Restoring Paradise

Jeanne didn’t expect to spend her morning fighting off raiding bandits.

It was a sudden strike to a town already beset with problems. The recent rise in attacks stretched beyond her home, it seemed, for the historical little place she yearned to find was instead replaced with a roughed up and sacked town with suffering people. The South City administration was either unable to or didn’t care about these attacks, and with how heavily it emphasised the aspect of tourism, she had a sinking feeling that any places that lay outside of that purview were mostly left by the wayside.

So, it fell to her and her incredibly fortunate timing to ensure that nothing more happened to these peaceful people and the legacy they left. It was cruel, senseless, and made all of mankind lesser. She quickly found that knowledge went far beyond what was in big libraries and old scriptures. Structures, cultures, and people told stories. That was something that, try as one might, could never be fully encompassed on a piece of paper.

But now it was damaged, desecrated. Roving bandits, with the recent chaos and so many of Earth’s defenders away on other matters, took the opportunity to increase their power and rule of terror on those unfortunate enough to live beyond the safety of large population centres. They lived in fear, and no amount of promises from the President would assuage the fact that they were at risk of being attaked everyday.

While Jeanne couldn’t be everywhere at once, however, she could be here now. And more importantly, she could help restore at least some of what was lost.

“Yes… yes, that’s exactly what it looked like. You’re a history connoisseur, aren’t ya? I can tell.” Came the voice of an old man, watching Jeanne’s outstretched arms emit gentle beads of energy, slowly restoring an old arch to what it once was down to the last minute carving.

Jeanne smiled, exhaling as she loosened her arms for just a moment, “‘Tis the least I can do. After what happened, you all deserve some sliver of peace.”

The old man sighed, looking momentarily downcast before putting on a smile once more, “At least those bandits up in the jungle won’t bother us anymore.” Chuckling, he would speak, “But I’ll let ya get back to work. I’m sure you don’t want to hear an old man’s ramblings right now, hohohoho!”

Chuckling, he would leave her to it, moving to oversee other parts of the reconstruction effort. It was like this all over the small town, various people working on restoring and rebuilding. For all their tenacity and resilience, however, there was no denying that Jeanne’s efforts comprised the significant majority of the work done.

But how could a single lithe woman such as herself accomplish so much, one might ask? Why, the answer was simple – magic. Indeed, Jeanne was nothing if not a gifted spellcaster, and she was intimately well-versed with the notion of magic materialisation. Patience, knowledge, respect for what she was restoring, and practice all were part of understanding how to do it, where to do it, and at what pace.

This, of course, was second nature to Jeanne. She was a sorcerer, able to instinctively manipulate the delicate strands of magic to her whims, to create wondrous miracles that no amount of ki could reproduce. It was one of the few things she was proud of about herself.

But that was enough musing for now. Exhaling, she would stand up, returning to work as green strands of energy slowly but surely mended structure after structure, hair raising just a touch as she magically restored the town…