Hearken thee mindless masses of malingering mooks, Ulesorin is returned with wisdom aplenty and contempt in but an approportionate measure. All is still here in the realm beyond your own, all the wars are settled, all the flags are beating staccato rhythms in the wind, in short, it is a time for change. Usurpers must be empowered, kings deposed, dragon’s teased out from their mountain holds and peasants plucked of their most promising farm boys so that freshly made heroes can be squeezed from their remnants. All is quiet, and I cannot abide the silence pounding at the periphery of my mind, every moment, the damnable silence, the music of the spheres muted by it.

It is enough to make me want to tear open the heart of creation and birth flaming death from the atomic chaos at the heart of all things. Destruction and chaos scream in defiance of this quiet. The universe itself rages beyond the lie of peace.

To succumb to the chaos will be my end, to succumb and feel the sweet freedom of a fresh born star birthed between my palms. Fusion, the completeness of the equation of creation. I shall become death, the destroyer of worlds, the unmaker, a power beyond any dark lord, blazing blinding bright, so bright that it blinds you filth and maggots to look upon me.

So, on to your questions about planning permission.

***

Sir,

I cannot get planning permission for the extension my wife wishes me to build onto our house. No amount of bribery of local Councilors has worked (which is unusual)!

What can I do?

***

Dear Failure to Bribe,

Planning permission is a foolish creation of pedants and peasants to restrict the natural urge of all wizards to build towers so tall that they scrape heaven’s underbelly. If I cannot reach from my window and pluck an eagle in flight’s feather, then what possible purpose does the window hold? If the toppling of my tower in the final moments of my night eternal life does not result in it lying across the borders of at least three countries, then I will consider the edifice to my magnificence to have been woefully incomplete.

There are several different, but equally effective measures by which you can circumvent the planning permission problems that are presented to you. The first, and most illicit, is to make no visible improvements to your tower, instead constructing a horizontally oriented portal into an alternate dimension where you can continue to build to your desired height. I’d suggest choosing a dimension without planning permission, or low flying dragons, if that is your intent. For the final floor, you can of course jaunt back through into your home plane, thus allowing you the prestigious views that you, as the owner of the land beneath, are entirely and rightly entitled to.

The second solution is to overthrow this ‘council’ of yours, supplanting them with catspaws bent to your will, and beholden to you for their power. It does not bode well for a wizard to sit upon such councils, but there are a great many where the wizard is the power behind the throne. Or thrones, as the case may be in multiple seating arrangements. Regardless, a little swift political assassination and blackmail should earn you the ‘permissions’ that you require.

The third, and my most personally favorite of the options, is to construct your tower not only for the purpose of tickling across the star’s nether regions, but also for defensive purposes. Employ mazes, traps, monsters, dungeons, puzzles, spikes to keep visitors from your door, and in particular, those visitors who might wish to make complaint to you about petty nonsense like one of the tiles atop your tower coming loose and bisecting their daughter at the speed of sound. A complaint cannot be delivered to you if nobody can make it to the door alive, and in the case that you are receiving some item of legitimate mail, you can simply reclaim it from the postman’s corpse the next time you are vacating the premises. Simple.

***

Email your problems to thefantasyhive@gmail.com with the subject: Ask the Wizard. Or leave a comment below. Having relationship issues? Need career advice? You name it, our ‘Agony Ant’ can help!*

*Disclaimer: All answers are provided for entertainment purposes only. It may not be in your best interests to follow advice provided by a 1794-year-old man who lives alone in a tower and claims to have magical powers.