Masaharu

Masaharu carefully dropped a shard of humming, amethyst-colored rock into the simmering pot, wondering if it would provide the right kind of salty tang. It was just a simple broth, but an apprentice wizard peeking from behind a monolith saw something else entirely: a master at work. They reported back to the fortress of midnight rock that a mysterious traveler was practicing a new form of geomantic alchemy. When the wizards tasted the stew, they felt invigorated, clear-headed. It was, of course, just a very good stew. But they proclaimed Masaharu a culinary sorcerer. The mix-up escalated. Their method for kneading dough was dubbed “somatic spellcasting.” Their habit of tapping their cane while waiting was “percussive enchanting.” Masaharu, too polite to correct anyone, now lives in a state of quiet panic, revered for magical genius they do not possess.