"Hey, Lowris! You got another one! Inspection Room number three!" a busy voice yelled down the corridor.
Sighing, Lowris pushed her chair back from the table where she was compiling her reports, stood up, and stretched slowly. Her talent in transformative magics had resulted in her transfer to Morphia at the young age of 24, which most wizards considered a plum assignment that produced easy money. What they didn't realize, and what Lowris discovered after working as an inspector for six months, was that business was too good. What was the point of making money and seeing all sorts of cool magic if you didn't have time to spend on research?
Still, it was a living. Lowris grabbed the stereotypical wizard robes hanging on a hook and hastily put them on, then the hat as well, before standing in front of a mirror. Picking up a rather nondescript metal charm, she hung it around her neck, and finally checked her reflection. Instead of a young, wiry, tanned girl with black hair and a snarky air about her, the reflection showed a wizened old man with white hair and a long, distinguished beard. It wasn't really a true transformation, just a glamour. But most customers had a foolish vision of what capable mages looked like, and far be it from the City Inspectors to disappoint. No one ever really noticed that all of the inspectors were relatively similar in appearance, or if they did, they probably assumed that it was a requirement to be old and wise to take on such a position. Anyway, the government knew the truth, and that was all that really mattered. That and getting paid.
Lowris trotted down the hall, her rapid pace belying her aged appearance. Reaching Inspection Room 3, she knocked, then entered.
"City Inspector Lowris, how may I assist you?" Lowris asked in a voice that matched her appearance.
"Heh heh...Um, it's me again Lowris," a familiar voice came from a rather unfamiliar form, that of a...