Pony Artificer (draft 2)

>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.