form", he added, holding one of the sheets. "It's very important, because it's thanks to those that you will be paid. Understood? Perfect", he added when Jorilaf nodded. "Alright then, take your place. People usually start to call around 9, so you'd better be ready."

When the Nord sat, Solialin felt a twinge of guilt. The boy probably just wanted to earn some money before leaving the Academy; he did not deserve to end here. The Altmer began to wonder if he should try to help him, perhaps mentoring him, so he wouldn't end up like Solialin... Then his pool shivered.

"Hello Magical Maintenance, have you tried revoking and invoking it again?"

"So, how was your first day?"

Jorilaf looked at him in utter shock.

"I... Was it some kind of prank?"

"What do you mean?"

"I can't believe people are so deprived when it comes to magic!"

"Yet they are. Can I see your forms?"

Jorilaf handed him a dozen of forms that Solialin quickly read. Two invocations that had gone astray, one Fireball that didn't burn, and nine people having used all of their magicka. All in all, a fair day to begin.

"Well, seems like it's business as usual. What did you do for the invocations?"

"I told them to dispel them before retrying, and apparently that did the trick..."

"Good. You know everything you need to survive here."

Solialin was quite surprised. Jorilaf had stood his own, and actually seemed rather talented. Another reason to free this poor unfortunate soul from this torture.

"But... You can't be serious! You mean that's all you're doing all day?"

"Yes."

"But..."

"Listen, Jorilaf. Almost every magic user has never been to the Academy, much less followed a lesson from a proper teacher. Yet they are sure they can cast as if they were the Archmage or something. Last week I had a call from someone who wanted help on some kind of shouts, that were apparently powerful enough to throw people backwards, but that left a sore throat for some time. I tried to explain it was not our problem, but this Skeever told me that since it had a magical effect, then I should be able to help... Took me an hour before Thick-Head Number One accepted to go ask the Greybeards, complaining about the 'long trip through the mountain' or whatever. And you know what? At least the call was about something vaguely magical. I've had much worse."

The Nord was looking at him with complete disbelief. Jorilaf would have felt sorry for him, if only his last calls hadn't torn his mercy to shreds. He was tired, his voice broke every few words, his right hand hurt, and he only wanted to have some drinks at the Tavern and perhaps have a long, sweet talk with the waitress. In a fit of weakness and sadism, he grabbed his satchel and turned to the intern.

"You'll turn down the MAC before leaving, right?"

"The..."

"Right. The Magical Assistance Communication. The stuff that connects our PC to the poor people out there. It's easy, just dispel this ward here, and disable this rune here. The light should turn red. And before leaving, please extinguish the candles."

Solialin delighted himself in the Nord's face, which had turned a delicate shade of pale green. For the first time in over ten years, he wouldn't have to worry about closing the door behind him. Perhaps this whole "intern" thing would be a good idea after all.

"Jorilaf. By the Nine. What. Have. You. Done."

"I... Well, I..."

Solialin had felt a twinge of guilt when he had woken up, thinking of the poor Nord having to dispel all the complex spells allowing their activity. But this spark of empathy had quickly been tied to an anchor of disappointment, and thrown from the ship of disbelief to be drowned in an ocean of bitterness.

"Why did you disable those runes?"

"I... I hadn't seen clearly which one you were pointing, so when I dispelled the ward I figured it would be better if I just disabled them all..."

"You figured."

"But it can't be that bad!" Jorilaf cried with increasing despair. We just have to enable the runes back..."

"Well actually no", Solialin answered in a cold tone. "You see, my young intern, the three runes you disabled yesterday were the core of the whole ward. And now we're in for a world of horror."

"What do you mean?"

Solialin breathed deeply before answering. The boy didn't know. He would give him another chance before slamming him head first into his desk.

"Do you have any idea how the PC work? No of course not, silly question. There are small atronachs that we have tamed years ago that are summoned by the customers. Those atronachs have a special bond with the pools; you may have heard of the TCP?"

"Yes!" Jorilaf answered with relief. "The Tiny Creature Pools."

"Precisely. Well you've broken our TCP. And now the atronachs, who can't come to us anymore since you broke it all, are going to the nearest pool they can find, which is..."

"The Archmage's", Jorilaf said with horror. Solialin nodded.

"Now can you imagine his reaction when he'll have to check all the calls he'll be getting?"

Jorilaf's face would have been funny to look at if the situation wasn't so bad.

"I think you did an acceptable impression of his reaction. Then you'll have the privilege to go to his office and catch all the calls that we should be receiving."

That seemed to wake Jorilaf up from his shock.

"But what if he asks me what am I doing here?"

"The Archmage is, luckily, away for the week. So sneak in his office, and answer the calls. Only those for us. Use a Redirecting ward. You know how to... Good", he said when Jorilaf nodded. "Then go. I'll try to re-enable the runes and re-cast the wards."

Jorilaf ran out of the office while Solialin turned to the wall of magic. He had been the one to cast all the spells years ago, but he hadn't taken any notes. The day promised to be a long one.

Jorilaf was amazed by the obliviousness people could display sometimes. He was running half-crouched through the corridors, sometimes in plain sight, but no one seemed to spot him. Only Urag gro-Shub seemed to realize someone was there, but in a mere handful of seconds he dismissed the idea, allowing Jorilaf to run to the Archmage's Quarters.

The Quarters were quite cosy, with a nice private garden in the middle of the room. He quickly spotted the pool in an alcove and ran to it, just in time to see a call waiting to be answered. In his panic, he passed his hand over the pool, trying to defuse the situation.

"Hello? Hello?"

"Er... Yes, yes, who's speaking?"

"Hello sir, we have an exceptional offer for you. We are currently offering an exceptional tax cut for you, but first we have to check a few things. First of all, are you a Mer?"

Jorilaf was caught off-guard by this question and answered without thinking.

"Er... No, I'm a Nord..."

"Oh well you can't benefit from our exceptional offer, have a nice day sir."

The pool shivered and went black again. Jorilaf shook his head and began casting the ward, but was soon disturbed by another call. This time, he made a different gesture, in order to have a preview of the call.

"Enhance your sword abilities with our special 10-days program!"

He shook his head. Since the TCP had been discovered, call centers from the Thieves Guild had erupted from everywhere and were calling people at random to propose them "services" that were awfully expensive and that people never actually received. The worst part was that some still fell for it. Cursing the blindness of the people of Skyrim, he went back to his casting.

"Damn, sometimes I wish I weren't me so I could properly admire myself."

Solialin had been examining the now-broken complex ward for an hour before realizing that he had somehow foreseen a situation like that when he had cast it. A monitoring ward had been set, and all he had to do was to ask the ward for a report and read the Long Overview of Gibberish it generated to find out what went wrong.

His smile went away as soon as he found the line. If he understood well (and he knew he did), Jorilaf had blocked the interconnection of the runes when he had disabled the wrong one. This was something he had never seen before.

He drank a long mouthful from his cup and began inspecting the runes. Perhaps the ward had been altered in a special way, also altering the runes? Or perhaps Sheogorath had finally decided to definitely take part in the total mess that was this job. Or maybe he had always been there, and Jo'Raya was his servant since the very beginning. Speaking of Jo'Raya, Solialin suddenly realized he hadn't seen his boss since the previous day. The Khajit definitely knew when not to show himself. Shaking his head, he went back to work; maybe he could try to add another rune to restore the communication?

Suddenly, his pool shivered; a call was waiting to be answered. Jorilaf had apparently finished casting the redirection. Solialin smiled lightly while snapping his fingers; despite his blunder, the young Nord had definitely some skills.

"Hello Magical Maintenance, have you tried..."

"Solialin?"

"Jorilaf? Why are you calling me?"

"Just wanted to check my ward. I'm calling from the Urag's pool."

"Well it worked. Good job Jorilaf. You..."

"Which ward are you talking about, boy?" Urag asked suddenly.

Solialin smiled sadistically. "Jorilaf, come back when you can."

The last thing the Altmer heard before ending the call was a desperate sputtering coming from Jorilaf's mouth; for all he hated his job, Solialin found himself lucky for never being lectured by the Librarian of the Arcaneum. But right now, he had more pressing things to do.

An hour later, a grumpy Jorilaf came into the office he shared with Solialin, who decided against asking him how his small meeting with Urag went; his face gave him all the answers he needed.

"There has been two calls already. Once again, good job. But we have to correct your mistakes."

"Sure. Have you found something?"

"Yes. The LOG gave me some precious information. You see, the runes you disabled seem to be unable to reach each other. I guess that there is another rune catching the signal somewhere, I just have to..."

"Catching the signal?"

The tone in Jorilaf's voice made Solialin shudder. Would the intern actually know something?

"We saw something like that during our lessons..."

"Just in case you didn't realize, this is not really your average lesson here."

"No wait..."

"Jorilaf. I checked those runes. We can't just enable them back and... Wait. What are you... No Jorilaf don't toUCH THAT RUNE YOU STUPID MUDCRAB!"

"Hold on now..."

"JORILAF STOP THAT RIGHT NOW I TELL YOU DON'T"

"Aaaaaaand here we go!"

"JORILAF YOU... What?"

The Altmer had been so busy shouting and preparing a Firebolt to bring back the intern to his senses (of course he wouldn't have targeted him directly. Not voluntarily. Or so he would have said.) that he hadn't realized the various runes were back to work. Putting his burning hand down, he watched the TCP coming back into the Terminal, and going straight to their pools.

"I... How?"

"Mistress Cassandra Eriahel told us that sometimes this rune acts as a sink and takes all the incoming communications, and that we should just disable it, restart the whole ward, and then enable it again."

"You're telling me that you just revoked and invoked it again?"

"Well..." The Nord had the decency to blush and look a bit sheepish. "Basically, yes."

The room went silent for a second, only disturbed by the sparks coming from the Firebolt waiting to be cast.

"Well... Alright. Then you can go back and remove you Redirection."

"WHAT?"

"You heard me." Solialin tried to regain composure. "Try not to be spotted by Urag this time."

Jorilaf stood for a moment, thunderstruck. Then, as if he were in a dream, he turned back and went to the Arcaneum. Solialin looked at him with what he hoped was a neutral look (or at least, a look in which almost all of his hatred wasn't easily readable), then sat down. He looked at his hand, which was still burning, and cancelled his spell with a sigh. Such a waste.

"Solialin!"

The Altmer shook his head. He should have kept his spell ready.

"Jo'Raya."

"Jo'Raya is really sorry. Jo'Raya had had some important business to attend before coming. Jo'Raya hopes Solialin won't mind."

"Why should I?" asked Solialin with a smile. The same kind of smile he had once seen on a Troll before it stroke.

"Jo'Raya is glad to hear this. Well, if Solialin is alright... But where is the Jorilaf intern?"

"He went to fix a small problem in the Archmage's Office."

"Oh. Jo'Raya is happy to hear that Jorilaf is already so involved." The Khajit stood for a moment, then began to turn around. "Well. Jo'Raya has to leave. Jo'Raya still has many things to do."

Before Solialin could say anything, the Khajit had disappeared. The Elf buried his head in his hands. It had to be a trick. A joke. Something. And when he would open his eyes, he would realize it. One, two, three.

When he opened his eyes, all he saw was his desk, covered with small sheets of parchment, and a Pool of Communication which was shivering with a pending call. Repressing a sudden urge to shout and blast everything near, Solialin answered.

"Hello Magical Maintenance, have you tried revoking it and invoking it again?

"Er... Yes, hello, I'm the Dovahkiin, you know, and I have a small problem right now..."

"I already told you we can't help you concerning your shouts."

"Yes, yes, I know... No actually it's something else. I received a call promising me to enhance my Magicka in exchange for some gold, but I don't think it worked. Could you please help me?"

Somewhere, in a plane of Oblivion that some call the Shivering Isles, a Nord known as Jorilaf suddenly appeared. He yawned, stretched himself, and went to sit at a nearby table covered with food.

"Now if that isn't entertainment, I don't know what is."

A puff of smoke later, the man had completely changed his appearance to a tall man with red hair. With a huge grin, the Prince of Madness picked an apple and bit it. It had been fun to play with the Altmer. Maybe he would join him one day. Willingly or not.

In the end, Sheogorath always won.