Lemrin: Ooh… Mal-grains. That’s a tricky enchant.
Mal-grain: Everybody hates me.
Frain: Ugh, I know. But I need something that can pierce an egoplasmic field.
Lemrin: Posageist causing trouble?
Frain: Yeah, down in Edenmire.
Lemrin: Want a hand with it?
Frain: With the geist? No, it’ll just be a bunch of possessed livestock and panicked farm hands.
Frain: And anyway, I thought you had class tomorrow?
Lemrin: Don’t remind me.
Frain: Oh dear. First years?
Lemrin: First years.
Frain: You know they’re never actually as bad as you expect them to be.
Lemrin: No.
Lemrin: Sometimes they’re worse.