Trash Wizard

It was another bright day as Eldrasar the Wise strolled through the college courtyard, admiring the living garden. The topiary sculptures of men and women, their verdant leaves lovingly shaped to the classical standards of an ancient age, danced and swayed in the gentle breeze. Being headmaster of the world’s preeminent university for magical studies and ethereal sciences was a demanding task, no doubt, but the garden always proved a source of much needed respite.

At the garden’s exit, beside this enchanting display, a small pair of legs, clad in patchwork pants, hung out of a trashcan.

“Ringtail,” Eldrasar greeted warmly. “How are you today?”

“Huh?” The small figure pulled his head out of the can and sniffed the air with his snout. “Eldrasar!” the humanoid raccoon exclaimed. “Come see what I’ve found! These fools are just tossing reagents out!”

Ringtail fished into the can and pulled out the remains of a rotted apple, eaten to the core. “They throw away gold! Can you believe it?”

“No,” Eldrasar lied warmly. “I can’t.” As the headmaster of Luna Lucaria, it was his responsibility to foster the growth and well-being of every student, no matter how eccentric. And wizards were, if nothing else, always quite eccentric. “Though I am curious. How will you make use of it, my young Magus?”

“Make use of it? The possibilities are endless!” Ringtail hopped down from the can and adjusted his floppy, pointed hat.

“Go on,” Eldrasar prompted, still smiling.

“Why, its obvious! You can, uh, you can…” Ringtail trailed off, pondering the possibilities of his treasure.

Eldrasar waited patiently.

Ringtail snapped his finger. “OK! Consider this.”

“I’m considering.”

“First you get a bin, yes? Toss in bunch of old leaves and dirt, like from this here garden. Then you take this here apple, right? And you chop it up and toss it in. Then you toss in more leaves and more used fruit, keep it wet, rotate regularly, and eventually you’ll have the perfect treat to spread over these roots and keep these here dancers nice and fed!”

Ringtail put his hands on his hip, visibly proud of his cleverness.

“Well,” Eldrasar said. “One certainly wouldn’t question that well-kept compost is a boon to any groundskeeper, but I must say, Ringtail, it hardly seems like magic.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” the raccoon beamed. “Transmogrification is always magic, no matter the humble beginnings or how long it takes.” Ω ¹