"You know you are only supposed to have 1 apprentice, maybe 2, not 15." said the wizard council member "well until people stop leaving surprisingly powerful orphans at my doorstep I'll be taking care of my 17 apprentices." The council member snapped their wand "WHERE DID YOU GET 3 MORE!"

Bartriol the Brown gave a very deep sigh as the council erupted around him. The Blue who had spoken was nearly frothing at the mouth as he tried to process the situation. There were no strict rules against having so many apprentices, of course. But the older members of the council were sticklers for tradition. But really, was it Bartriol’s fault that so many magically inclined children were left abandoned in his woods? No. No it wasn’t, and he’d thank you very much for not insinuating such a thing. 

“Despite Nector’s anger, he makes a valid point Bartriol.” Navester the Green chimed in. Ever calm, ever courteous. He sat smiling over his half moon glasses as he looked Bartriol over. “We as wizards have a duty to teach the next generation of wizard kind, but surely having seventeen pupils must be taxing.” He said, ever poised and soothing. All his words got him was a flat look and several groans from the blues. 

“Well, if you don’t want me to raise such bright talents by myself, find out who keeps abandoning them.” Bartriol responded as he pushed back his chair. “Meanwhile, little Wecco requested I pick up some of that nice elven taffy on my way. And Markle has that nasty cough. Really I must be off” Several members of the council tried to stop him, but Bartiol was out the door and on the back of his pet griffon before they could blink.

True to his word, Bartriol stopped by the lovely little candy shop in elven towne and bought enough taffy to feed his little army. Then he popped into the hedge witch’s for a tonic for Markle. A quick flight had him back in his clearing. A cozy cottage was tucked into the roots of a massive tree. Windows dotted the trunk, all the way up and above the treeline. His garden was green and bright even as the chills of fall were beginning to nip about. 

Laughter filled the clearing as his apprentices practiced. Some of his older ones were practicing with their newly carved staves. Nico and Scarlet were having a mock battle while Ozmund fiddled with the gemstone on the tip of his staff.  Hecubah was spending her time grooming the countless cats that had emerged from the wood to meet her. She would certainly be a brown when she was old enough for a robe. Wickle was picking blackberries for some strange concoction they were planning. 

“Master Bartriol, Master Bartriol!” A voice called out, getting closer all the time. He turned to see Baker jogging up to him. Finally reaching eighteen, Baker had only recently been given a robe. Bartriol had practically glowed as his eldest had been deemed worthy of a grey robe. “What did the council need you for?” The boy asked. Translation: “Why did the council feel the need to summon a brown rather than just come for a visit?”. Bartriol was inclined to agree. After all, Wickle and Walker had just perfected a rather scrumptious cream tart that most of the white wizards simply adored. 

“Oh, it was nothing. The blues are getting jealous I think.” Bartriol said, a twinkle in his eye. The young man was a bit confused, but his mature facade melted just as soon as the bag of taffy hit his chest. His eyes lit up like he was a child again. Bartriol didn’t linger, instead walking up the path to his home. Tossing bags of taffy left and right to be caught or fumbled by his gaggle of trouble makers. 

The inside of his cottage was just as chaotic. Mice and hedgehogs were ferrying items and ingredients from the pantry and into the kitchen. In all corners his children shrieked, played, and practiced. Wecco popped into existence with a loud crack. Her eyes were wide as dinner plates. Bartriol laughed, and complimented her on her sudden apparition, before dropping a bag of taffy in her waiting hands. She hugged him round the waist and with another loud crack was gone. 

Taffy was handed off to Bailey, Shiphand, Byrd, Terrycloth, Winona, and Lumps as he passed them by. Some of his children' s names were less than fortunate, but until they decided to change them there was nothing to be done. His children gave choruses of thanks as he smiled and commented on their studies. He ascended the stairs and made his way to the sick room, where little Markle and Westron were resting. 

“Hullo master Bartriol.” Markle said, coughing into his hand. Squella, the second eldest, and only one of his apprentices who was not of human birth, hopped onto the desk and chirped a hello. She often volunteered her time watching over her sick siblings. Bartriol was certain she would end up in a green robe before the year was out. The little borrower squeaked in pure joy at the huge bag of taffy that Bartriol sat beside her. Westron lay in bed, struggling to keep a human form. The poor lad had flesh magic, and Bartiol was still searching for a way to help him control it. 

“And how are we all doing today?” Bartriol asked, pulling out the cough syrup he’d picked up and coaxing Markle to drink some of the bitter sweet concoction. As the trio began to open up about their day. The wizard rubbed soothing circles in Westron's aching back as they talked and enjoyed their taffy. Yes the blues could kick up a fuss and complain, but really where else would the children go? It seemed to Bartriol that the blue wizards were simply jealous they hadn’t produced a single non-blue wizard in years.

While a lowly brown had produced a grey, and was well on the way to making a great splash with the rest of his apprentices. Really though, even if they hadn’t a single lick of talent for wizardry, he would still bring them in from the cold all the same. Wickle and Walker would surely be hedge witches one day with how they cooked and baked. As the pair of sicklings tired themselves out, Bartriol excused himself from Squella’s company to take a walk through the woods. It had been a good few months since Markle and Westron had come to him. It would probably be smart to check the edges of the wood just in case another little one had been left behind. 

After all, if people were going to leave surprisingly powerful orphans all alone in his woods, he might as well take care of them. Blues be damned.