#spellwright

[platosshadowpuppet]

Absolute nightmare, buying a new staff. Time was you just needed a sturdy length of dragon bone and a good spellwright.

Now it needs to be compatible with my orb and I have to pay for staff premium to get rid of the cool-down time?!?

[unsoundedcomic]

You mention that Cresce leans on gender stereotypes. How do their stereotypes compare to the ones we might see in our world? From what we've seen, female leadership certainly isn't in short supply-- though I suppose the military seems to skew at least somewhat male.

The stereotypes are represented pretty well in the comic. Females are considered superior leaders as they're less driven by emotion. This is the dead opposite of our own western Earthian view, as we somehow don't classify anger as an emotion, and consider compassion, selflessness, and sacrifice as being weak qualities. Cresce considers female compassion and equanimity - especially in older women - peak leadership qualities.

Except in the military, where they want that hyper emotional male angrrrr. So Lord Generals are male as a rule, and boys get pushed towards combat. Girls are alternately pushed towards medical roles, teaching roles, advisory roles.

None of these are hard rules in Crescian society; they are trends. Mayor of Port Morstorben is male. Retired leader of the Royal Spellwrights was female. Ideally the government desires a wide spread of all types in all roles, but human bias is strong. Even Elka is very insecure about her "mannishness." We've seen this. You'd think she'd be more confident in a country like this. But nope. Not yet.

This is why I always found Cresce a lot more fun than another post-scarcity setting like whatever's going on in Star Trek. That setting is a little too idealized and perfect. Little too sterile. You can still see lots of the struggle and the failure in Cresce; people pushing towards an ideal but taking a step back for every two steps forward. You can see the government coming down too hard in some places, see people exploiting their privilege in others, see lots of citizens still falling through the cracks.

But Crescia's vision remains, and they're hopefully moving closer and closer to it all the time.

[hana-no-seiiki]

so im working on my first webtoon 👉🏽👈🏽

genre: enemies to lovers, fantasy (witches and wizards, basically harry potter + the owl house + reincarnated as the seventh prince mixed together)

synopsis:

Sadire Kasilang had one goal in mind as he entered Maharlika Institute of Mystical Artes: to prove himself as a rightful son of his adoptive father, the great Spellwright Apolinario Kasilang. Raised under the shadow of his father's legendary achievements, Sadire is determined to carve out his own legacy, even if it means facing the toughest challenges the institute has to offer.

Puri Donaire knew one thing as she entered Maharlika Institute of Mystical Artes: she's going to make history — and that won't be possible if she's second place. With a lineage of powerful mages behind her and an insatiable drive for excellence, Puri is set on being the best, no matter who stands in her way.

When Sadire and Puri are assigned as partners in their advanced spellcasting class, their rivalry ignites. Sparks fly as their competitive spirits clash, each vying to outdo the other at every turn. Yet, as they delve deeper into the mysteries of magic and face unforeseen dangers together, their animosity begins to shift. They uncover hidden depths in each other, realizing that their strengths complement each other in unexpected ways.

The pair navigate the treacherous waters of magical academia, ancient secrets, and personal ambitions, Sadire and Puri must decide if their growing feelings for one another will be a source of strength or a dangerous distraction. In a world where power and prestige reign supreme, can two fierce rivals find common ground and perhaps, even love?

[action-exclamation]

POV You Are Doordash Now

(Incredible art by @isa-ah!! I'm going to be staring at it forever)

Not much is known about the Spellwright Ohtessa, save for that chores pertaining to her are often treated as some manner of hazing ritual (insofar, of course, that all chores passed from Mouth to Hireling are hazing rituals in and of themselves). She is not quite a recluse, but it is a very near thing. The small community on the little island south of Tel Branora is an uncannily insular one, and Ohtessa herself rarely employs her services for anyone other than Mistress Therana.

As she leads you down winding corridors, she babbles on in a thick trans-Eltheric accent, seemingly without stopping for air. She speaks of implausible theories and bygone times, and it is not until the two of you reach a small, cell-like room that you find the time to interject. You are here on delivery, you tell her, trying not to betray your irritation at the menial task.

It is a suspicious working relationship, and everyone knows it, but to say so in the presence of either madwoman would be precisely the sort of suicide an aspiring member of House Telvanni tries to avoid. So you keep your mouth shut as you float to the top of her tower, hoping that your levitation potion does not run out prematurely. She welcomes you in personally, warm and affable in a way that is more than a little disconcerting.

Ohtessa turns to you with a smile, broad and full of teeth. "Yes, darling. I know."

[kimberly-earthfriend]

Soooo I made a cosplay for my Wizard

It’s inspired by the Stag Lord’s Cape and Spellwright’s Druidic Cowl, so Kimberly’s main questing outfit. And yes, that is the emblem of the silver rose on the pocket :D

I wore it to the Fort Amherst fantasy festival last week

[simone-da-witch]

hello i am but a humble spellwright looking who has fallen ill to the curse of wrighter's block so i will be a spell-rater until i break this curse

pls send me spell descriptions or ideas and i will name and refine them, all while properly crediting u as co-creator of the spell

u can also send me ur spells and i will rate them for u

[miitgaanar]

Whumptober prompt! Requested by @serpenthyne!

No. 20: EMOTIONAL ANGST

Shoulder to Cry On | Giving Permission to Die | “It’s not your fault.”

Do not read this <3 I cannot stress that enough <3

***************

Winter’s bite had begun to fade by the time Mikaila was well enough to be out and about.  Patches of green poked through the slowly shrinking piles of snow, and once near absent songbirds could be heard even within the densely populated streets of Durlyne.  It was as if Ssael himself wished to welcome his favored daughter back to the land of the living with a splash of color.

But Addilyn couldn’t help the frown that pulled at her lips as she spied the girl’s pallid features, her tell-tale Soud green eyes dull and lacking that familiar mischievous gleam.

“Oi, lass,” Addilyn said, forcing a playful lilt into her voice.  “Don’t you be scheming over there.  I won’t have you spelling my sword soggy when I have to assist in training later.”

Mikaila looked up from where she sat on one of the stone benches lining the temple’s pathways, the barest smile painted upon her pale lips.  Even so, it didn’t quite reach her eyes.  Addilyn’s heart nearly split at the sight.

She hadn’t seen the little spellwright since the weeks following that harrowing night, and even then Mikaila had spent much of it in a fitful slumber, burning with fever and writhing in terrible pain.  Addilyn had felt so helpless, the vibrant little troublemaker at death’s door with naught but prayers to be said in the hope that the doctor could keep her from the khert’s grasping hands.

But the wee lass was strong, a fighter if she had ever seen one, and she’d beaten back the very same khert that had taken her father.

And yet the sight before her left Addilyn at a loss.  It wasn’t grief or fear that lined the girl's features.  She seemed… troubled.  Haunted.

Addilyn hadn’t known what to expect when Lemuel announced that he’d be bringing his newfound daughter to the temple, but this somehow felt worse than a hysterical child’s weeping.  

A sigh escaped her as Addilyn moved to sit beside Mikaila, the stone’s cold surface seeping into her trousers and making her shiver.

“You’ve been awful quiet since your doting uncle left you in my care,” Addilyn said with an air of levity.  “And here I’d been ready to be wowed by tales of your valiant victory over the Crescian invaders.”

Mikaila’s small, gloved hands clenched into tightly balled fists, her gaze averted to the ground.  “Can I ask you something, Addie?”

Addilyn blinked in surprise, her brow raised.  “Of course.”

A quiet moment passed, one in which Addilyn could hear the distant sounds of a hound’s baying.  “Do you think I did enough?” Mikaila finally asked.

“Enough—?”  Addilyn was struck speechless.  Among the short list of things she expected her to ask, that was not among them.  “What do you mean?”

“Everyone talks about that night like I did something special.  Like I fought them off and saved the day.”  Her voice was low, but sharp as a knife’s edge.  “But I could have done more.  I know I could have.  But Papa was hurt and there were so many of them and—”

Mikaila trailed off then, her little shoulders trembling.  Addilyn thought she had begun to cry, expected to see tears streaming down her pale cheeks as hiccupping sobs built up in her chest—but her eyes were dry, and there was a deep anger and frustration in her brilliant green gaze.

“It’s all my fault,” she said darkly, and it was with that that she sniffled softly, though Addilyn suspected she would blame it on the still brisk air.  “Had I not been there, Papa would still be here.”

“Miki—” Addilyn tried, but Mikaila cut her off.

“Had I been born a boy, Papa would have taught me how to fight.  He wouldn’t have told me to run.  He would have told me where to aim.”

She said it with such rancor, such bitterness.  Addilyn had thought the girl would be wailing for her lost Papa, but instead she harbored a profound guilt for his demise.

“Miki,” she tried again, reaching out to place a hand upon Mikaila’s uninjured shoulder.  There was little she could give her in the way of comfort, and even this felt like a paltry offering.  “Your Papa didn’t like me much.  Especially when your uncle would bring me around you.  But even I know that he loved you so very much.  Fiercely enough that he fought to the death to keep you safe.”

Mikaila sniffled again, her eyes still trained on her hands.  The gloves were new.  A darker blue than her old pair.

“And,” Addilyn continued, sensing a rebuttal building upon the little wright’s lips, “I would never dare say that he’d have done anything differently had it been a lad at his side that night, rather than his beloved daughter.  He’d have told that boy to run to find help, to find the guard, to get home.  Just as he did you.”

It was then that a stray tear finally spilled over Mikaila’s lashes, and her hands began to shake.  Addilyn did not hesitate to pull the girl toward her in a tight embrace.

“It wasn’t your fault, Miki,” Addilyn said gently, but with an edge that brokered no argument.  “You scared off a horde of Crescians all on your own.  And you fought your way back to us.  You are strong and bright and so very brave.”

Addilyn pulled back slightly, a small half-smile upon her lips as she brushed the stray tears from Mikaila’s cheeks.  Mikaila met her gaze with a watery smile of her own.

“Never doubt that you did more than most lads older than yourself would have managed,” Addilyn continued.  “You sitting here right now is proof that you did more than enough.”

Mikaila sniffled again, nodding stiffly as she buried her face in Addilyn’s tunic, her voice muffled as she simply said, “Thank you, Addie.”

[bragganhyl]

not to compare Gale to Aloth again but ngl some of the stuff Gale says makes Aloth look... kinda vicious in comparison, like that one convo you have with him in Lenore's tower, he's all "haha in my academy days i got into some wacky magic hijinks and stole a powerful artefact and I damned near got myself killed when I accidentally teleported myself into the lair of a monster but I got away with a slap on wrist for it"

meanwhile Aloth (well, technically Iselmyr) on his first days of his academy years slapped another student, said student turned out to be the son of noble and a spellwright student (so like someone specifically studying to be an archmage), said student then subjected him to his bullying for pretty much the rest of his student years, then Aloth found out that he ran an illegal science club, joined said illegal science club (for reasons that i won't list here bc that would be the whole short story), then killed the guy in an experiment conducted by the illegal science club... maybe... probably... we don't really know, it's open to interpretation but Aloth is convinced that he did it

[artists-guild-of-exandria]

another round with ExandriaArtists#TGGT project! here’s a spellwright initiation at the palace of wonders up in the cliffkeep mountains :)) this was a beast, but anything for AGE

———————————

From Twitter:

User - @/marinicom Artwork Link - https://twitter.com/marinicom/status/1684525311830917120

[captain-of-silvenar]

Hi! I was looking at your pinned post and Brisala caught my eye because of "fungal necromancy" - so my question is, what is that, it sounds so cool! I'd love to hear more about that!

Oh, Brisala is pretty neato, thank you for the ask!

So Fungal Necromancy, what is that? First I have to explain that my idea of necromancy is basically manipulation of life energy, yeah? So not really dissimilar to regular healing magic. But necromancy has the benefit of kind of encompassing anything with life energy. And that includes plants and fungi!

As a Telvanni Wizard, Brisala is a proud citizen of Morrowind and all the natural wonders it encompasses. A majority of it is covered in gigantic mushrooms and assorted fungi, to say the least of the Telvanni Tower grew by herself. If you're not including the potentially magical landscape by virtue of the place, all the fungal mycelium alone has a huge storage of energy! Fungi in general have huge networks that spread over whole continents sometimes and they interact and transfer energy from dead matter into other living organisms it lives with. Using this as a foundation, if one were to tap into it they could draw life energy from the very land into yourself. You would need to have an immense storage of magicka in your body then, so long as you knew how to harness and use the very land to fuel yourself.

This is the magical theory Brisala has worked on since childhood. House Telvanni already pride themselves on a lot of mushroom motifs and practical uses in their every day life. Surely it has to extend to more than just a home, armor, food, and pretty decoration. Imagine what one could accomplish if you could drain a continent the size of Morrowind by tapping into a vein of mycelium? Not that Brisala would do that, it is simply too big of an idea to test for a single Master Telvanni.

But a single Telvanni Tower? Now we're talking. Brisala grows unique and strange fungi in her studies to research different properties and uses in alchemy and magicka. If magic can be tapped from them, what else could be gleaned from them? Testing has shown that mycelium networks can communicate with each other and organisms they are attached to. Brisala has successfully added herself into that equation after years of experimentation and can now use fungi as extensions of herself.

So imagine you are trying to infiltrate or sneak into a Telvanni Tower. You're as quiet as you can be, but everywhere you go you can't help but feel as if you're being watched. And if you so happen to be in the Alithar family Tower, you most certainly are being watched by Brisala and are about 0.02 seconds from being consumed by the fungal floor.

Brisala has such an aptitude for fungal manipulation, she can freely change the interior of her Tower to move stairs, walls, and even whole rooms. Whatever extra magicka she has building up in her body she could deposit it into her Tower as a backup resource. Within the confines of her own home, Brisala is a terrifying being to behold in the seat of her power.

There is always more to learn from our fungal neighbors. Brisala is dedicated in exploring every possibility fungi have in everyday and extraordinary situations. As far as she knows there are very few actual fungomancers, much less those that dabble in necromancy.

And she intends to keep it that way, her research is precious and secret. Wouldn't want some upstart Spellwright getting any funny ideas to try and rise up the ranks through her notes.

[palephilosopherautomaton]

The war is over. You can still hear its echoes—steel clashing, thunder crackling from your fingertips, screams swallowed by smoke—but they no longer deafen you. You return not to a kingdom, nor a fortress, but to a modest village nestled at the edge of the Eltari Woods. Your name is known, whispered with awe: Seren Valemir, the Flame-Warden of the Southern Front, breaker of siege-lines, the last to stand at Durn Hollow.

You expected a quiet life. Solitude. Rest.

Instead, you get children on your porch each morning, dragging sticks like swords and begging for tales.

“Tell us about the Battle of the Iron Sky again, Master Valemir!” “Did you really set a whole hill on fire?” “Is it true you killed a blood-drake with your bare hands?”

Their eyes are wide. So young. You look into their faces and wonder how many times you fought to keep eyes like those safe.

The villagers, too, seem to think your return is a public service.

“Old Hartha’s sheep are missing again—could be trolls.”

“The well’s gone dry. We think there’s a curse.”

“Little Maela’s got fever. Can you charm it away?”

You never intended to become the town’s resident spellwright, healer, protector, and storyteller. But it happens. Bit by bit. A hexed field here, a haunted grove there. The mage who once leveled enemy camps now uses the same spells to mend broken fences and soothe colicky infants.

Then come the monsters.

They don’t respect peace treaties.

The woods spit out ghouls on moonless nights. Shadowbeasts stalk livestock. Something ancient stirs in the old mines—a whispering hunger, old as the land. You find yourself reaching for your staff more often than you hoped.

But something strange happens.

You heal.

Not quickly. Not cleanly. But undeniably.

Where once you were haunted by screams, now you’re lulled by lullabies sung in the tavern.

Where once your hand trembled with fire, now it calms to braid a child’s hair or guide an apprentice’s hand through their first spark-rune.

And the townsfolk—so utterly mortal—begin to call you not Battlemage, but simply Seren.

One night, long after a storm has passed, you sit by the fire with old bones aching and a mug of honeyed mead in hand. The wind hums outside. A knock comes at the door.

Not a monster.

Just a child. The smallest one. Rain in her hair, blanket clutched around her shoulders.

“I had a nightmare,” she says. “Can you make it go away?”

You beckon her close, draw the warmth of the hearth around her like a spell. You begin to speak—not of war, but of a bright place beyond the mountains, where dragons sleep and dream of better worlds.

And as her breathing slows, curling into slumber, you realize—

This, somehow, is your greatest spell.

And it might just save you yet.

After the long war, you return home, as a famed battlemage, hoping for peace and time to heal your bruised soul. But quiet life escapes you: children beg for stories, villagers need magic, and monsters keep intruding. Yet somehow, this chaotic little town is exactly what heals you.

[quirkycatsfatstacks]

Review: The Maker of Spells by Jenny O’Kell

Author: Jenny O’KellPublisher: IndieReleased: December 2, 2024Received: ReedsyFind it on Goodreads | More Fantasy Book Summary: Juno Vera is a talented spellwright who has made a name for herself in this world. Once betrothed to the queen, Juno is now tasked with speaking for her. It’s not the role Juno would have asked for in life, but she’s a talented speaker; if anybody can sway the king of…

[unsoundedcomic]

Whumptober 2024 - 23 - “Forced Choice”

((First part here))

When first the Lady whispered to me of a cache of forgotten wisdom hidden in the heart of Mmatont Anchert, the image of a library had blossomed in my mind's eye: dusty parchments, fat worm-eaten tomes, crumbling scrolls crowding each other for space on warped and collapsing shelves.

What I had not envisioned was what Rahm and I found when our gruff guide opened the Living Wood door.

A breeze colder than ice assailed us from a chamber of unbroken blackness. I could see no ceiling and see no walls; only a rectangle of floor smeared golden before our feet by the light of the Soud's torch. I stepped into it. My boots crunched over the fragile granules of ancient insect carapaces and layers and layers of… bird droppings?

The door closed behind us suddenly - very theatrical, pissmop! - and Rahm and I were in the dark.

"A moment, a moment," he muttered. I imagined him smacking his lighter against the heel of his hand and yes, it cracked suddenly to life with a muted blue burst. Despite the chill, Rahm's face was shiny with sweat, eyes wide, nostrils flared. I imagine my expression was similar, though more handsome of course.

"It stinks like Juste," I whispered.

"Birds."

Aye. Birds. I hooked his elbow with my own and we moved deeper into the room. Rahm thrust the wee pymaric light before us, but it made few inroads through the ink: no walls, no structural planes to catch the glow and reveal themselves; only an empty void where we had expected so much.

"I hope that boy is all right," Rahm said suddenly. I yelped a nervous laugh - I could not help it! - and he tensed against my arm.

"You know they have killed him. Let it go. He was nothing to us. Perhaps he touched children or worse! Licked his fingers at the supper table! Put your mind on why we've come."

My arm was colder and the room a bit blacker when he pulled away from me. "You're an asshole, Bastion. I know where your mind is."

"My mind is fixed firmly upon obtaining the algorhythms needed to chase the pieces of the scattered human soul, I have never hidden this-"

"In order to bring your sister back!" Rahm sounded triumphant, as though he was exposing to the light some long hidden and grimy secret. I always did love my self-righteous friend. And so I hated to scoff at him, but I cannot control my ego when it is in control. Which is often. Daily. Hourly.

"I had to pick SOME deceased subject, Rahm. She is as good as any other. I knew her well, I can identify whatever mind that reconstitutes as either belonging to her, or evidencing too aberrently. Should I have chosen that lovely young soprano who threw herself off the Spire last year, bashing her pretty brains out all over Rue Jonovan? I didn't even know her favourite colour."

Rahm's lips worried over his teeth with unvoiced emotion. I frankly did not give a whore's fart whether he believed me or not. I continued: "You? Your mind? You are after the resurrection of your dead son. And not for the good of us all, not to overcome the gods' crime, not to raise us from the muck that mortality condems us to; you wish it to apologise to your wife and to mend your cracked heart. Well, I think that is a WASTE - a disgraceful WASTE of a spellwright's intellect and a great man's mind!"

A strange expression passed over Rahm's face. For a moment I was fearful he would weep. But that was not quite right. It was sorrow yes, but… why, if I hadn't known better, I would have thought it was sorrow for ME.

What a fool that Rahm Ripa.

"What is here!" he suddenly challenged the emptiness, and wheeled away. He spun about, blue light feebly punching at the black, dust motes wildly bobbing. I saw a single small feather catch, then vanish again. "We were told of this place by Lady Ilganyag, Eldest of the Old! Who heard the First Words spoken and saw the Arbiter Khert take hold!"

No response.

"Try it in Tainish," I suggested. Rahm glowered deeper. Understandble. Dreadful bother to translate and localize verse, you always lose something. One really must learn Continental to enjoy the written works of Gari Fiat at all.

"Look onto the khert," he bade me sharply.

"Ach, very well, but you watch my back while I am vulnerable." I felt the Lady stir in my thoughts but say nothing as I complied. With a steady inhalation, I imagined my breath sweeping the flesh and blood and baggage from my bones; my bones themselves crumbling like ash behind me as I stepped forward through myself, and opened my eyes to the khert-lines.

I stumbled. Rahm caught my arm. A fool, but a friend.

Cutting golden through the blackness, the khert-lines here were thick as hawsers, knotted and twisted around themselves, Aspects and ghosts both sluggishly pulsing through them as though as cold as we were. Phantoms fitfully fluttered in the far, far corners of the room, and still more spiraled against the ceiling far above, skittering blind ghost fingers for some khert-line to follow towards freedom. Feeling Rahm watching me, I dropped my gaze and squinted through the gilded slashes, leading him deeper in.

There. An undefined void against the golden glow of the khert, I saw a Shape. It was a well-known shape to any son of Juste and follower of the Lady. The lines skittered around it, unable to intersect, and the ghosts themselves seemed repulsed. I heard Rahm gasp. A familiar belch of panic gripped my midsection when I tried to return to my fleshly eyes and found them sluggish. Then I steeled myself and with a moment's concerted effort the khert was blinked away, the blackness was returned - burning with no after images, no scintillation of pupils dilating - and I was immediately able to see the blacker black that loomed before us.

Every filament of Silver throughout my body burned hot. The torc at my throat clenched enough to leave me breathless.

In crackling old Tainish, the great Agib asked: "What do these Humans desire."

Oh, what a creature! Imagine a great avian raptor as tall as two men, of ebon plumage and silver razor talons. Now stretch its neck out to thrice the length of its body, give it the beak of a crow, golden human sclera, and irises red as fresh blood.

Rahm gibbered a moment and grabbed his own collar. Then our torcs relaxed, leaving us panting in tandem. Distantly sexy. The bird cocked its head to the side, then level again, then back. It was looking at Rahm's wee lighter. It occurred to me that a creature such as this must not often see such devices. In fact this was a newer design out of the Fluirstadt workshops, using starfly lymph and mirrors, and likely completely revolutionary to such a Mmatont shut-in.

"Give that to Agib," croaked the bird.

Rahm moved to comply and I snatched at his arm. I swear to the dead gods these Crescians do not know how to negotiate.

"We are come for knowledge," I interjected, making the lighter my own. I crushed the shiny bargaining chip to my chest, afraid he'd snatch it. "Lady Ilganyag sent us. She-"

The agib exploded into movement! It drew up on its claws, extended its legs, and shook open its dusty wings! They reached to the ceiling, embers of red burning deep at the roots of the primary quills. "Not the Lady of this Agib!" I think it said. The words were so garbled, the vocabulary so archaic. "Not the Lady of this Agib!"

Inside my head, my own bird was still.

"She wants not a thing from you!" I called, "My compeer and I wish only discourse with a brother scholar, one that I recognise has a savvy appreciation for pymary and pymarics! We have more than this lighter; we have an entire collection with us - in our luggage - of the most modern devices in use today. More than I can say of these savages keeping you prisoner."

"Agib is no prisoner," said the bird. Indeed, I realised suddenly there were no chains on this creature. But what a black, sad room it had been crushed inside. How was this more than a cage of stone, the floor a morass of shit and feathery down-

Oh, shit. SHIT. It had been shitting. Eating. Senet beasts only eat to repair wounds.

"Great injury," the bird lamented, folding its wings. Looking closer, I saw gaps in its primaries, and grievous half-healed fissures in its breast and legs.

"You fought with something," Rahm guessed politely. The monster shifted. All its plumage puffed suddenly, throwing off dust and muck in a choking cloud. It shook, then settled, its down sinking and skirting over its fearsome First Silver talons. Red eyes swung between my face and Rahm's.

"What do these Humans desire?" it asked again, "Humans of Ilganyag. Agib will give you single thing. You will all your precious creations give. Give to Agib all your precious creations. Single thing will Agib give."

Doubt nibbled at me. I knew that these creatures had for all time been the keepers of pymary, for they were the keepers of Old Tainish, the first language of the world. They alone fluently spoke the first words, and had taught them to men when they had thought them ready. If there were secrets, these testy great squawkers would have them. Having had one nesting inside of me since I was a boy, few know them as well.

But this monster did not seem as… put together, as my Lady Ilganyag.

Rahm must have had similar thoughts for he asked: "Who are you, my Lord? How can Humans know what it is Agib… Agib has to give?" It was charming to hear the Crescian try to modulate his Tainish into the old cadence, and use the older words.

"Agib knows," it replied simply.

"Agib knows words," Rahm agreed, "And Agib… knows that words can be spoken to… mirror reality, or to conjure a reality that is not real."

The beast twitched and threw its head, frustrated with the pair of us. I think it had grown accustomed to its solitude. "Humans," it said, "Humans invented the thing that is lying. Ilganyag lines her nest with it! Agib do not lie. Agib love the garden, admire the garden, protect the garden; never is there cause to speak untrue words about the garden!"

"But how can we KNOW?"

The beast puffed its breast and throat again, weaving its long, long neck in a serpent pattern. Rahm extended mollifying hands, his rings flashing in the soft blue light. The sight of them captured the bird's wandering eye. I chuckled. Apparently it loved shinies just as much as my mistress.

Without looking away from the glinting jewellery, in hisses and croaks it recited: "The garden is the garden, paths and stones fixed. Motive and movements determined. The world is in this garden grown and for this garden meant. To change the garden is to KILL the world. Agib alone know how to plant, to prune; the tools are of the Agib and the Agib alone have the tools. To lie is a tool to shape humans; a lie cannot shape the garden. Human tongues never can twist the heart of the garden; only the hearts of humans."

"That was true once," I said, not caring for its arrogance, "But there is a reason Agib have become passing rare, isn't there? Humans have surpassed you and taken your tools-"

The Agib's terrible eyes flared. "AGIB COULD PRUNE YOU NOW, ILGANYAG HUMAN."

Incomprehensible pain opened my insides like a knife. The sun itself burst out of my entrails, up through stomach and esophagus, into my mouth and devoured my eyes, my sinuses, my brain in fire. I have no memory of how I came to be on the ground but then I was, all of reality shrinking away from me - I was in the dark, screaming.

When sensible again, I saw Rahm crouched protectively over me, shielding me, and the wee lighter was in the Agib's beak. All of my friend's rings were gone. Rahm's lips moved but I couldn't hear his words through my groaning, through the echoing pain.

How was I alive? Briefly, I did not wish to be.

Small red hands come from the beast's silver maw. They drew the lighter in, greedily in, clinking against the other jewellery already in its mouth. Then its bill shut, and we were all of us left in the dark. I sobbed like a child in Rahm's arms.

"He did not speak!" I wailed, "He did not speak!"

"What do these humans desire," asked the Agib a final time.

I desired nothing more in that moment than to flee from this room, from this structure, from this island, and away from this monster. It was nothing like Ilganyag. My Lady leads me on a merry dance, but I know the steps. I can sense her moods like a hound turning its snout to the wind. She hates me, but she loves me too. She feels the same about every one of us.

No similar ambivalence from this bird in the black. I knew it cursed us all, and would peck the eyes from a newborn's skull. It had, too. Somehow I knew that it had, countless times. It had been the God of the Soud Vaghal; one of the things on the mountain beneath whose shadow the primitive Tains had cowered and sacrificed.

"I want nothing," I whispered. I'd never said that before. I'd never meant it. I've not meant it since.

Rahm held me tightly as I shuddered, but he was not so defeated. I wonder now what thoughts were behind his eyes as he cast them through the lightless room and towards the unfathomable power of the Agib in the Dark. Did he think of Iori sobbing over their dead boy? The boy himself, dissolving into the khert like sands captured by the surf and pulled into the sea... I wanted to tell him that no answer this creature gave would be answer enough for any of it.

Rahm shifted softly against me and drew his shoulders back to speak. "I wish for us to fly," he said, "Humans cannot shape the garden, but to look down upon it as the Agib does, and behold its splendour, might inspire our tongues towards the same reverence as yours."

A long moment passed. Very faintly I could hear the muffled clinking of metal inside the bird's body, as its tiny hands turned its new treasures over and over. Then:

"A good trade."

---------

A few days later, Rahm and I were back in Tain. Our boat had landed in a little fishing town called Orniers, similar to Lurick and quite as dull. Still, our inn served a fine side of pork and I had ordered a bottle of Omid Red, stewed apples, and a wedge of that soft cheese they make in the west. Rahm swirled his pour in his slim brown fingers, naked now of their pymaric finery but no less elegant.

I'd felt sour and cross since returning. I had left the monster's room to be ill, but Rahm had stayed behind, conferring with the bird and watching it produce formulae of incredible complexity. Now he had a stack of notes and numbers written with impossible precision - they nearly looked pressed with type.

"Did it use its wee mouth hands?" I asked, piling cheese and pork on a slice of good rye, "Did his human moiety ever emerge?"

"I don't know," Rahm answered, expression distant, "It never rose the lights again and I was afraid it would change its mind if I reached for my second lighter. Sitting in the dark for hours, the great monster writing away, my best friend abandoned me for the toilet-- by the Lady, I've only been that afraid for that long a few times. He may have given me new direction for the flying machine, but he may have taken a fucking year off my life."

"Same," I admitted. Rahm narrowed his eyes at me.

"You have many more to spare."

"That is true and it is not my fault. I say if I do not begin taking Ilganyag's suggestions with more caution going forward, it may not matter. Sometimes I cannot tell if she is trying to get me killed, or merely to humble me. Try these apples, there is some rum in them."

My friend moved a few to his plate. He picked at them with little interest. "What does she say about all this?"

"She is amused," I sighed, "But largely silent. I think she and the Agib in the Dark have some history. She wishes me to instruct you to keep its existence a secret."

"I already promised it the same. Senets and their mysteries."

"Aye."

Night was falling. The fishermen had already docked and I could hear the shout and clamour of the lads unloading their catch. We'd stay one more night there, then hire a vliegeng to take us over the mountain in the morning. I thought again about that mountain; the sacred mountain from the top of which, it was said, all pymary had sprung. What had the Tains given the Agib for it? Surely more than light; more than rings.

"I thought you were after the same thing I was," I baited, pouring my friend a second glass.

"So did I."

"Lose your nerve? I say, men accosting senets for information on how to raise their loved ones must be the most tedious trope to them."

Rahm shook his head. "Didn't you listen to it? We can't shape the garden, Bastion. To attempt to… it would kill the world. Death is a part of it. There is no undoing it. But if I finish the flying machine, then… then there was a point to what happened. There was a reason."

He put the wine to his lips. He never said if he cared for the apples.

I'll be honest with you, my dear and patient readers: my friend's answer stuck in my throat like a stone. It sits there still, and galls me when I visit them; when Iori is fingering her gaudy ugly necklace sadly, and Rahm has red eyes after a late night in his workshop. To look for a reason is to look for your own madness. There is no purpose and no reason. We pattern-seeking rodents exhaust ourselves in pursuit of melody within this maelstrom, but there's only noise, and our ringing ears. There is no purpose and no reason, Rahm.

Yet I know he must live each day acting as if there is. That is the thin membrane of sanity we all tread upon so heavily but so carefully, trying not to snap through.

I love my friend Rahm Ripa.

But I will not be put off by the arrogance and tyranny of created things; things that have seen firsthand what the determination of the grown thing can accomplish. Do you remember it tucked away hiding in its own shit? Do you remember? Something brought to great ruin, that Agib in the Dark. Something rent its breast and broke its wings. Was it another senet? Or was it someone wielding our clever pymarics, and our constructed weaponry, and our determination to obtain the tools we need to shape the garden for ourselves?

I don't know for certain, reader; but I ask you to believe with me, sincerely and with your whole heart, that it was one of us.

[kinghlaaluhelseth]

this is Navi, a newly promoted spellwright of house telvanni who weirdly decided to search skyrim for someone to be his mouth so he can be put on the council. i think he crafts himself a dwarven automaton dog. he's strange and somewhat murderous, but we can allow it because he's homosexual about it.

[forgottensongsuniverse]

Just picked up these two! Can't wait to to read the conclusion to Blake Charlton's amazing Spellwright trilogy, and actually read one of my favourite fantasy stories from when I was a kid ☺️

(Second one is The Brothers Lionheart in Danish, in case you were wondering)

[kimberly-earthfriend]

Here’s a quick look at my wizard throughout her entire story in the spiral. More in depth under the cut <3

Edit: oopsie, added an arc 4 outfit. My pen just ran away with me ✨

So this is Kimberly before she got sent off to Ravenwood, when she was still running about Dun Dara and the Weirwood without a care in the world. The outfit isn’t based on any specific gear, but takes inspiration from the designs of the foxes all over Avalon. The boots are the Spellwright’s Druidic Boots and will be consistent throughout every design except the paradox, since I headcanon them to be shaped around her hooves, and therefore the most comfortable option with every outfit.

Upon arrival in Ravenwood, Kim was fitted with traditional wizard city robes. Here you can see her wearing the Fairy Cloak in dark green and gold, and the Daredevil’s hat in the same colours. Her wand is Gravewynd’s Earth Staff, one of my favourite early game wand models.

In Kimberly’s fifth year at Ravenwood, she was selected to compete in the spiral cup. Here, you can see her wearing the Vestment of Earth, to represent her school while she duels in Wysteria, and carrying the Wand of the Oasis (the life school’s wand for a spiral cup competitor). She did, however, refuse to wear the hood from the Wysteria uniform, and instead opted for the Widow’s bewitching hat in dark green and gold. She finds it easier to fit a beanie around her antlers than a hood.

After her success in the spiral cup, Kimberly was chosen in her seventh and final year at Ravenwood to represent wizard city in the immortal games. Here you can see her wearing the Vestment of Zeus’ Aegis, adopting the traditional dress of Aquila out of respect for the tournament. Her helmet is the Pixie’s Mask of Encanta, which might seem a bit strange. In my personal wizard101 canon, competitors in the immortal games are challenged to acquire or (ideally) make a helmet which best represents them to wear while they compete. Kimberly was raised by the Fae and has a strong connection to life and trees, so this helmet was perfect for her. The wand is the Aquilan Velite Lance, which was gifted to her as a congratulatory gesture for winning the tournament.

One thing Kimberly enjoyed about the magical tournaments far more than just competing in them was teaching and coaching other students. With that in mind, she moved to Wysteria after she graduated from Ravenwood and began to teach the young wizards from every world how to duel. Here, she’s not wearing any sort of helmet or hood, since she finds it more helpful for the students if they can see her face. The hairstyle is “The Mists Dun Dara” as a tribute to her homelands. The robe is the Greenwarden’s energetic shroud. The wand is the rosewood persuader. All Avalon-sourced gear to make her feel more comfortable and at home.

This outfit is from around the time Kimberly was first recruited to aid the young wizard on their quest, so around the beginning of dragonspyre in arc 1. Like the previous outfit, the gear is all from Avalon. She wears the Spellwright’s Druidic Cowl and the Stag Lord’s Cape in green and gold. The wand is the sword of kings, although prior to acquiring it during the Avalon quest line, she was still using the Aquilan Velite Lance.

This outfit hails from the beginning of arc 3, when the schism first start to become a problem. She stole a schismist robe of the first and wears it around the arcanum to freak out the scholars. The helmet is the Burrower Helm of Ardor. The wand is Zander’s focussed staff. As the child of light and shadow, black and white streaks have begun to grow into her hair.

Ah yes, the scion of Bartleby. Here, Kimberly is wearing the Lively Liaison’s cloak, as per her promotion from Arcanum Initiate to Liaison. Much like when she competed in the spiral cup all those years ago, she refuses to wear the ridiculous hat issued by the arcanum and instead opts for the lofty alphoi mantle. Her wand is the Branch of the World Tree. I know it’s a bit odd to give her a level 45 wand at this point, but I thought it made sense since she is the Scion of the World Tree in question. With the advancement of her powers, the streaks in her hair have grown more noticeable. All this time channeling both light and shadow magic is bringing her closer to becoming the Paradox.

I think this one is pretty self explanatory. It’s the Paradox gear from the end of Empyrea, except I coloured it green instead of blue to represent Kimberly’s life magic. Her hair has completely grown out into the colours of the void. At the moment I don’t have a solid design for her in arc 4, but maybe I’ll work on that next.