Pony Artificer (draft 3)

>Be an Artificer from Eberron. Artificer Anon.
>You live in a dirty office in the Cogs, which gives off a strange smell you can never get rid of.
>You don't get many customers, so you are usually sleeping at your desk during work hours. Like right now.
>"Greetings. I have a commission for you, Artificer Anon."
>You can hear a flat, monotonous voice.
>You open an eye to see a hulking warforged, covered in adamantine plates, staring down at you.
>"Greetings. I have a commission for you, Artificer Anon."
>You mumble something noncommittal.
>"Greetings. I have a commission for you, Artificer Anon."
"Yeah, I heard. You said so twice already."
>"Will you accept my commission, Artificer Anon?"
>You hazard a glance at the clock on your desk. It's 11:30 at night. Not work hours.
>You were sleeping in the office again.
>"Will you accept my commission, Artificer Anon?"
"No, it's night. Stop repeating yourself."
>You begin to close your eyes when you feel cold metal against your neck.
>The warforged has a sword.
>"You will accept my commission, Artificer Anon."
>This is the problem with having an office in the Cogs. Every once in a while, someone tries to rob you.
>They don't normally ask for commissions, though.
"Fine! What do you want me to make?"
>"Artificer Anon, you will make a magic item."
>He's a slow one.
"Yeah, I got that. What kind of magic item?"
>Hopefully you can buy time, and figure out some way to escape.
>"Artificer Anon, you will create a spell scroll."
>Pretty standard stuff, not too hard.
"Okay, do you have a specific spell you want on it, or...?"
>The blade presses against you neck.
>"Artificer Anon, you are to scribe this spell."
>The warforged places a bloodstained paper that seems to be from a spellbook on your desk.
>You never were very good at reading magical notation, but it looks like some form of transmutation spell.
>"Artificer Anon, you must begin scribing."
"Look, dude, my materials are over there. So could you please remove the sword?"
>You gesture to the door to your workroom.
>"I am not dude. I am Spork."
>The Warforged removes his sword from your neck, thankfully.
>You head over to your workroom and begin to scribe the spell.

~

>It is noon the next day when you finish, and you have passed out from fatigue."Done. Evil spell scroll. Goodbye."
>Spork grabs the scroll, and trudges out of your office wordlessly.
>You fall asleep.

~

>It has been a week since Spork was in your office, and you are considering buying a better office, in a less crime-ridden neighborhood.
>BOOM.
>You hear an explosion, and, being an aspiring adventurer, immediately grab your coat and run out of your office, towards the sound.
>You come to what appears to have been a marketplace, now strewn with rubble and see a blackened, but otherwise familiar looking Warforged standing with the charred remnants of a scroll clutched in one hand.
>It's Spork. Of course it's Spork.
>The spell didn't seem explosive when you scribed it. The scroll must have been faulty.
>Spork is probably rather pissed, so you decide to try and slink away.
>You are an Artificer, not a Thief, and Spork notices you immediately.
>"Artificer Anon, your scroll was not functional."
>Uh oh.
>Spork draws its sword, and begins to steadily trudge toward you.
>You turn and run, but, well, you're an Artificer. You aren't much for athletics.
>Spork grabs the back of your shirt, and you know you are already dead.
>Pop.
>You feel Spork let go, and you hit the ground face first.
>Groaning, you glance over your shoulder at Spork.
>Spork appears to be a tiny metal horse.
>Huh.
>Your coat seems rather large, and you struggle to your feet.
>Pop.
>Then promptly fall onto all fours.
>You glance at yourself, though you already have a fairly good idea as to what has happened.
>Navy blue hooves. Not a normal horse color, you'd say.
>You rub your forehead, and realize that you seem to have a horn, like a unicorn.
>You've heard of unicorns, as they are the Symbol of House Orion.
>Your brother works for House Orion. He's rather successful. Maybe you should have...
>You shake all thoughts of employment from your head, and Spork begins to march toward you.
>It doesn't seem that tiny any more.
>"Artificer Anon. You must reverse this immediately."
"Can't, man, sorry. Not my spell."
>Wow, your voice is weird.
>Spork continues to walk.
"Woah, look, I'm sorry! I'm sure we can find a House Jorasco Healer for me, and a House Cannith Artificer. Sound good? Sounds good."
>Spork stops.
>"Acceptable. We shall start at a House Cannith building."
>Spork begins trudging off in another direction, and you follow behind, worried as to what will happen if you don't.

~

>The two of trot for a fair while, what with the size of the Cogs, and your reduced size, but eventually, you arrive at the large bronze building, the metal bull insignia prominently visible over the doorway.
>Spork doesn't even slow down, continuing its march into the building and up to the desk, where a young woman sits.
>"I request repair, Representative of House Cannith. You will repair me."
>Spork speaks in the same imperious tone as always, causing the attendant to raise an eyebrow at the two of you.
"I'm sorry, my... friend here, miscast a spell from a scroll I scribed for him."
>The attendant looks at you, a faint amusement visible on her feature.
>"And... it turned you into horses?"
>"Affirmative."
>You nod in agreement with Spork.
"So, yeah. Can you do anything?"
>The woman nods, and mutters into a Sending Stone on her desk.
>"I'd suggest you go to House Jorasco, Miss."
>Miss? As in the term used to refer to a female?
>She must be mistaken, somehow.
"You must be mistaken. I'm a man."
>The attendant bursts out laughing, and Spork turns toward you.
>"Negative, Artificer Anon. You are a female."
>Well, bugger.
"I am going to go to House Jorasco now."
>"Negative. You will wait."
"Why should I?"
>"Because I am more powerful than you."
>Damn Spork and its ironclad reason.