The Arcanist

Before the events of the past few weeks, Willem had always enjoyed taverns. They were a place for him to get in touch with the common folk, drink, and, as the night went on, tell stories of his past accomplishments. The tavern that faced him now seemed less inviting than it had been five moons ago. It was surrounded by the desolate wastes of what used to be farmland but now seemed more like desert. Willem could tell that the Bacchae had been here. They were once-people that acted like locusts, drinking and eating their way through the land with hedonistic pleasure. Bacchae were not always a constant threat to these lands, but with the chaos and confusion that followed the zombie plagues, many villagers ended up homeless and lost. Villagers that joined the Bacchae had a much better chance of surviving out in the wilderness. Bacchae were not nearly as plentiful as the undead, but they had a more lasting effect on the land. “At least zombies are kind enough to leave mutton,” Willem thought to himself as he swung open the tavern door. There probably wasn't any food here, but it was worth checking to see if there was anything else of use in this run-down tavern.
As soon as he entered the tavern, the hair on the back of his neck stood up as he caught the gaze of a pale woman behind the bar. Staring into her eyes was like staring into oblivion. He felt as she did: cold, empty, without purpose or reason. His shoulders slumped down and the weight of purpose was lifted from his eyes.
“Who are you?” She asked.
“I'm a wizard,” he replied effortlessly.
“Well, that sounds quite interesting.” she said as she walked around the bar towards him. “Sit,” she said, gesturing to a stool next to the bar.
His feet moved, and he sat down. “I didn't--” he started.
“Shhh,” she interrupted. His mouth shut before he could think. His mind felt like it was covered with warm molasses. “Everything's going to be fine,” she said. “Do you have any silver, or weapons?”
He thought for a second, then showed her his hands, palms up. If he was a wizard, those were probably his greatest weapons. She paused, staring at his hands with puzzlement. “But wait,” he thought, “I'm a wizard. I'm probably supposed to kill vampires.” He blinked, and he could feel his weight in his shoes again. He directed his attention back to the woman, but she was already upon him, hissing with predatory anger.
Willem cried as her hands clutched at his collar and her fangs went for his neck, but his hands were only and inch short of her chest. He turned them toward her and they erupted with lightning. Shrieking, the vampire was blasted away from him and out the tavern's swinging doors, skidding along the dirt in the afternoon sun. Her screams of pain increased in urgency as her skin caught afire, but it was over almost as soon as it started, and she was reduced to nothing more than ash.
Willem flicked his wrists, sending off the last of his lightning into the floor below him. His hair was standing on end. He gritted his teeth at the ringing headache this sudden casting had caused him, but a headache was a small price to pay for the elements he had harnessed without his full focus. He shrugged into the stool again, this time of his own free will. Scanning behind the bar and finding the shelves empty made him want a drink even more.