The Misadventure of Marvin The Magnificient

Chapter 1:The Llama Incident(Again)

Chapter 1: The Llama Incident (Again)

Wandsworth Academy of Arcane Excellence had three golden rules:

Don’t summon things you can’t banish.

Don’t enchant anything with legs unless supervised.

Absolutely no llamas in the Spellcasting Hall.

Marvin Tiddlewhack had broken all three. Before breakfast.

“MARVIN TIDDLEWHACK!” Headmaster Grimsnort’s voice echoed off the enchanted marble walls as he galloped—yes, galloped—into the center of the hall. His once-dignified wizarding robes now dragged awkwardly behind him as his newly-acquired llama legs clopped in frustration. “Would you care to explain why I am, for the second time this semester, a domesticated South American herbivore?!”

Marvin, wand smoking gently in his hand, hair singed and eyes wide, took a step back. The circle of students surrounding him did the same, muttering, snickering, and one or two—Betty Fuzzwhistle and that annoying dwarf from Dorm 3B—actively taking notes.

“I was aiming for a tea kettle,” Marvin offered weakly, lowering his wand as though it would somehow erase the chaos he’d just caused.

Grimsnort snorted. A powerful, llama-esque snort that sent a puff of straw—and a small fireball—into the air.

“A tea kettle?!”

“Well,” Marvin said, backing toward a nearby statue of Gorgonzax the Wise, “I figured a nice warm beverage might help my focus. And then I thought, maybe if I combined the Evaporatus Steamus spell with a minor summoning incantation…”

“You thought,” Grimsnort said bitterly, “and that’s where we all went wrong.”

There was a moment of silence, punctuated only by the sound of distant hooves as Professor Tiddlefork, still a centaur from last week’s accident, sprinted down the hall with a large book of countercurses.

Marvin sighed. It was happening again.

Marvin Tiddlewhack had a problem. And that problem was magic. Specifically, he had absolutely no control over it whatsoever.

This would have been fine—tolerable, even—if Marvin hadn’t insisted on trying so hard. He meant well. He studied hard. He practiced spells by moonlight, even when the owls mocked him. But his magic had a habit of interpreting things… loosely. Spells meant to clean a room would instead redecorate it in Victorian taxidermy. Minor weather charms turned classrooms into localized blizzards. His attempt at animating a mop had caused a mop uprising in the janitorial wing.

And now, once again, he had turned the headmaster into a llama.

Not even a particularly majestic llama.

An hour later, Marvin found himself standing outside the Headmaster’s office, which now smelled faintly of hay and furious dignity. Inside, Grimsnort paced in llama form while three faculty members stood by with various magical reversal tools. Professor Tiddlefork was holding a cauldron and nervously humming the school anthem. Professor Snidgeley had resorted to reading aloud from Beginner’s Guide to Undoing Everything Bad.

A bolt of blue light flashed. A puff of smoke followed.

When the door finally opened, a thoroughly disheveled—but human—Grimsnort stepped out. His beard was on fire. His hat had become a chicken.

“Effective immediately,” he said, voice trembling with rage and what could only be described as llama-based trauma, “Marvin Tiddlewhack is hereby expelled from Wandsworth Academy.”

There was a gasp from the hallway. Marvin’s floating trunk, which had been hovering nearby with a pitiful sort of loyalty, thumped to the floor with a heavy clunk.

“But sir,” Marvin began, “I didn’t mean to—”

“Intent is irrelevant,” Grimsnort snapped. “You’ve turned me into a llama twice, flooded the dining hall with maple syrup, and—need I remind the faculty—briefly opened a portal to a dimension ruled entirely by sentient chairs!”

Marvin turned red. “That was just once.”

Grimsnort raised a finger. “Once is enough.”

Marvin walked slowly down the winding academy path, now clutching a cane that used to be a very confused umbrella. His trunk floated behind him, wobbling like it didn’t quite believe it was supposed to. He’d tried to charm it for smooth levitation, but the spell had ended with it violently sneezing glitter on a first-year named Nigel.

So far, the day was not improving.

He reached the bottom of the hill, looked back once at the towering turrets of Wandsworth, and sighed. He’d never get to graduate. Never receive his Diploma of Reasonably Safe Spellcasting. Never get to wear the ceremonial graduation slippers. All his dreams of becoming a Great Wizard were now buried under a pile of bad luck, poor technique, and a llama-shaped reputation.

Marvin sat on a mossy stone and unwrapped the last sandwich he’d brought from the academy—cheese and turnip. The bread was damp. The cheese had a face.

He bit into it anyway.

“Right,” he muttered between chews, “no school, no friends, no fallback career. Guess it’s time to become a legend the old-fashioned way.”

A bush rustled.

“Or die trying,” he added.

The bush rustled again.

Marvin raised his wand.

“Who’s there?”

Out stepped a goat.

A monocled goat.

It stared at him with the expression of someone who had seen too much and cared too little.

“Marvelous,” the goat said. “Another wizard with delusions of grandeur and a sandwich that smells like regret.”

Marvin nearly choked. “You—! You can talk?”

The goat rolled its eyes. “Yes, yes. I’m a talking goat. Try to keep up.”

“Are you enchanted? Cursed? A manifestation of my subconscious?”

“No,” said the goat. “I’m Bartholomew. I used to work for a necromancer until she got eaten by one of her own spellbooks. Now I wander. Judge things. Eat grass. You seemed like you needed some judgment.”

Marvin blinked. “I... don’t suppose you’re here to guide me on a magical quest?”

Bartholomew tilted his head. “Only if you promise not to turn anyone else into livestock. I have trauma.”

“Deal,” Marvin said quickly. “Just one question—why me?”

The goat sighed. “Because I’m bored. And you, my flammable little friend, are the most entertaining disaster I’ve seen all week.”

Marvin stood, brushing crumbs off his robes. “Well then. Let the adventure begin!”

The goat trotted past him. “Let’s start with finding an inn. Preferably one that doesn’t serve sandwiches like yours.”