"But You Do Lie."

Beginning about first quarter of the first sextant of the solar cycle there is a special state of psychological being that allows one to engage with the arcane even in the waking state of those living in the mundane reality. This is the time that wizards thrive.

"So, how's the wife?"

"Ah yes, the old ball and chain."

"That's a little rude, don't you think?"

I pull out a wedding photo from my wallet and you see me at the altar across from a chain chomp with a pink bow.

*Achoo!* "Uri-" *choo!* "Uriel!" *Sniffle*

"Yes (Choo!) my Lord?" Uriel replied, appearing in a puff of smoke.

"Call off *Aaah-* that Me damned *CHOO!* storm at that *muffled sneeze* atheist convention!"

"Thy will (achoo) be done." Uriel bowed.

God sank into his celestial throne with a heavenly sigh of relief.

It is often said that uttering the Lord’s Name in vain is forbidden because it is blasphemy. No, the truth is far more mundane and hilarious than that: Every time His name is uttered in vain, the Lord sneezes.

The man at ten in the morning gave me a wary look as he accepted the package of sandwich bread, his payment left at the edge of the counter in exact change.

My favorite regular came in a quarter to eleven. She doesn't speak a lick of English but always bows to me at the door before letting it swing closed again.

Sometimes I can tell a spirit has taken a swipe at someone or said something inappropriate by their flinch or a flush to the face.

On rare occasion, those comments spark a full on fight like I was the one who gave them a lewd comment or an insult to their honor.

Everyone reacts differently to my collection. While it can be an inconvenience at times, I bake the best bread in the city so they have to come to me for something or another.

It doesn't get to me much though. My regulars know what's up, and those here for a sample either become regulars or are never seen here again.

Sometimes I think about hitting up the local priest to really give the spirits in my wake a piece of my mind. Ultimately it wouldn't change anything, though, and I've gotten used to the scared and disdainful reactions by now anyway.

The real treat comes when a "hero" comes by for a baguette or some brioche. The good ones give me a knowing smile and often tip well. The "targets" often buy what they came for civilly, but I've gotten good at reading the telltale signs of their nervousness.

The good ones are rare. The good ones are often labeled at vigilantes.

Right before close, Earth Man came in. I thanked him for his wonderful work saving the forest west of the city from those "foul" Kiowa Krusaders. He left sweating bullets.

I expect to serve a lot of humble pie tonight and have a new greeter in my entourage by morning.

For some context, the thought that came to me from this prompt that inspired this story was: Something about "hero" being a status generated by public perception but they were actually all evil

It is known that the ghosts of fallen heroes haunt their killers and cannot move on until the killer is brought to justice. But nobody is willing to ask the baker why so many ghosts are following them around.

"No, I get it. One heart, two kidneys, 2 livers, one stomach, one-"

"Two livers?"

"Did I say two?"

"We have nothing in common."

Gertrude, is that you?!

If you write a story for the backstory of a character in a ttrpg that is set in an existing franchise, is that considered an OC fanfic?

This is low key describing the development of my life philosophy over the years. Like, in order and everything. Get out of my head.

I believe you need a bit more stirring in your combination process. While the stripes may look nice in the cauldron, you'll get much more consistent results when the batch is a solid hue before firing. Good conjuration work besides, though.