Episode 1: "Sir Pompous and the Self-Cleaning Chamber Pot"

The morning sun peeked through the grimy window of The Enchanted Wrench, illuminating shelves cluttered with half-finished magic tools. A whisk was aggressively trying to beat an invisible egg, a lantern hummed off-key, and a mop in the corner twitched nervously like it was afraid Felix might put it to work.

Felix Gearwhistle leaned on his counter, chin in his hand, watching Zira, his pixie assistant, buzz around the room. She wasn't helping. She was reorganizing his shelves by "vibes," which seemed to involve making more of a mess than before.

The bell above the door jangled violently, nearly falling off the hinge.

In strutted a man wrapped in a velvet cape so large Felix wondered if he was smuggling livestock underneath. His nose was so high in the air, Felix was tempted to grab a stepladder just to smack it.

"Greetings, common craftsman!" the man declared, voice dripping with self-importance. "I am Sir Reginald Bartholomew the Third — noble of the great House Bartholomew."

Felix blinked. "...Congratulations?"

Reginald continued as if Felix hadn't spoken. "I require an invention that befits my status. A self-cleaning chamber pot."

Felix stared at him. "...You came to a magic tool shop because you're too rich to wipe your own—"

"Precisely!" Sir Reginald interrupted, nodding proudly, utterly missing the sarcasm. "I demand a pot that removes the... unpleasantness without me having to lift a finger."

Felix rubbed his temples. "You know I make practical magic tools, right? Like self-heating kettles or broomsticks that don't argue back?"

"A clean backside is very practical," Reginald huffed.

From the corner, Zira snorted, wings fluttering as she hovered over a half-built toaster that occasionally spat sparks. "Oh, Felix, make it talk. Every noble's backside deserves a pep talk."

Reginald's eyes lit up. "Yes! Can you enchant it to offer compliments as well?"

Felix stared at him for a long moment, debating whether this man was a real client or a hallucination from the stale bread he had for breakfast.

"You want a potty that compliments you. Every time you use it."

"Indeed."

Felix nodded slowly. "Okay. Sure. For an extra fee, I'll even make it applaud."

Reginald looked delighted. "Marvelous! Make it say, 'Your Grace, you are truly a gift to the kingdom!'"

Felix deadpanned, "Yeah. Nothing says 'gift to the kingdom' like royal bowel movements."

Zira nearly fell out of the air laughing.

---

Later that day…

Felix sat at his workbench, sighing as he etched runes into a porcelain chamber pot. The pot vibrated now and then, as if it, too, hated this idea. Zira watched from atop a stack of mismatched spellbooks.

"You think it'll work?" she asked, munching on a sugar cube she definitely stole from the alchemist next door.

Felix grunted. "The cleaning spell's easy. The talking part's tricky. I had to borrow the enchantment from a singing teapot."

Zira's eyes widened. "Wait — the one that wouldn't stop singing sea shanties?"

"Yeah. I think I fixed that."

The pot suddenly rattled to life. A cheerful voice rang out:

"Ahoy, Captain! Thar be treasure in yer trousers!"

Felix groaned.

Zira wheezed with laughter. "Leave it. It's perfect."

---

The Next Day…

Sir Reginald arrived, beaming. Felix presented the pot with all the enthusiasm of a man handing over a cursed relic.

"One self-cleaning, self-complimenting chamber pot," Felix muttered. "No refunds."

Reginald clutched it like it was the crown jewels. "Excellent! Let me test it at once."

Felix blinked. "Please don't."

Too late. Reginald disappeared into the back room.

For a moment, silence.

Then:

"You're the pride of the kingdom, Your Grace!"

Pause.

"Ahoy, Captain! Brace the poop deck!"

Zira howled with laughter. Felix buried his face in his hands.

Sir Reginald emerged, looking pale. "It… it called me Captain."

Felix sighed. "Yeah. It's sea-themed now. Congratulations, you're the Admiral of Rear Ends."

Reginald looked like he might argue — then nodded sagely. "I am rather nautical-looking."

Felix stared in disbelief. Zira lost it again.

"Come back if you need a talking bathtub," Felix muttered.

As Reginald sailed out, head high, Zira wiped a tear from her eye. "Think he's gonna start calling his servants 'First Mate' now?"

Felix leaned on the counter, watching the noble prance down the street, chamber pot cradled like a newborn.

"Zira," Felix said slowly, "I think we just created a legend."