"Those so-called 'conjured' items," (Patreon)

I explained, "have to be apported from somewhere, which means I would need to already know the location of a pair of scry orbs ... or I would have to transmogrify something else into scry orbs, which I'm not sure would work because they need to be very precisely constructed."

"Perhaps Ash has a set," Vernier suggested.  "In fact, I'm sure he does, since it is very like him to be prepared for every eventuality.  He knew he would be cutting off your communication outside the forest, and that he himself could not enter the forest, but he also knew there would still be a need to contact you - ergo, he must have some means of doing so."

"You're probably right, but still I would rather make my own," I pouted.  "Ash wants me to have to rely on him for everything.  I need to show him I am capable of solving problems myself."

"Pardon, my Lord," Rebecca interrupted.  "But returning to my previous question, I'm still confused.  Are you telling me that you knew the location of a large comfy chair and half a dozen pillows?  Or that you made them out of sticks and rocks?  What about all the other stuff you conjured for Miss Vernier?  Those silk slippers?  Those roses?  That bottle of wine?  That box of chocolate bonbons?  Did you make those out of toadstools?  Or do you have a stockpile of dating materials hidden away somewhere?"

"Uh," I replied, staring at the items as Rebecca pointed them out.  Come to think of it, how exactly had I produced all of this stuff?

"A theory has just occurred to me," Vernier declared.

"Forgive me, sir," she whispered as she leaned close and looked into my eyes.  "I really, really want to see a set of scrying orbs.  Could you get some for me, pretty please?"

"Y-you dare use Wiles on me???" I choked.

"Aw, pleeeease my lord," Vernier wheedled seductively.  "I bet other elves give their ladies scrying orbs so they can whisper sweet nothings even when they are apart.  That's soooo romantic!  I want that, sir.  PLEEEEASE won't you give me a scrying orb of my own?"

"Anything for you, my sweet," I sighed in a drunken daze of desire as I held out two perfect scrying orbs.

"DAGNABBIT!" Burnside yelled.  "Look at you, makin a durn fool of yourself, moonin' over that lowfolk floozy!  How come I ain't been loved like that?  What's she got that I ain't got?"

"Pay up, sisters," Typantronn cackled in the background.

"Whaaat," Burnside moaned as she noticed the glove on her arm, and then looked down at her body.  "What in the nine Netherhells am I wearin?"

"That doth not count," another Ixie declared as Burnside became silent and motionless once again.

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