Pony Artificer (draft 1)

>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