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â€_ Sanguine and Clockwork†_

by K.M. Hirosaki ([email protected])

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is copyright © 2005 â€" 2009 K.M. Hirosaki.

The setting and the character Simon Canopus Artyle belong to Kevin Frane (â€Rikoshiâ€) and are used here with permission.

Vico was a good fox: he was dutiful, he never complained, and he was good at what he did. Never during the course of Florian’s studying, experimenting, transcribing or tinkering did the coyote ever meet with a single interruption from Vico, and the fox was always whisper-quiet as he went about his work. All in all, he was the perfect house-fox for someone like Florian, whose vocation called for things like peace, quiet, and orderliness.

Of course, Vico wasn’t a real fox, which is what made all of that possible to begin with. A homunculus was created in order that it might serve, after all, and so it was no surprise that Florian, whose day-to-day work would otherwise leave his house a complete mess, would want something to help him with that.

Florian could conceivably have used magic to clean his dwelling in between different tasks, but that would have been awkward, more time-consuming, and, frankly, a waste of his abilities. Besides, the coyote was rarely between tasks, and was more frequently dealing with two or three (or more!) things at once, with a great deal of overlap. An already invaluable tool like Vico then became even more so, due to how much that constant assistance meant to Florian.

There were times, however, when Florian would look up from whatever tome he was poring through, or stop grinding up ingredients, or take a break from whatever he happened to be doing, all so that he could just quietly look at Vico as the fox puttered around the house. While the artificial fox was certainly a marvel of wizardly craftsmanship, that aspect of his being was all but matter of course in Florian’s mind; the coyote was more just shamefully indulging himself in the ability to look upon and stare at a fox from whom he wouldn’t need to hide his gaze.

In the strictest sense, Vico wasn’t male at all, but rather was androgynous, like all homunculi. (A magician, sculpting the form of a drone helper to include such superfluous parts? Imagine it!) Still, the form of the fox’s body was nominally masculine, in that ‘he’ was fully grown, lacked breasts, and had a boyish face as opposed to a girlish one, and so Florian considered the creation a ‘he’ all the same.

Besides, while Vico was clothed, it wasn’t immediately apparent that he was lacking in gender definition, and when he was moving slowly or standing still, he even looked like a real, live fox. Only when the homunculus moved at full speed (which was rather clumsy), or when one were to look into its empty, soulless eyes, was it really apparent that Vico was an ‘it’ and not a ‘him.’

Getting closer to a homunculus like Vico blew the illusion right out of the water, though: he couldn’t react with anywhere near convincing enough a response to a stimulus like someone approaching or waving their paw in front of his face, and once someone got that close, they’d likely notice that he didn’t breathe or blink (unless one who held control over him specifically directed him to). Touching Vico’s skin or fur would be another telltale sign: the body temperature of a homunculus was markedly cooler than that of a real living being, and even if he looked and felt like flesh and blood on the surface, there was also the matter that the pulsing of veins was instead replaced by the barely audible whirring of a wonderful clockwork heart.

The heart of a homunculus was a truly maddening contraption, made possible only by the graces of wizardry. Clockmakers and tinkers had tried for centuries to build one without the aid of magic, but only once had anyone ever succeeded: some eight centuries prior, Laurent the Mad, whose most famous achievement up until that point had been the construction of a chamber-sized orrery for the Fifth Earl of Hangknave, had managed to create a functional heart, but its implementation resulted in a rapid turn of events that history texts stated was â€rather unfortunate for all involved.â€

When Florian had finally reached the level of mystical skill necessary for creating a homunculus’ heart, he had leapt at the opportunity to do so. The coyote had worked ceaselessly in crafting the body, barely sleeping for a week as he prepared the material components for the spell that would bring his creation to life. The decision to cast Vico into the form of a fox was a simple one, yet the choice itself was nothing that would bring undue suspicion upon him.

Vico may have been Florian’s very own special little fox, but while a homunculus could make a fine surrogate for a houseboy or a maid, it could never come close to filling a more special position in a real person’s life.

An Excerpt from â€_On the History of Spellcraft, Volume II,†by Simon Canopus Artyle_

The very earliest homunculi date back to several millennia ago. In the beginning, laypeople and the magically-inclined alike were wary and fearful of themâ€"rightly so, perhaps, since in these beginning times, the creation of a homunculus was much more closely tied to the realm of black magic and necromancy. It is quite possible, in fact, that the homunculi of this time period were created from the dead themselves (although records that remain from this time do not go into the specifics, and so this point is a matter for much speculation and contention).

Perhaps it was because wizards the world over saw the inherent usefulness of a homunculus that the clockwork heart was invented: in this way, one could be sure that it was the power of magic itself that animated an otherwise entirely artificial construct, and therefore was far less abhorrent a prospect. Of course, the Magicians’ Charter was quickly edited to codify just what made for an allowable homunculus, specifying the permissible components and even the number of homunculi a single person was allowed to create. Details changed, over time, but the standard concept changed very little.

It was just about sunset by the time that Florian was done with his alchemical experimenting for the day. He had missed the festival itself, he knew, but that didn’t bother him all that much. If it wasn’t full on into evening yet, then that meant that the follow-up celebration hadn’t started, and so the coyote knew that he had time.

â€Vico,†he said, as he drew his mantle over his shoulders. â€Clean my workspace while I’m gone.†There was no commanding tone to his voice, but neither was he asking Vico to do as he said.

The artificial fox gave a small nod of acknowledgement, and immediately headed over to one of the cabinets in the far corner. Knowing that his house was in good hands, Florian closed the door behind him and started down the path to the town.

Even from a distance, the signs of the festival were obvious: townsfolk were still scattered about the fields and streets, but for the most part, people were reconvening at various points around town itself. The streets were strewn with trash from what looked to have been a raucous celebration, and Florian knew that more than a few merchants in town were already gleefully counting their profits from the day.

As the coyote made his way along the streets themselves, the few people who weren’t too busy bustling about to notice his presence turn to him and bowed their heads, greeting him with polite reservation, holding still until he had passed. â€Master Innswick,†they addressed him, most seeming happy to see him among them.

Finally, Florian arrived at the Grass and Moonlight Tavern, and from the sound of it, the place was packed and bustling already. Slipping in through the front door, the coyote could see that not only was the place packed, but also that all eyes were fixed on Lord Rentell.

The young fox was standing on top of a sturdy oak table off to one side of the bar, ready to address the crowd that had assembled. Florian shuffled his way to an open spot near the wall, and watched eagerly along with everyone else.

â€Ladies and gentlemen, what a wonderful day it has been,†Rentell called out, silencing the crowd’s murmurs and assuring that all attention was fixed on him. â€I’d like to congratulate the good people of Honeybrush on their bountiful harvest: you all worked very hard, I know, and I’m very happy to see that the world has responded in kind with its richly-deserved rewards.â€

Cheers and applause broke among the crowd, and as Rentell took a few moments to scan the room, he made eye contact with Florian. The fox nodded and grinned, and Florian just nodded politely in return to the young lord, not wanting to draw any undue attention or suspicion.

â€Also, everyone, it looks like our very own Master Florian Innswick has come to join us,†Rentell said, motioning over to the coyote, at which point all heads in the room turned in unison. So much for keeping away from attention, Florian thought to himself, feeling a swell of bashfulness.

Rentell paced around atop his table. â€I know that Master Innswick has been a great help to all of you, as well,†he said to the crowd, â€and that, even if nobody can change or control the flow of seasons, it never hurts to have a magician on one’s side, does it?â€

The crowd started to laugh and clap, throwing their praise and appreciation at Florian. Rentell looked just tickled with himself, and the proud yet playful smile on his face made him ten times more handsome than he already was.

Rentell Centrène was the Count of Dunnis’ third son; as such, his place in the political world of the realm was far from significant. Perhaps to make up for this, the young fox took it upon himself to at least involve himself in the lives of his father’s subjects, and as far as Florian had seen, at least for the people of Honeybrush, he was a well-loved man indeed: he was always well-groomed and well-dressed, but he never flaunted his wealth; his nobility commanded respect, but he never abused his power; he was polite and well-spoken, but he wasn’t above joining the townsfolk for a rowdy celebration down at the local tavern.

It wasn’t Rentell’s noble aspect that drew Florian’s fondness, though. If anything, the fox’s nobility was the one true impediment towards the coyote ever being able to indulge in or express that affection. As the two most noted and respected citizens in town, there could hardly be any discretion or secrecyâ€"to think of two men, both in such positions of prestige, sharing a bed together? It would be beyond shameful; it would be an outright scandal!

Hopeless though it was, though, Florian couldn’t shake himself free of his feelings. Even now, as Rentell happily congratulated the people of Honeybrush for their good fortune, as much as Florian should have been sharing the people’s excitement, the coyote could think only of how beautiful the fox looked as he spoke, and of how much he wanted to wrap the younger vulpine up his arms, hold him, keep him safe, lay him down upon the ground and feel his body squirm underneath...

Rentell’s assertive tone cut through the magician’s daydreaming. â€Now, good people, I do have one more bit of news that I feel I do have to share with you.†Immediately, the crowd’s murmuring shrunk, and the fox waited until he had everyone’s full attention. â€You are all aware, I am sure, that one of the matters His Grace the Grand Duke has been considering for this season’s council has been the possibility of levying a new tariff on ale and beer from this region.†All further whispering immediately came to a stop; not a soul in the tavern, Florian was sure, lacked direct personal interest in that particular matter.

â€As I am sure you are also aware,†Rentell continued, staying calm and reasonable in tone, â€we are not due to receive word back from the Grand Duke’s council until some time next week.†The fox paused and took a heavy breath. â€However, my father, the Count, tells me that word has come to him regarding what matters have been discussed. The official decree has not yet been made, but I do feel obliged to tell you this.â€

A heavy moment passed, and the feeling in the air was tangible as the people waited to hear Rentell’s announcement. The fox bowed his head, and then announced, â€The ducal council has decided against levying the tariff.†At once, the tavern erupted into cheers, and Rentell raised his head back up, an enormous grin on his face. He swooped down with one hand, snatched his tankard up from off of the table, and called out, â€Drink Up!†before taking a heavy swig. He then unfastened a pouch from his belt and tossed it to the tavernkeep, and the loud clinking it made when caught showed that it was full of coins.

With that, the crowd’s eyes and ears were no longer on Rentell, and instead, the focus was on the tapping of kegs, the distribution of drinks, and the resurgence of merrymaking. Florian couldn’t hold back a smile. The people really did love their Lord Rentell.

â€Florian!†Rentell called out over the din of the now-distracted crowd. â€Stop hiding back there! Come and join me!†With that, the fox then hopped off of the table, drink still in hand, and took his seat.

Florian sifted through the crowd, without anyone really taking any notice of him until he got to Rentell’s table. The young lord’s companions were all wealthy townspeople that Florian recognized, but he could only put names to a few of the faces. â€Someone make room for Master Innswick,†Rentell said, motioning to the others, who scooted around and let the coyote take a seat.

â€So, you opted out of the festival, did you?†the fox asked Florian. â€I should have guessed that much, I suppose.†He gave the coyote a teasing look and shook his head in mock disappointment. â€Always so, so serious.â€

â€I couldn’t right well steal the spotlight from you, now could I?†Florian replied with a smile, taking a tankard of ale from the scraggly bobcat on his left. â€I’ve got my own reputation to maintain, after all.â€

Rentell laughed, and finished draining his cup. â€Well, I’m glad you decided to put in an appearance here, at least,†he said. â€Otherwise, I’d have to drop by your place afterwards, and pound on your door in the black of night in some drunken stupor so that I could force my company upon you.â€

I might wish that you would do that, Florian thought to himself, but he bit his tongue. He hid for another moment behind the rim of his cup, and then said, â€You know full well that I’d never dream of missing an evening like this. I don’t think I’ll ever be that busy.â€

â€Oh, I’m not so sure,†Rentell said, winking as another serving of ale came his way, as well. â€I’ve known you to be pretty reclusive, from time to time.â€

â€Only when it’s been of sufficient importance,†Florian said, beginning to feel self-conscious, since he knew that he had no chance of hiding the delight in his eyes as he and Rentell exchanged banter. â€For now, though, nothing takes precedence over this.â€

â€Hear, hear!†Rentell called out, raising his glass. The others at the table all joined in, and any awkwardness on Florian’s part was soon forgotten as the focus on him and Rentell disappeared and gave way to more general conversation all around.

The entire tavern was abuzz, now, and the room just bristled with a wonderful sort of energy. For someone like Florian, who didn’t leave his home nearly as often as one of the normal townspeople, the feeling was a different kind of special in its own right. Wizards weren’t meant for carousing, as their general trends in personality went, but Florian appreciated the contrast with his typical day-to-day life.

One of the serving wenches, a wolf girl whose name escaped Florian, came by the table with a heavy tray loaded with food. â€Lord Rentell,†she said, ears flushed up as she began to unload dishes onto the table. â€And Master Innswick,†she said, turning to nod to Florian. â€Truly, we are beyond lucky to have the both of you with us.â€

â€I’m not sure how much you folks really need us,†Rentell said, sliding one of the plates in front of himself. â€You’re the ones doing the hard work, day in and day out.â€

â€Even so,†the wolf girl said, laughing merrily as she passed more food around the table, â€if it weren’t for you taking such a stake in us, milord, or for Master Innswick’s assistance and interventions, we’d hardly be here celebrating like this tonight.â€

Rentell bowed his head, then, accepting the girl’s thanks. â€Well, then here’s to many more seasons like this one,†he said, before taking a nice hearty bite from his plate. What better way to show respect to a place that serves food, really, Florian figured.

Yes, the people of Honeybrush really did love their Rentell. They might have respected Florian, sure, but however highly the townsfolk might have thought of him, it wasn’t the same as what they all felt for Rentell. That much was obvious. The fox had charm and wit and the ability to win people over with his charisma.

One of those people, it would seem, was Florian himself, and he wished to the powers that he controlled that he could bespell himself out of his silly infatuation.

It was just after midnight by the time that Florian finally returned home. The evening spent with Rentell, their friends, and the other townsfolk had been certainly been enjoyable, but now that he was by himself again, the coyote felt somewhat bitter. He almost wished that he hadn’t attended the festivities at all.

So many times, he’d come close to blurting out something to the fox that he would have regretted. As much as it was a trifling way to use his powers, Florian had used the aid of magic to ensure that he didn’t ever get too drunk, but in retrospect, he wondered if that would have been such a bad thing. Would there still have been as much shame to bear, if he could just blame some offhand comment on an excess of alcohol?

No. It still would have been an awful embarrassment. Florian still would have lost face, his friendship with Rentell would likely have been ruinedâ€"it would have been a disaster, and so the coyote wagered that he’d made the right decision after all, leaning on the side of caution.

Sulking and sullen, Florian opened his front door and walked on inside. Standing there in the darkness, he snapped his fingers, and at once, the room was flooded with light, showing that the chamber was as clean and tidy as if it had never been touched, and there, standing in the corner, silent and unmoving, was Vico. The fox turned his head toward Florian, in case his master had a new command for him.

Florian removed his mantle and just dropped it on the floor. He trudged over to his workbench, sat down, and rested his face in his hands. Why did he have to put up with his silly infatuation? Surely, there were better things that a wizard should be occupying his mind with!

It was so frustrating to have a gift that most people could only dream of having, and yet still have it all be so useless when it really mattered. Florian was still just a reclusive, peculiar man who lived alone and spent his days absorbed in unfathomable arcane practices. No amount of fancy sorcery could win the eye and affections of a man like Rentellâ€"unless, of course, one were to speak of sorcery specifically for that effect. Not only was that expressly forbidden by Magicians’ Character, though, but also, Florian could never do such a thing. Besides being strictly unethical, it wouldn’t fulfill that need that the coyote had: to have Rentell want him as much as he wanted Rentell.

â€Why do I keep doing this to myself?†Florian mumbled, gripping at the fur between his ears, wanting to just start pulling it out. He growled to himself in frustration, and then let his forehead fall against the table with a thud.

In the ensuing silence, all Florian could hear was the sound of Vico’s concealed clockwork heart working away as the fox just stood there. The coyote lifted his head up and looked back at his creation, who again merely stared back with empty eyes, awaiting whatever it was that the wizard had to say.

â€Vico,†Florian said, sitting upright again. â€Come over here.â€

Vico responded without so much as a nod. He walked slowly, with no sense of urgency, but the relaxedness of his gait made him seem more real as he approached the coyote. He came to a stop by the bench, and then looked down into Florian’s eyes. His blank expression was almost like that of a hopeful pet, to Florian’s imagination.

The coyote stood up from the bench. â€Turn your head around,†he said. â€Let me look at you.†Vico then leaned his head back and took his time, turning first one cheek to Florian, and then the other. It was a lazy motion that looked calculated because it wasn’t rushed, and that made it seem almost sensual. If only Florian could someday be so lucky as to have Rentell respond to his tender words in the same way.

â€My fox,†Florian said, reattaining Vico’s attention. â€Let me kiss you.†The coyote wasn’t sure, at first, how the homunculus would respond to such a directive, but to his great surprise, the fox angled his muzzle forward ever so slightly, as if in anticipation. That cue was all it took for Florian to overcome whatever remnants of reluctance still clung to him.

The image of Rentell’s face filled Florian’s mind as the coyote pressed his lips to Vico’s. It was that same handsome muzzle that the magician pictured as he reached up to stroke his creation’s face, before he pressed the kiss deeper, feeling minimal resistance as he did so. Florian’s heart was racing, overcoming his shame as he locked his muzzle with Vico’s.

The mock fox’s mouth was too cold to feel real, though. As much as Florian could only imagine what a real kiss with his real fox would be like, he could only suspend his disbelief so far. In the core of his mind, the coyote focused his thoughts and wiggled the fingers on his right hand; without being able to speak words, he would have to draw on some extra power in order for his spell to work, but he knew that if he broke the kiss, he’d never muster up the will to do it again. A tingling started in his hand, spiraled its way up his arm, climbed up through his throat, and spilled its way from his own mouth into Vico’s, causing the homunculus’ muzzle to flush up with warmth.

It wasn’t a perfect balance, but it would do. Florian took both hands and grabbed Vico by the shoulders, hungrily working his tongue around in the fox’s mouth, all the while attempting to imagine what Rentell’s eager whimpering would sound like as he submitted to the older coyote’s advances. Surely, the young nobleman would feel initial pangs of shame and uncertainty before he ultimately gave in to desire, confessing his mutual attraction to Florian by merely returning the heatedness of that passionate kiss.

But Vico, being the faultless servant that he was, could not fulfill that role, and with that all-too-quick realization, Florian’s fantasy was broken. The coyote pulled away from the fox, wiping his paw at his damp muzzle. What had he been thinking? Was he really so desperate that he’d steal even fake affection from a fake fox? Had a wizard of the realm ever sunk so low?

â€Hang my mantle up,†Florian said without looking at Vico. As the homunculus walked off toward the front door, the coyote headed for his bed, canceling out the room’s magical light with a dismissive wave of his paw. It was definitely past the time for sleep.

An Excerpt from â€_A Layperson’s Guide to the Magicians’ Legal Codex,†by Simon Canopus Artyle_

In accordance with the Magicians’ Charter, any wizard of the realm who misuses his talents in such a way as to bring harm to his fellow man is to be first stripped of his powers, and then, sentenced further in a manner befitting the nature of the transgression committed.

The punishment itself is first proposed by the barrister handling the case, though it is ultimately the Ducal Wizard who assigns the final sentence. Accordingly, the nature of the punishment given can vary greatly from case to case, and also to an extent by the wizard presiding, and there are only a few cases that are so clear-cut as to carry a standard penalty: murder, for instance, carries an obvious penalty of death, but due to the nature of magical crimes in general (being both atypical and uncommon), most cases require careful deliberation in order to ensure that the resulting punishment is both fitting and fair.

â€I’m very glad that you were able to make it, Florian. I realize that this is short notice.â€

Rentell sat across the table from Florian as the two took lunch in the fox’s private chambers within the Count’s manor. The trappings of the room were fancier than anything that Rentell ever allowed himself to wear in public when he was among the townsfolk, but he was still dressed subtly as he entertained his guest.

â€Oh, not at all,†Florian replied, waiting for Rentell to take a first bite before he dared to. â€Nothing I was doing was anything that couldn’t be put aside for the afternoon.†He wanted to add something about being thankful for the invite rescuing him from his tedium, but in the aftermath of his shameful behavior after the celebration a few nights previous, he decided against it.

Rentell started munching away at his first course, and Florian took his cue to join in. â€I’m also glad for the company,†the fox said, mouth still partially full. â€We haven’t gotten to spend a lot of time together, lately.â€

â€Well, you’ve been busy,†Florian said, before pausing to take a sip of wine. â€I heard that the festival itself went over extremely well. I’m sorry that I had to miss it.â€

The fox chuckled and shook his head. â€I’m more just a figurehead, there, than anything else. It’s the farmers and the shopkeepers and everyone else who do all the hard work.†He, too, took a moment to wash his food down with a sip of wine. â€It was a shame that you had to miss it, though.â€

â€Perhaps next year,†Florian said with a nod. He really didn’t know what a man like him would do at a festival like that. In all likelihood, some of the more brash townsfolk would try to conscript him into showing off measly little cantrips like he were a clown and not a registered magician.

Rentell allowed them both to get a few more mouthfuls down before he spoke again. â€Speaking of company, though, I should probably get to the matter that I’ve called you here to discuss.â€

The coyote’s ears pricked. Of course Rentell had wanted to talk about something specific, if he’d invited Florian to the manor, but in his excitement, the magician hadn’t given that a whole lot of thought until just now. â€Certainly,†he replied, dabbing his mouth with his napkin. â€Go right ahead.â€

â€Mmm,†Rentell murmured, draining the rest of his wine. â€Well, what you were saying just now, about being able to set your work aside,†he said, refilling his cup. â€Is that going to remain true in the near future?â€

â€I... suppose that it might,†Florian replied, confused. â€Does the Count need me for some reason?â€

Rentell chuckled. â€Actually, I think I need you, Florian,†he said. â€I’ve got to go... go on a bit of a journey, and I’d rather not have to drag a contingent of soldiers along with me, if I can at all avoid it.â€

The coyote’s ears, already on end, were burning with a blush that he hoped Rentell couldn’t see. â€A journey? Where to?†Best to seem as unsuspicious as possible.

â€I’d rather not say that until I know whether you can commit to going on not,†Rentell said, his manner quickly shifting into a more serious mode. â€I know that I can trust you enough with secrets, Florian, but I also don’t want to take unnecessary risks, you know?â€

â€Yes, of course,†Florian responded. Did Rentell really place such trust in him? Were the two really that close? â€I’ll at least need to know when this journey would be,†he said, keeping his voice disconnected from emotion, â€and for how long we’d be gone.â€

Rentell took a sip from his fresh glass, and then nodded. â€We would leave a week from today, and hopefully, we’d only be gone for five weeks, at the most.†He paused for a moment, and then asked, â€Is that something you’d be able to do?â€

If Florian wanted to back out of the offer, it would have been beyond simple. Rentell wouldn’t know nearly enough about sorcery or alchemy to be able to discern truth from lie if Florian were to invent a reason why he couldn’t go. â€I don’t see why I wouldn’t be able to go,†was his reply, though, and he searched deep into the nobleman’s eyes for any hints at what motive might lurk behind them.

â€Excellent!†Rentell said. â€Really, I hate to make such a big deal of it, because it’s really nothing so dire.†The fox got theatrically quiet for a moment. â€More than anything, I just don’t want to draw too much attention to my departure.â€

â€You are planning on coming back, I hope!†Florian responded, voice peaking louder than he’d wanted it to.

Again, Rentell just laughed, looking so carefree as he did so. â€That’s what I need you for, Florian!†he said. â€But perhaps I’d better explain more, before your fur turns complete gray on me.â€

The fox cleared his throat, drank down some more wine, and crossed his hands in front of him. â€I need to go to Ephaia,†he said. â€Now, before you say anything, I want to point out that this is very much official business, and it’s going down in the books as such.â€

Florian raised an eyebrow. â€But we’re on friendly terms with Ephaia,†he said. â€Why all the secrecy behind going?â€

â€It’s not so much that my trip itself is a secret,†Rentell explained. â€I just don’t want my departure to draw too much attention.â€

â€I’m afraid I still don’t quite understand,†Florian said. It wasn’t like Rentell to dance around a subject quite this much; he was playfulâ€"he’d remained a full-on whippersnapper until just a few years agoâ€"but he tended to be more up front when it came to affairs like this.

â€There are some mercantile contracts that need to be settled,†Rentell said. â€And again, this is an official matter, and I don’t want anyone to be suspicious of that. However, my father had to… make certain promises to certain people in order to have certain matters properly affected at the ducal council, and let’s just say that it’s going to be necessary to have… a required amount of monies on hand before too long.â€

Aha. So, that was the catch. Rentell was a daring and cocksure young man, but he wasn’t a fool, after all. â€So, you need some extra escort for your way back, in case the wrong people catch wind of things,†Florian said.

Rentell flashed his teeth in an apprehensive smile. â€Actually, it’s a bit more tricky than that, to tell the truth,†he said, taking a few moments to readjust the cuffs of his shirt. â€Given the, ah, urgency with which we need to get to Ephaia and back with said requisite monies, I’m afraid I’m going to have to take something of a shortcut.â€

â€You meanâ€"â€

â€Yes,†Rentell said, nodding. â€We’re going to have to cut through Gundry.†He held up a paw, warding off any shock or outburst that Florian might have. â€Now, it should only be for about five days for each leg of the journey that we’ll be crossing their territory, but we both know that my being found by the Gundrites would be… most unfortunate.â€

It wasn’t the safest course of action, Florian had to admit, but cutting through Gundry would save a few weeks in Rentell’s getting to Ephaia and back, and he had to assume that the fox had weighed the risks versus other options if he had come to this conclusion. â€If you’re certain that it’s the only way…†the coyote said.

â€Florian,†Rentell said, leaning forward a ways. â€I need you to keep me safe.†The fox then reached out and touched the top of Florian’s hand. â€And I know that you can. I wouldn’t ask if I thought that this would be too dangerous for you.

Florian stared down at Rentell’s hand atop his own, too shocked at the touch to even pull away on fearful reflex. He looked back into the fox’s eyes, clenched his jaw, and nodded. â€No. I’m certain you’re right,†he said. â€I’m honored to be of assistance to you and your family.â€

â€Thank you, Florian,†Rentell said, sitting back in his chair. â€That puts my mind at so much ease.†The fox then picked up his fork and his wine cup once more. â€Now, enough with the grim talk,†he said with another smile. â€There’s still plenty more food to get through.â€

The flask exploded in a burst of blue smoke, sending shards of glass around the room that Florian managed to avoid solely due to luck. Damn! That was the second time that evening that he’d managed to brutally botch his mineral transmutation! Over six hoursâ€"and a week’s working wage worth of materialsâ€"all wasted!

All of it had gone to waste because Florian couldn’t shed his distractions. He couldn’t focus on the work he ought to have been doing, because he couldn’t stop thinking about the honest and plaintive look in Rentell’s eyes as the fox had asked him along on his mission.

The touching of hands that Florian had so desperately wanted to construe as something intimate was, he knew deep down, really nothing more than a sign of friendly request. But the sheer fact that Rentell was placing such trust and confidence in him! It was distracting beyond belief, and knowing that he’d be spending weeks alone with the fox wasn’t helping him shake his hopes away.

He was so angry with himself. He huffed away from his workbench, knowing full well that any further attempts at experimenting that evening would result in just as much wastefulness as his first two. â€Vico!†he snapped, distancing himself from the mess he’d made. â€Clean this up for me!â€

Vico, who had been cleaning some of the glassware that Florian had been using in his first failed experiment, set his work aside and went to answer his new call. The homunculus first surveyed the damage to the wizard’s workspace, and then trundled over to the broom closet.

Florian sank into one of his chairs and sighed. Was he doomed to repeat his bumbling for the rest of the week until he and Rentell finally left together on their journey? He was liable to blow up his house before the day finally rolled around! The last thing that the town of Honeybrush needed was a magician who couldn’t keep his focus on controlling the great powers at his command.

What if it were all true, though? What if Florian wasn’t misinterpreting things and all, and Rentell really did return the wizard’s interest? Could that be so farfetched? Certainly, even the third son of the Count of Dunnis could rationalize bringing elite guards along with him for a journey that was as crucial as Rentell had said it was. Was there any real reason that he’d need Florian along instead of someone else?

In the name of all decency, why did his mind have to keep going back to that? Why was he tormenting himself by clinging to those thin, unrealistic hopes? He could rationalize and rationalize to his heart’s content, and it still wouldn’t change the fact that, in the end, having something like that with Lord Rentell was impossible, regardless of how either of them felt.

Perhaps, though, while they were away, alone together, a tryst wouldn’t be out of the question.

At once, Florian regretted even entertaining the thought. It was too late, though: he could feel his desire and arousal beginning to stir, and his mind had walked down that path so often by now that it was achingly familiar. No, Florian wasn’t going to get anything done until he could rid himself of these accursed base urges of his, which went beyond simply attempting to sate himself in private.

The coyote’s dutiful little house-fox went about his cleanup duties, oblivious to the thoughts in his master’s mind. He was nothing more than a dumb creation, who could no sooner feel shame than he could feel loveâ€"in essence, he was a non-entity, conveniently shaped in the visage of a fox.

â€Vico,†Florian said, voice warbling as he got his words out. â€You can stop cleaning, now. Please come here.†He rarely ever affixed words like please to his commands when he spoke to Vico, lately, but here, in his desire to find some common ground with something at least nominally vulpine, the wizard felt compelled to add the touch of politeness.

Vico obeyed, setting aside his cleaning brush before walking up to Florian. The coyote stood to meet him, and looked over his body. Yes, so long as he could pretend, Vico would do just fine. His proportions weren’t all that dissimilar from Rentell’s, and whatever difference there was… well, it wasn’t as if Florian were that intimately familiar with the curves of Rentell’s body.

â€Take off your clothes for me,†the coyote said, stepping around the fox, who soon began to silently strip himself of his already meager garb. Florian had never seen Vico out of clothing since he’d activated the homunculus years back, cleaning and mending those clothes with magic as such became necessary. Now, watching the fox’s clumsy motions as he disrobed, the magician did truly feel like he was bearing witness to something that he shouldn’tâ€"allowing him to more readily slip into the mindset of imagining his noble companion doing the same.

Florian had made his way behind Vico before the fox could get his trousers off, so that by not seeing the lack of anatomical correctness, he would not break the illusion. With the fox out of clothing, the coyote slipped in against his back and wrapped his arms around the narrow vulpine chest.

â€I need you to keep me safe.†Rentell’s words from the day’s lunch echoed in Florian’s mind as the coyote started to rub up and down the fur on Vico’s torso. Yes, Florian could keep young Rentell safe. He could be the one to shelter the fox from the harsh realities of the world, protecting him with the virtues of age, experience, and mystical wisdom.

The coyote pressed his snout down at the back of Vico’s ear, and took a breath in through his nose. The fur there was dry, though, with no real smell of its own. He tried to envision what Rentell’s scent would be like, wrapped up like this in the older wizard’s arms, but imagination failed him; having never been able to share such close moments with Rentellâ€"or any other fox, for that matterâ€"and so his mind couldn’t conjure up anything to compensate.

Inspiration struck Florian in that moment. Of course! Why would his imagination need to conjure up anything at all, when he could do so all the better? He closed his eyes, and murmured an incomprehensible mantra to himself. Within moments, the scent of fox, simple and masculine, was filling his nostrils. The coyote let out a dull sigh, feeling his sheath stir as he pulled the fox in his arms back against his front. He let Vico’s tail brush back and forth over his legs, and began to nibble at the rim of the ear he was pressed into.

Vico didn’t resist. Nor would Rentell, by this point. Florian pressed himself firmly against the fox’s backside, getting more worked up by the moment. He continued to stroke Vico’s chest, ruffling through the fur there, feeling its bristly texture against his fingers. â€Just hold still,†he whispered, and of course, Vico obeyed, just as his fox should. The coyote’s other hand went down to his belt, trying to unfasten it with as little fumbling as possible. After a few moments, though, he dismissed his attempt, instead focusing his mental energies on letting the magic work for him, allowing him to caress the fox with both paws as his breeches were pulled free of his legs by forces unseen.

With his full sheath now in direct contact with the fox’s fur, Florian let out a growl of pleasure. Here, he would take his time, letting Rentell know, without question, that he intended to have his way with the fox, but he would goad him, just so, with firm presses near the base of his tail. Vico remained limp and still, moving as Florian’s arms directed him to move, working with silent obedience. â€Press back against me,†he muttered into the fox’s ear, and without any delay, he felt the fox’s backside grinding against his crotch. â€I need you, Florian.†Again, Rentell’s words from earlier filled in where Vico himself couldn’t, and everything was as it should be.

The coyote’s member began to slip free, the damp tip brushing against the fur of the fox’s rear end. As he went to maneuver it underneath that fluffy red tail, however, Florian remembered that Vico was ill-equipped in that regard. Here, unfortunately, the coyote’s imaginary dalliance would have to come to an end. Were it truly Rentell, he would not have wasted another moment before shoving the fox down onto his hands and knees, moaning in delight as he sank himself into his lordship’s willing rear. He closed his eyes and took another breath of the pervading essence of fox, letting himself hear Rentell cry and whine his name as he gave himself up.

Florian was fully erect now, his shaft nestled in between Vico’s thighs, riding against the fuzzy cleft of his rump. Without having that all-important final bit to make his fantasy real, though, he knew that he risked losing whatever illusion he hoped to pull over his own eyes. He took a few moments to think, frantically, hearing nothing but the sound of his own ragged breath as his mind looked for answers, and it was within that sound that his answer came.

â€Follow me,†he told Vico, releasing his hold from around the fox’s back. He headed for his bed, shedding the clothing from his upper body as he went, hearing soft footsteps behind him. Then, the coyote turned around, sat down on the edge of his bed, and looked up into the fox’s face.

As he gazed into Vico’s dim eyes, though, Florian knew that he couldn’t bear to hear himself say the words he would need to in order to give the homunculus its next order. Instead, the coyote took his right hand and crossed his middle finger back behind his index finger, and then rotated his wrist in a clockwise circle three times. He looked Vico right in the eyes, and as he finished tracing the mystical sigil in the air with his fingers, he felt raw power rushing through himself, as if he’d opened some sort of magical sluice gate: he’d established a direct mental link with Vico, now, and while it would drain a bit of magical essence, it would be worth it.

Following with the suggestion in Florian’s mind, Vico got onto his knees in front of the coyote’s bed. Here, Florian would need no such crude words to deal with Rentell: the fox would know exactly what it was that the coyote wanted, and he’d be eager to give it. He’d lean forwardâ€"yes, just as Vico was now leaning forwardâ€"and nuzzle in against the inside of his thigh.

He’d lick, then, brushing his tongue just at the underside of Florian’s tense, aching shaft. Too cold! Florian had forgotten to warm the fox’s mouth, and so he quickly rectified that, giving no conscious thought to his muttering so that he could focus on keeping his link with the fox steady. Heat blossomed out from the fox’s tongue, then, sending a shiver up along Florian’s spine that ended in an airy gasp when it reached his throat.

Finally, he had Vico draw his snout up into position, and he looked down into the fox’s face. There, he gazed into those eyes, and saw nothing but that shallow emptiness that was all the soulless creation had to offer. No! This was wrong! This would not do at all! His Rentell would be gazing up at him with adoration, a hint of questioning, and an eagerness that was masked behind hesitation. He would not look anything like this… this automaton!

Disgust gripped at the boundaries of Florian’s mind, and he severed his link to the fake fox, feeling the channel of power slam shut like a door in the wind. Was he really doing this? Was he really allowing himself to manipulate his homunculusâ€"an assistant he’d created for housecleaning and other choresâ€"in order to satisfy the unwholesome, shameful urges that he should have been trying to exorcise from his mind completely?

The coyote flung himself face-first down into his pillows, choking on a rough sob. Why had he been reduced to this? Why was something so foolish proving to be so difficult for him to deal with?

He looked up from his pillows, then, and saw Vico kneeling beside the bed, right where he’d left him. The fox would stay there, too, forever waiting, until his master dismissed him, because that was simply what a homunculus would do. It wasn’t a real, living creature. It was just a thing, a thing, and no matter how real it might look, it was never going to be Rentell.

It was, however, at least shaped like a fox, it looked like a fox, and with the assistance of magic, it at least smelled like a fox. â€Vico,†Florian said, shifting himself over as he drew his covers up. â€Lie here next to me, and go to sleep.â€

The fox answered by dragging himself up into bed, and then, it rolled onto its side, facing away from Florian so that the coyote could drape his arm over it and nestle against its back as it went still for the night.

Florian spent as much time as possible out of the house, for the next few days. He made do with reading from his books in various quiet spots around town, and he told the people who asked that he was simply looking for a change in scenery. He could hardly bring himself to admit to anyone that he was too ashamed to even stay in the presence of his mindless clockwork vulpine servant.

It was still a few days before he was due to depart for Ephaia with Rentell, and in the meantime, he hadn’t seen the fox at all. That wasn’t unusual, though; especially with word from the ducal council on its way, any nobleman would be busy, even one of such a low station. Besides, it wasn’t as if Rentell owed any special loyalty to Florian in particular.

Rather than brood, though, Florian was determined to at least put up the appearance of having a good time. That would bring fewer questions, for one. He had taken to eating his meals at the Grass and Moonlight, where he could be seen in public, but where few would be so bold as to actually take a seat with the esteemed Master Innswick without an invite.

It was precisely because of that fact that Florian was so surprised when the wolf wench from the night of the festival took a seat across from him as he was in the midst of eating his lunch.

â€Oh, Master Innswick!†she said, obviously trying (but failing) to keep her excitement hushed. â€Have you heard the latest news?â€

â€News?†Florian replied. â€No, I don’t think that I have.†In truth, he hadn’t heard anything, unless word of Rentell’s upcoming journey had leaked somehow.

The young wolf looked like she was about to burst, brimming full of gossip as she was. â€Oh, it’s downright startling!†she said, giggling in a way that would have been considered inappropriate for a girl half her age. â€I’m surprised no one’s told you about it, of all people!â€

Florian didn’t know whether to be intrigued or frightened. Whatever manner of rumors the lass was intent on spreading, it must have been something strange indeed if she saw it â€fit†to share it with Honeybrush’s own Master Innswick. â€I haven’t heard a thing, honestly,†the coyote responded, attempting to keep some semblance of propriety to conversation.

â€It’s about Lord Rentell!†the wolf blurted, clasping her paws over her face, as if it would somehow cancel out what she’d just said. Then, in more hushed tones (which did little good, now, since more than a few heads had turned), she said, â€The tavernkeep caught him in bed last night with his son! Imagine it! Naked and all!â€

But Florian was too dumbstruck by the words to imagine anything at all. His mind went as blank as his eyes went wide, and he dropped his fork onto the floor. He was dimly aware that the wolf girl was prattling on about further details of the torrid rumor, but he was no longer listening. Rentell and the tavern owner’s son, caught in bed together? What sort of cruel twist of fate was that?

The coyote had stood up without realizing it, already making his way towards the door. â€Master Innswick?†the wolf called after him. â€Is something wrong? Master Innswick!†He just kept walking, though, stumbling out onto the street, even as he faintly registered the girl shouting, â€You left your big, heavy book on your table!â€

He didn’t care, though? How could he care? Rentell Centrène, actually sharing another man’s bed, and yet… with some plain, common lad? How had Florian’s friendship with Rentell gone on for so long, and yet not so much as a single inkling of such desires had ever crossed the coyote’s notice?

Moreover, what would drive someone as esteemed as Lord Rentell to choose a mere commoner as his lover? Even if it were simply a matter of sharing a bed for physical desire’s sake, what was it that Florian lacked? He certainly wasn’t too oldâ€"the infuriating urges of his own body would attest to that just fine!

Florian ambled about the streets with no real direction. His mind was slowly piecing things together, bit by bit. If Rentell had been in town last night, would he still be here, or would he have already returned to his manor? Perhaps he’d have holed himself up in the hostelry, waiting until cover over night before sneaking out of town, hoping to avoid whatever shame and accusations might come his way.

Perhaps, then, Florian could go and comfort him. He might be able to convince his brash, foolish, yet well-intentioned noble friend that the people of Honeybrush would always love him just the same, and that far worse things could happen to him. Surely, Florian could convince him that much. The two of them shared trust. They shared confidence.

The coyote dragged his slouching form toward the hostelry, then, stumbling from side to side as if he were dizzy. His blood felt like it was boiling, and yet all he could think of was finding Rentell so that he could talk things out and make things right.

From around the corner of the building came the ostler with a familiar-looking reptilian steed: that was Rentell’s, all right! Florian broke into something of a jog, and he nearly bowled one of the patrons over as he approached the entrance. The coyote’s eyes had to adjust, now that he was shielded from the midday sun by the building, and only once they’d refocused did he realize that he was practically standing on top of Rentell himself.

â€Florian!†the fox yelped, once he, too, came to the delayed realization of who he was looking at. â€What are you doing here?â€

The poor fox sounded so nervous. Florian had arrived just in time. â€I need you to come with me, Rentell,†he said, laying both hands on his friend’s shoulders. â€There’s something very important that you and I have to talk about.â€

Rentell quickly shook his head. â€I’m sorry, Florian, I really am. It’s a very bad time right now, though, and I’ve got to get back to my father’s manor.†He tried to duck away, but the coyote held on.

â€No, Rentell,†Florian said firmly. â€I need you to come with me.†As he said those words, he tried to look through Rentell’s eyes, fixating on what might lie behind them. The fox went limp for a moment, temporarily hypnotized by the coyote’s stare, giving the wizard just enough time to work the prestidigitation of his right hand.

With that, Rentell fell under Florian’s control. â€Come with me,†the coyote repeated, turning on the spot and marching back towards his house. He heard Rentell falling into step behind him, and, satisfied in that knowledge, said nothing more as he led the fox along.

None of the townsfolk attempted to interrupt the pair as they walked. If Lord Rentell and Master Innswick had mutual business together, it had to be of great import, and it wasn’t their place to stick their muzzles where they didn’t belong. Florian was intent, now, and even if anyone had tried to stop him, he would have kept right on walking as if he’d heard nothing.

Finally, Florian made it back to his dwelling, and led Rentell on inside, closing the door behind him with a satisfying slam. He turned right back around and gripped the fox by the upper arms, pulling him into a deep, open-mouthed kiss.

Kiss me back. Crave me, Florian thought to Rentell. At once, the fox was spurred to action, sucking hungrily on the coyote’s tongue, meeting the kiss with unbridled passion, like Florian had always known he could. That slender vulpine muzzle felt so delicate against Florian’s own, and his lips and tongue were both so soft, only fitting for such a prime example of noble blood.

Florian then willed Rentell’s paws into motion, making the fox caress his back and shoulders, working his dainty fingers against the coyote’s more solid frame. The air was thick with mingling canid scents, and this time, it was not due to simple magical trickery on Florian’s part, but rather, due to the two men clinging to one another, sharing in their heated moment of lust.

The coyote pulled his muzzle away from the fox’s, keeping close to his face, and murmured, â€Give yourself to me, Rentell. Love me as your one and only.†With that, the fox’s hands rubbed progressively lower, tracing over the muscles of Florian’s body, until one of his paws grabbed over the coyote’s crotch, eliciting a dull, throaty moan. That touch was so lovely, and his heavy sheath felt so good when caged between those slim, practiced fingers.

Once more, Florian locked his muzzle with Rentell’s, mashing his own hand between the fox’s legs, feeling a bit of swelling there, as well. He forced the fox to moan back into his mouth, by using his mind and his hand, steadily working the eager-to-please nobleman to erection within his fancy trousers. Finally, he knew what it was like to have the handsome young fox at his mercy, willing and excited and brimming with fervent lust.

With a hungry snarl, Florian tore away from the kiss, and gazed into Rentell’s face. â€Tell me that you love me, Rentell,†he commanded, stroking the fox on the cheek with the rough tips of his fingers.

â€I love you, Florian,†Rentell gasped, but in that face, reflecting in those eyes, Florian saw nothing but the same clear, empty window into a soulless, hollow mind that he saw when he looked into the eyes of Vico.

Florian felt his will and resolve get pushed to the limits. This shouldn’t be happening! Rentell should be gazing back at him with loving, happy eyesâ€"happy to be surrendering his body and soul in such a complete, consummate act! The coyote tried to will Rentell’s expression into something that would show that heartfelt desire, but try as he might, those eyes remained empty, looking back as if Florian weren’t really there.

â€Love me!†Florian cried, shaking the fox by the hips and shoulders. The fox tried to move in for another kiss, and continued to fondle the coyote’s trapped erection, but nothing changed in his eyes. The coyote choked out tears of rage, anguish, and frustration, and shoved Rentell back against the door, but the fox didn’t so much as flinch before he went after the coyote once more, intent on showing his love in whatever artificial way he could.

Florian didn’t even register the second pair of footsteps, panicked as he was, and he was completely caught off guard as a fist caught him in the side of the face, claws raking across his cheek as he fell to the floor.

The magical buzz in the air died down, and the spell between Florian and Rentell was broken. The coyote looked up, clapping a paw over his bloody cheek, and saw Vico standing there, arm still outstretched from when he’d struck his master. His muzzle was pointed down toward the coyote, and while his lips were curled into something of a scowl, he still had those same haunting, emotionless eyes.

â€Stop looking at me like that!†Florian shouted, but Vico did nothingâ€"could do nothingâ€"to obey. Rentell was slumped against the door, clutching his head, looking about ready to vomit, but Florian couldn’t take his eyes off of the other fox that had just attacked him, without provocation, without reason, without a direct order.

â€Stop looking at me like that!†Florian screamed, thrusting his hand out towards Vico, creating a shockwave of air that echoed throughout the house, knocking the homunculus onto its back. It didn’t get up again.

Meanwhile, Rentell had fallen to the floor as well, collapsed against Florian’s door. The fox coughed and sputtered, shaking his head as he tried to drag himself up into a sitting position, looking as if someone had just struck him over the head. His eyes finally found Florian, sitting there as he was in a heap, and this time, pain and confusion were the only things to be found on the fox’s face. â€Florian?†he gasped. â€What… what did you do to me?â€

Florian fell onto his side on the floor, burying his face into his palms as he burst into heavy, aching sobs.

The door creaked open, letting a stream of light into the dark dungeon cell. Florian didn’t need to see the familiar silhouette against the doorway to know who it was.

â€The Ducal Wizard has arrived,†Rentell announced. â€They’ll be sending guardsmen down to fetch you in a few minutes, but… I thought I’d come to see you, first.â€

Florian looked up, his eyes slowly adjusting to the new lighting until he could make out the features on the fox’s face. He looked older today than he’d ever looked before. What truly twisted at the coyote’s insides, though, was that the fox didn’t look angry. He just looked disappointed.

â€Why, Florian?†Rentell asked, stepping up to the coyote, chained to the wall as he was. â€Why did you do it?†Now, he didn’t even look disappointed. He just looked blank, as if he honestly didn’t know what kind of answer Florian would give him.

â€I…†But that was all Florian could muster. Nothing he said to Rentell would matter. No answer could ever truly serve as a reason. â€I just… wanted you,†he admitted, too exhausted to even sigh in spite of himself.

Rentell brought a hand up to Florian’s cheek for a tender little touch. â€Did it ever occur to you to just… say so?†the fox asked. â€That maybe… you wouldn’t have needed to resort to spells or trickery?â€

Hearing those words was a greater hurt to Florian than his upcoming punishment could ever hope to be.

â€Before you go,†Florian choked out, â€could I… could I kiss you just once?†He locked his eyes with Rentell, silent there in the dark, and waited.

A few moments passed, but finally, Rentell said, â€No, Florian. I’ve got to go, now. The Ducal Wizard will be ready for you, by now.†With that, Rentell turned and left, leaving the coyote alone in his cell.

Minutes later, the guards did come, unshackling Florian from the wall in order to lead him up into the Count’s audience chamber, where his sentence would be carried out.

In accordance with the Magicians’ Charter, any wizard of the realm who had misused his talents in such a way that he had brought harm to his fellow man was to be first stripped of his powers and then sentenced further in a manner befitting the nature of the transgression committed; in Florian’s case, for having unjustly and improperly forced his will upon the mind of another living, thinking creature, his old life would be forfeit and he would have his memories replaced such that his new life would find him someplace mundane, banal, and unremarkable, where he would live out the remainder of his days in blissful ignorance of the heights from which he had fallen.

In a very real way, it was more of a kindness than anything else. In this way, if nothing else, Florian Innswick could at least have the solace of knowing that, very soon, he would never be troubled by his unbecoming feelings for Rentell Centrène ever again.

An Excerpt from â€_On the History of Spellcraft, Volume II,†by Simon Canopus Artyle_

Though undoubtedly a useful tool in a magician’s practice, the homunculus’ place in the wizardly world eventually did come under question. While they had been a fixture of magicians’ workshops for so long, they had mostly gone underscrutinized once the initial philosophical matters of necromancy and dark arts had been sorted out.

It was Madeline Thorndrake of Eulegarde who first postulated that homunculi were not, as originally put forth by the initial detailing thereof, merely automatons devoid of any true essence of their own. The real nature of the clockwork heart, as any wizard of the time would certainly have attested, was that it was a wellspring of magical energy, brought forth from the metaphysical core of the cosmos itself.

Thorndrake surmised that, with the nature of life and the nature of magic irrevocably intertwined as they are, that a homunculus must beâ€"at least in some senseâ€"â€alive.†The exact nature of that sort of consciousness was not at the core of the debate, but the open acknowledgement that a living thing could feel things suddenly cast the use of homunculi in a new light.

Furthermore, extended points were quickly brought forth by other scholars in the aftermath of this movement, a key point centering around the notion that, without a wizard actively dispelling a clockwork heart, a homunculus could, at least in theory, continue to function indefinitely. If that assumption were true, then by common thinking, a homunculus was something tied to the great chain of being like any other living thing, and it was no mortal’s place to force something to exist without hope of an end to which to return.

The Magicians’ Charter was summarily amended once more, and under the new regulations, the creation and use of homunculi were unilaterally forbidden.