The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

The Beginning

The pen wasn't worth stealing. The trouble it caused me far outweighed the temporary satisfaction of successfully lifting it from the poor woman's purse. This was of course not the first thing I had stolen, but was simply the, how should I say, the "retracing of steps" following my recent arrest. In my portfolio there are heists of ancient artifacts, jewels, amulets, talismans, too many weapons to count, and absolutely anything else that could be pawned on the black market for a little cash and a great deal of respect. Now, even though I had returned to the petty crimes that led to my accomplishments as "Master Thief," this was no ordinary pen, nor was it an ordinary lady who carried it. Had I been less enraptured by my success I would have noticed the woman slowly approaching the dealer I was to give my prize, and the swift take-down she performed... I was far too occupied with the prospect of returning to the adrenaline-fuelled existence I had become so accustomed to through my kleptomaniac career. Ah, the hours of delicate planning, designed to eradicate any possibility of failure, and the patient reconnaissance which was less to benefit myself and more to give my prey a sense of unease when they felt my gaze brush past them.

I may have grown cocky as the day of my arrest approached, but only due to the advice of the first relic I obtained. My practice was the polar opposite of my colleagues' since they strived to take the ordinary and put it in the hands of the extraordinary, while I took the extraordinary and presented it to the everyday masses.

The first object I had stolen in my long career had previously belonged to a woman who was widely accepted to be a modern-day witch, a being who could heal the ill and predict what was to come, though also destroy any who stepped into her path. After my encounter with her, not a single person held that belief, since I had taken the source of her charm and mystique. I can feel through the keys I use to transcribe this that the next words you expect me to type are crystal ball or some similar nonsense, but I plead you to remember that I am no ordinary thief. In her cabin, the woman had hung a magnificent portrait from the wall which depicted the great tree featured in Norse mythology. It seemed to be an exact replica of one I had read about in the archives of the Louvre, save one aspect. The words Ragnarock will come had been painstakingly embroidered to create every detail; every branch was made of the twining letters of this phrase, the sky featured each letter in a different shade to replicate the complexity of the sun's rays, each blade of grass was just the phrase placed at different angles to replicate the effect of the wind. This detailed prophecy was the source of the power. On the back of the tapestry there were instructions on how to wield the power and to prevent others from doing the same. A tattoo repeating the dark message needed to be placed somewhere on the wielder's body so that it was only visible to those who violated basic rights. The tattoo was to have ink infused with the river of a great ocean and earth from a landlocked sea, since the powers it would possess belong to the realm of water. To remove the power you must simply burn the section of skin that has the tattoo... which I did to the woman the day after I had stolen the power source. After crossing out the removal instructions and selling the piece to the highest bidder, I donned the tattoo and could then see the future and the arrest that would come to pass.

Over the course of my career, I stole many such pieces and kept whatever power I could, along with the riches and reputation that inevitably followed. When I was arrested, I used an incantation I had stolen from a Russian sage which enabled me to charm the jury into a quick release with no lasting charges. I still needed to be cautious, since I could be caught again in a heartbeat if I did not remain careful, and after another slip I could guarantee that none of my credibility would remain.

The pen must have some sort of magical properties, but the problem with this particular job is that I was contracted for it. An external buyer had come to me promising anything I could imagine if I could successfully nab this small triviality. The only knowledge that I had is that I needed to take this pen from the woman and give it to my employer to get anything I could dream of in return. Had I not just recently escaped from the courthouse, I would have never even considered taking a job so vague, and this folly may very well lead to my downfall. Rather than the dark suited man I was anticipating, I found the woman I had just shorted waiting for me in the drop off location. The last thing I saw before my head hit the pavement was her sly grin as she rushed towards me to retrieve what was hers. I almost landed myself a prison cell, and would likely still be there had the woman decided to press charges, but she felt that as long as her property was returned, I was fine to go home. This was not my first time performing a heist of this nature, so I most certainly came prepared. The pen that was returned was simply an ordinary writing tool that I had taken with me to dupe my employer, while the real thing sat peacefully on my dining room table, waiting to have its secrets uncovered. I thought I was so clever for stealing what I wanted and thought I could push my luck further to obtain what I had set out for. I could never have guessed how wrong I was.

When I returned home to inspect my prize, I took my usual precautions to ensure that there was no malicious anti-theft spells or things of that nature attached to the piece, and carefully lifted the lid to see if that was part of its magical allure. Since anticlimactic trials are part of the trade I was expecting little, and little I received: just an ordinary pen tip with a hint of black ink coating the top. This evidently meant that I needed to write something before I could see what it really did. I aligned the pen on a scrap of paper I had lying about and was about to write something as simple as "hello" (because I learned long ago that giving your name to a magical object was never a good idea) before it leaped out of my hand and started to write:

I realize that I am no longer in the possession of my former owner, and I thank you for that, but I must quickly explain something to you before she discovers your trickery.

This was the first of many lines the pen scrawled for me.

The woman who had me in her possession implanted a tracking device underneath my lid to ensure that if people like you did succeed, she could recover what she lost.

I quickly removed the lid from where I had placed it and destroyed the device to ensure my continued freedom before allowing the pen to continue its tale.

My title is Xzotal of Fires' Keep and I am a demon imprisoned for the selfish uses of those who wish to exploit my abilities.

I feel that I should mention the guilt I felt as I read that statement since I had taken the pen with the same intention, yet I let it continue its story, hoping that it would more clearly define the power it alluded to.

I would very much appreciate if a sorcerer such as yourself would deign to free me from this prison so that I may return to my lands and continue to protect those who reside there.

I was wary that he called me sorcerer until I remembered demons' ability to sense those who have used magic and their antiquated belief that all who have done so have more then just elemental magic of their own. I knew that I most likely could use my various abilities to free the poor creature, but I still needed to know what I could use his powers for if I decided against it. To clarify, despite what mythology states, demons are not inherently bad or work for the devil, they are simply non-human bipeds with a natural inclination for magic and multi-coloured skin. Which means there would be no moral pitfalls in releasing the creature. On the other hand, if they are kept in captivity for long enough they tend to become even more powerful as a defense mechanism, so keeping the pen for its abilities would also be beneficial for him.

If you wish to ask me any questions to aid you in freeing me please speak them aloud and I will hear and be able to respond.

I really badly wanted to ask what kind of abilities he had but I knew that was a question he would not be very inclined to answer, so instead I asked how he protected his people.

I am naturally a demon of fire so I simply set alight any who try to harm my people and disable those who may combat me in anyway possible.

I was ultimately relieved by this answer since I had never been able to master the passionate anger required to conquer the element of fire. But water, which I was far more qualified in, would quench fire so I could control the demon yet still use his abilities to my own advantage. I now had a choice to make: I could use his abilities to prevent myself from ever being caught again and steal something so powerful that I could retire as a millionaire... or I could return him to his people and allow him to protect those he cared for.

Have you made your choice?

I paused for a moment. I was truly torn. I asked the creature how many people resided in his town, since I did have a threshold of guilt and knew how many people I could allow to die for my own ambition.

Approximately the population of China. Why do you need to know?

I ignored the question and became lost in my thoughts. I don't know which is the right choice, but I know I must choose......