An arcane researcher

You are Jordan Farcourt, an up-and-coming sorcerer working in the Grand Palace of Avaria. Specifically you hold an office in the Tower of Neophilosophies, performing magical experiments to learn more about the forces of the world and to increase mankind's mastery of them.

The morning begins like any other: you tread down the torch-lit hall, your buckled boots click-clacking on the cobblestones. The Tower isn't the most comfortable or richly-decorated place, though you do prefer it to your previous position as a slaver's apprentice in the palace's extensive (and even more dimly-lit) dungeons.

Passing the door to a large laboratory, you overhear a hushed conversation:

"Who could undo what we have done?" The voice is shrill and commanding; probably Master Arikdale, head of the Department of Ongoing Enchantment. He is responsible for monitoring changes, particularly in Avaria's most fundamental spell... He is also a cantankerous, manipulative, and frankly irritating old man.

"He couldn't," a smaller, more nervous voice replied. "He hasn't."

"Even I would require a cabal of at least... Wait. He has broken through." A purple light flashes inside the room, lighting up the dark stones next to you. "Sever the link, leave her mind. Do as I command, Neophyte, before I sunder your very existence!"

Rolling your eyes, you continue down the passageway. In all likelihood, Arikdale is faking some kind of disaster in order to "test" his poor assistants. They'll be complaining to you come lunchtime, and you'll have to tell them once again that since the geezer holds the same rank as you, his shenanigans are outside your jurisdiction.

Further along, you pass a bench where a young Neophyte is claiming a Tower maid's asshole. Her apron is hiked up to expose her ample rear end... Probably why she was hired, knowing the lechers who run the Department of Tower Maintenance. It's not all buxom cumdumps, of course, since some of the experiments here produce some truly hazardous waste that must be handled by a skilled cleanup crew. Still, cocksleeve maids like this one play an important role in maintaining morale. You have no time for such things right now, though, so you step over the broom and carry on as the sounds of groaning and the thud, thud, thud of the bench fade away behind you.

At 40 years old, you're the youngest sorcerer to be put in charge of his own laboratory. You head there now, and prepare to continue the work that's occupied half of your life. Two decades ago as a Neophyte, you proposed a new avenue of research; to everyone's surprise, it was accepted by the High Council. They granted you a promotion and a handful of assistants, and since that time your pet project has only grown in scope and importance.

Today marks an important milestone in your ongoing research, and your heart begins to race as you climb the stairs to the small section of the Tower that you (and your eight Neophytes) call home.