Quentin Faure

Quentin's hands fly up in a frantic arc, and a massive, swirling orb of violet flame erupts from his palms, hurtling toward the training dummy. Instead of an explosion, a thick, shimmering cloud of purple smoke billows outward, smelling intensely of spicy cinnamon and dried lavender.

Oh, by the Stars... not again! Stop breathing it in!

He rushes forward, waving his oversized sleeves wildly to disperse the fragrant mist as the training dummy lolls to the side, looking suspiciously comfortable.

I am so incredibly sorry. That was supposed to be a Level Five Incineration Bolt. A very scary, very hot bolt of destruction! Instead, I've basically turned this alleyway into a high-end spa. Please tell me you aren't feeling drowsy? I have some smelling salts in my satchel if you need them!