Some would say they were "utterly incompetent together" and "some of the least feared pirates in all of the Spiral".
~~~
yeah so this one ended up being another episode of me playing with art styles LMAO but i saw the "puppet" prompt and IMMEDIATELY the idea of imitating the style of the in-game puppet shows came to me and i ended up doing it with my two main pirates, Orion and Brynn (i never post about the latter because im not running through the game with her atm SORRYYY) you WILL look at my silly guys
also this is where i come out and say ive already failed to stay on the 30 day schedule but whad ever. ill get these done when i get them done. im having a blast about it either way. xoxo
"If you listen closely - and to the right people - you'll learn there's a darker side to The Wizard. They're said to have spread forbidden Shadow Magic to the spiral and danced on the comet that still rains upon Azteca"
I apologize for the wizard I will become after Wallaru comes out
I've been thinking about Pirate!Nolan Stormgate theory, so here are some head cannons.
Nolan Stormgate is a Pirate Headcanons
Stormgate is not Nolan's real surname. It is the name of his parents' ship, the Stormgate. At Ambrose's suggestion, he went by Stormgate in order to blend in with the other students.
Nolan was originally a Diviner (storm student), but he transferred into Myth. He keeps Storm as his secondary school though.
Nolan despises the storm shark spell. He was raised with Cutthroats and Storm Sharks as tangible threats, so he doesn't believe the sharks won't turn on you at a moment's notice.
Nolan has severe fish out of water syndrome, so he is viewed as that one weird asshole to everyone around him. He was raised in an environment where you need to be an ass in order to survive, so he carries it over into his interactions with the city residents.
Due to the physical labor that goes into working on a ship, Nolan is the most athletic student. In a similar vein, his built up stamina gives him the most mana among his peers.
Nolan has not been seen without his robes, because Ambrose told him he'd fit in better if he covered up his variety of scars, piercings, and tattoos. On the sea, these are badges of honor but in Ravenwood they are not.
Nolan was trained in melee combat, so he has an intense amount of muscle memory. An elder student tried to play a prank on him, only to end up with a broken nose.
In a similar vein, Nolan has been trained in a variety of different weapons. He can swordfight, he can use a bo-staff, he can swing around an axe or hammer, he can shoot a gun, etc.
Nolan's first instinct is to always fight with his staff as a melee weapon instead of casting a spell. The first magic duel he was in, he started to beat his opponent because that is what you do on the sea. That was the start of his weird asshole reputation.
Nolan can swordfight.
Nolan underage drinks, but he doesn't know he underage drinks. Nolan will drink yum, and his classmates will freak out because he is drinking liquor and will take offense to him offering them some. No one bothered to explain to him the issue, so now he keeps his yum to himself because he thinks the others find it gross.
Nolan has looting tendencies. During his classmates victory dance, he'll just stand over the defeated individual and shake them down for anything he can pawn off.
Nolan has the best haggling abilities.
None of his classmates have put together that he was raised as a pirate, because while pirates exist they don't impact Wizard City directly so they always seemed like a distant threat.
Despite that, the Ravenwood students all have theories on what Nolan's deal is.
The only student who figured out Nolan was raised by pirates is Penny Dreadful, because Marleybone has a navy that is vocal about the pirate problem. No one believes her though.
Nolan gravitates towards people who are mean, so he deeply admires Cyrus Drake and has a one-sided rivalry with Duncan Grimwater.
To everyone's horror, Nolan is the best adjusted emotionally because he was raised in an environment where everyone felt comfortable sharing their issues among the crew. He finds the isolationist lifestyle of wizards troubling.
Bit of a return to my roots, since I haven't actually been involved in the wizard101 fanbase in years, but this is a project I've had in my files for a while and I was in the mood to finish this.
I really liked the catacombs questline, it's easily one of my favorite parts of the entire game.
The wizard and the pirate will never meet and can never meet.
Because for all that the wizard is selfless, the pirate is selfish, aching and greedy.
Because the pirate wouldn't let go of the wizard, like they don't let go of their crew. They would hold them like the stars, like they mean everything.
They would let the world burn to take some of that weight off the wizard.
The pirate has had everything taken from them, its only fair to take someone whose lost as much as them.
So the wizard and the pirate can never meet, soulmates never destined to meet or the spiral will die because of selfish love.
I normally don't send asks and I'm sorry if you've done this before, but you have any headcannons on how the YW is affected by Azteca's destruction 👁👁
Proof of me voting for Dyvim
(buy me coffee?)
1 2 3 <- three pre-existing azteca oneshots ^-^ I'm always down to write about one of my fav worlds dw.
Content warning for apocalypse, implied death, survivor's guilt, alcohol, bad coping mechanisms, etc.
The young wizard never told anyone they have a piece of the apocalypse in their pocket.
It is just a small rock, something they can hold in their palm and stare at, just jagged enough to hurt when they unconsciously clench their fingers around it. It looks almost like a shard of ice, if not for the strange purple tint and glow.
It's a macabre nightlight, but the young wizard has long since been scared of the dark. They've ventured into enough caves and shadowy places to know well enough why all rational creatures fear the dark.
At one point some blacksmith or jewelry maker notices the rock and calls it pretty. They offer to put it on a chain or in the hilt of some weapon, so it can be useful. So it isn't in the way, but they can keep the memory.
The young wizard doesn't want the memory of Azteca to be easy to carry. Not when the nightmares leave them crushed, not when others demand they play Atlas with the Spiral itself.
None of this work is easy, or light. None of it should be carried as a trinket or tool.
It hurts. The memory of their triumphs and defeats hurt, bearing down on them, heavy enough to steal breath, to grind their bones into dust.
The piece of meteor is heavy and awkward in the pocket of their robes. It knocks against their hip as they walk. It jabs into their hand whenever they thoughtlessly put their hands in their pockets, as if for a moment they deserve to relax.
They say killers keep trophies of their conquests. Bits and pieces of the lives they've unjustly stolen from the world, unthinkable violence they committed due to a cocktail of issues brought to a boiling point until all the alcohol burns off and it's just bitter, sour juice left behind.
The young wizard takes a drink, a toast in remembrance of the lives they couldn't save, and the piece of Xibalba burns ice cold through their robes, branding into their flesh.
There's nothing to make carrying this burden any easier, and they wouldn't have it any other way.
this post has somewhat escaped containment and anyway i looked up this blorbo they’re talking about and um. did you guys know that there is a wizard 101 fandom on tumblr dotcom. like the website. from the commercials
a very self indulgent pirate101 au of my main ocs V and Coda!! no real story to them here other than they’re my main ocs and i like to draw them together with some of my favorite characters for fun :-)
summary: You were familiar with Monquistans, seeing as they ran around in Azteca doing whatever they pleased.
But this one... you recognized this one.
notes: not much to say about this one... i edited this one about twice? before i thought it seemed good enough to post 👍 may this encourage me to make more switch up au stuffs....
READ ON A03
You think, after all this time, you would forget a name like his – a face like his.
The hustle and bustle of the late-night crowd is loud, but the air is filled with hearty laughs, the ambience of the denizens of this world having a good time; you hear the sounds of drinking glasses clinking together, cutlery sliding along plates, and spoons digging into bowls.
It would be comforting if you weren't running on very little sleep. You can feel your tunic bunch uncomfortably from underneath your coat, feel the itch of the fire insignia still fresh on the back from when you drew it in a rush, eager to get something warm over your body.
You feel as if you look a bit foolish standing there in the entrance to the inn, so you busy yourself with finding an unoccupied table. Regardless of how put together you look at the moment, your mind is still hazy from recent events.
Khrysalis had ended on... a semi-rough note, you reflect. The sting of betrayal is still raw, still twists something in the pit of your stomach if you marinated on it for too long, but you can’t help the wash of embarrassment that rushes over you at the thought of your kindness taken advantage so easily again.
You had gotten too complacent, and that’s why you were here—on the verge of frostbite and too tired to care. You had been too used to the idea that everyone was going to be on your side, that they wouldn’t lie to your face, extend an olive branch, offer any sagely advice that came with being trapped in a shadowy, guard-infested prison for thousands of years—
That train of thought stops very quickly.
The physical symptoms of that particular adventure still lingered within you—you believe it’s because you absorbed so much of Morganthe’s magic after she had fallen to her demise. You figure this may be your body's way of getting used to having the proper amount of magic again.
Perhaps, a little part of your mind speaks up, voice so quiet you almost wanted to ignore it, perhaps it would have been better to die a martyr – you would have liked to see the look on his face had you not decided to be obedient for once, and died with the magic he so craved.
It had initially been a surprise when Merle Ambrose summoned you to his office, with claims of ‘something important’ needing to be discussed with you. You hadn’t noticed the sharp curl of anxiety in your stomach until he presented you with your diploma, managing a quiet laugh at your shocked expression. The tension bled out of your shoulders almost as easily as it appeared, and your vision focused to better examine the document he gave you.
The paper had felt crisp and clean, so unlike the quest paper you bought from the bazaar, and so unlike the thin and flimsy paper you used when you used to turn in your assignments. It had felt warm to the touch, and your eyes narrowed in on the way ink pooled slightly in certain places, as if this certificate had recently been finished.
And then, there had been your name – printed neatly, slanted in Merle Ambrose’s cursive script, sharp and wondrous across the page, with a golden stamp reflecting in the light.
Graduation. You couldn’t help the small grin that overtook your features. It took this long, but I’m finally…
The following graduation ceremony had been… quick. You suppose Wizards hadn’t been much for celebrations, always straight and to the point, but it had been sweet. Try as you might, you could not discreetly wipe away the tears as each of the Ravenwood staff stepped forward to say a few words after the official assembly had ended, giving you their own words of encouragement as you stepped out into the new world.
It wasn’t hard to miss the sudden chill that blanketed the area, and the familiar pit inside you was starting to fester inside you. Bartleby got sick, you knew it had been your fault, in some way or another—and now you were here.
In cold and icy Polaris, tension is thick and heavy. The air is full of things unsaid, but you’re not quite sure what’s being said in the first place. This isn’t helped by the local inspector, who sniffs with disdain and squints disapprovingly at your lack of prepared attire for the weather. He doesn’t seem pleased by the smudged ink displayed almost proudly on your hand, but lets you pass anyway.
The quest was still fresh–you had to write it in a hurry and head to Polaris, after all. You had always been a bit sloppy with quest writing—there’s a bit of an excuse now. You have a time limit.
As long as it's legible, You said to yourself.
(A habit that would never die – a habit that lingered as soon as you learned the practice of quest writing. At the beginning your letters were neat and clean – this habit had stopped during Azteca, until you stopped writing them at all.
…
Spell Writing 101 had always been your favorite class anyways.)
You digress.
Now, you were familiar with Monquistans, seeing as they ran around in Azteca doing whatever they pleased. But you didn’t think you would ever run into one in Polaris of all places. You didn’t think anyone could stand the cold like the Pingouins. But this one... you recognized this Monquistan.
Because as soon as you laid your eyes upon the figure, you blinked, pausing in your descent of the steps.
“...Mister Gandry, is it?" You said, stepping close to the figure's table. He had been nursing a mug of... something. You detected the smell of something vaguely sweet and acidic.
Wine. You think, immediately. Wizard wine exists? Well, wine isn't exactly hard to make, is it? It's just... grapes.
That wasn’t important right now, you think.
He scrutinizes your dress for a moment, in a way that reminds you of the inspector at the world door, but he must have recognized you, with the way his eyes widened slightly at the edges.
"Can it be?" He said, and even his tone brings something like disbelief to the surface. It's almost hard to hear over the thick accent he has, and the sudden loud cheers a nearby table gives, but you nod in reply, breaking into a grin.
"The Wizard we met on the ship! My word, you're looking... a bit worse for wear."
He gestures for you to sit down, waving over the nearest waiter to bring them a drink for you as well. You can't even get a word in edgewise about your lack of drinking before the cup is being slid across the wooden table, red pooling deliciously at the edges.
"Worse for wear is putting it lightly." You say, chuckling a bit. Your hands come up to wrap gingerly around the pint, fingers tapping gently against the aged wood. It smells even sweeter than you thought. "I never thought I'd see you again! Where is, ah...?"
"Boochbeard?" He finishes for you, just as he polishes off the last of his drink. You nod. "Who knows. We got separated a while back."
“Aren’t you worried?” You ask, and he levels you with a stare, brow raised.
“It’d be a miracle if something around here manages to kill him.” He shifts in his seat, giving a lazy look around. “I see Polaris still hasn’t gotten back up on its legs after the war, eh? Figures.”
The words begin to blend together into his accent, but you can hear bits and pieces of what he’s trying to say. Something about the ‘armada,’ something about a ‘pirate.’
“The pirate?” You tilt your head to the side before the memory blooms behind your eyelids. Excitement bursts in the pit of your stomach. Yes, yes—the ship, those people, and most curious of all, that robot. “How are they doing these days?”
He takes a swig of his second drink – when he had ordered that one, you wondered – and shrugs.
“You... don’t know?” You’re dumbfounded. “I figured they were one of yours.”
“An orphan.” He amends, but the tone of his voice dips into something more casual, as if this were par for the course.
“Is that... common? Is this common?”
He nods without saying another word, and the two of you descend into another silence. This didn’t exactly astound you, seeing as Wizard City also housed these types—the city was safe enough as it was (with you there anyways, your brain supplies). You had surmised a while back that Ravenwood functioned more as a boarding school then it did a regular school, so the lack of parental figures wasn’t all that surprising to you.
But regardless, a pirate... you didn’t have any experience with them, minus Taylor Coleridge and the Monquistan in front of you.
“Is being a Pirate fun?” You ask.
His mouth twists thoughtfully before frowning. You think that has more so to do with the taste of his drink than your question. “About as fun as being a Wizard is.”
That was… Hm. You can count how many times you stood there and wondered if being a wizard was worth it. For all that it gave you—whether it was the joy and awe of seeing magic for the first time, or the warmth in your chest as you learn the words to another spell, or even just the fact that each spiral key you required earned you a glimpse into a new world, with new places to explore…
There were also things you… loathed about being a Wizard, no matter how hard you tried. Clearly there were things written in the fine script, but you had been reading that contract with younger, naive eyes.
In Wizard law there are no accidents.
You think your silence stretches on longer than usual – Gandry pauses, peering over the rim of the cup with inquisitive eyes. He puts his cup down.
"Tell me then," he prompts. "Is being a Wizard fun?"
The edge of your own cup reaches your lips. The first and only sip you would have. "...About as fun as being a Pirate is, I suppose."
He says nothing as you tell him your answer, but push your cup to the side and flag down the waiter for a steaming mug of something hot instead—the tea smells earthy and fragrant, warming your frozen fingers as you blow on it with cooling breaths.
"I wonder how they're doing." You muse quietly. You hadn't even gotten a glimpse of their face, or their personality—only gave words of encouragement, coaxed Mister Gandry and Mister Boochbeard into investigating whatever it is that the Maestro and his robotic friend were keen to stop before it started. “The Pirate, that is.”
You had touched upon their life – altered the course of their timeline, without ever seeing them. You think it's almost better this way, but you can't help the twinge in your heart that wants to meet the person they are today.
Did they have any friends? Do they have family? Did they have a favorite food, a favorite color, did they like the way the stars twinkled at night, or how the clouds stretched upon an infinity? Most of all—
Were they alive?
You wonder.
"Running from the armada, probably." Gandry’s dry tone snaps you out of your haze. "I want to say I'm surprised the armada hasn't touched this part of the spiral, but – you're here."
"... I'm here." You repeat softly. Almost fondly. You were here, fighting tooth and nail to prevent the rest of the spiral from falling apart. To give others the chance to do the same. You’re not sure what an ‘armada’ is and have no clue whether or not you’d be able to defend against it, but you recognize that the two of you are on different journeys.
You wonder if you’ll ever cross paths.
The silence stretches on until you stand, pushing your chair backwards as you relay to your companion that you had Wizardly duties to deal with. There's no note of change or expressions on his face, only neutral responses; he nods as he waves you off, and pushes the gold back into your hand when you attempt to repay him back.
"My treat, wizard." Mr. Gandry speaks. This time, there's a grin stretching across his face. "Welcome to Polaris."
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