“I just wanted a potion for foot warts,” he says, watching his mortgage evaporate.
WOBBLESHIRE, TUESDAY — What began as a routine case of plantar arcana has escalated into a cautionary tale of magical finance, municipal oversight, and poorly understood economic hexcraft.
Archwizard Pelgrum Thistlebarrow, 213, discovered yesterday that he no longer legally owns his own home after mistakenly short-selling his tower through an enchanted mirror interface on the newly integrated Fable Market Exchange.
“I thought I was clicking ‘renew loan’,” Thistlebarrow explained, gesturing toward a still-smoldering crystal tablet. “But apparently I clicked ‘leveraged arcane swap with collateralized spatial displacement clause.’ I don’t even remember authorizing the golem appraisal.”
The Collapse Begins at the Apex
Pelgrum’s tower—known locally as “The Slightly Leaning Spire of Mild Inconvenience”—was instantly repossessed by an animated quill from the Department of Chrono-Property Arbitration. His upper floors, including a rare wyvern skull tea set and a valuable collection of mislabeled tomes, were promptly “asset-redistributed.”
“It just blinked out of existence,” said neighbor Ellaby Tusk, “with a sound like a disappointed sigh.”
Witnesses confirm the top three levels of the tower dematerialized before reappearing moments later in the custody of a hedge fund collective comprised entirely of licensed necromancers.
Tower Now Listed on Exchange Under “Haunted Growth Potential”
The tower’s remnants are now being traded on the Fable Market Exchange under the ticker THSTL.BRRW, with prices fluctuating wildly based on phase of moon, owl sightings, and regional thaumic interference.
Economic Analyst Bellis Frappe warned:
“We’re seeing a boom in asset-backed spell structures. But most investors don’t realize that volatile curses are not FDIC-insured.”
Frappe later turned into a newt after accidentally interacting with a cursed trading token and was excused from further comment.
Mortgage Rendered Sentient, Refuses to Forgive Itself
The mortgage contract, animated as part of a recent bureaucratic enhancement pilot, reportedly now lives in the cellar and reads itself passages from Debt & Dread: A Wretched Guide to Magical Finance.
“It says it’s ‘ashamed to be a predatory tool of arcane capitalism,’” said one city auditor. “Honestly, it’s showing more growth than half our interns.”
Attempts to reverse the short-sale via divination or appeal to the Rune Council have been unsuccessful. “They said I signed it in good faith,” Thistlebarrow muttered, holding up a scroll featuring his signature and a suspiciously cheerful sticker that reads: ‘CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR LIQUIDATION!’
Future Uncertain, Slippery
At press time, Pelgrum had relocated to a modest cottage conjured out of spite and leftover dream-foam. He has since opened a small potion stand selling foot wart salves, elixirs of modest luck, and “financial clarity tonics” that explode upon ingestion.
When asked if he plans to reinvest, Thistlebarrow shook his head.
“Next time I get the itch,” he said, “I’ll just scratch it.”
