Excerpt: Wizard's

Bustling about his smoky lab, grabbing jars seemingly at random from shelves around the room the thin old man shook out handfuls and sprinkled pinches into the smoking cauldron in the middle of the room. Tossing the last jar onto the heap of other discarded containers, Thar glanced worriedly out the window. The sun, half below the horizon, still gilded the rose-colored clouds gold.
Thar breathed deeply and rubbed a hand across his forehead leaving an ugly brown-green smear. He took one last glance before he began his incantations, and smiled. This just might work.
Wizened fingers wove spell-forms with the ease of long practice. Syllables of long dead languages flowed from his tongue. Still, he knew that the slightest mistake would mean his death. Despite the risks, Thar loved his chosen profession. For moments like this, when the sheer joy of accomplishment was his alone. Years of practice and learning, decades of toil and discipline, all coalesced into one beatific moment. Thar's voice throbbing with power reached a crescendo and finished the spell as the sun dipped below the horizon. Thar stood waiting, triumphant, and between one rapt breath and another, disappeared in a puff of gray smoke.