Cave of Being
Feathered wings and golden swords mean little to the Wizard. The servants of his native gods couldn't be farther from flying ponces in flowing robes- More akin to eldritch horrors, assembled from the best aspects of animal, bird and fish. But still....
This 'demon' doesn't seem at all demonic. More hopeless and maybe even a little pathetic. The Wizard glances over at Mrs. Bloodplunder, trying to see whether she too might be having second thoughts about this.
9'th Bell at the Gates
A potion simply for waking? That seems a touch excessive, although, at least the smell is nice. Few of the mixtures the Wizard knows have an aroma half as pleasant. Most of them, quite the opposite.
Ah, yes. As ready as I will be. A real sword might be nice if he's going into mercenary work, one that doesn't need to be conjured, but a good blade takes time to find. I suppose it will be a long walk then?