#mage john

[randomced859]

Have a page full of Mage John from Oreca Battle by yours truly.

[randomced859]

Hi, I’m Cedric and I collect strong and mage class Oreca Battle units.

[randomced859]

Fan art of Mage John from Oreca Battle.

[rowanwanders]

John woke late the next morning, the sun already having been up for a couple of hours. His body was still sore from its exertion the day before, but he felt well rested and recharged. He lay there a few more minutes, enjoying the luxurious bed before he sat up and stretched, giving his shoulder its customary morning massage. Then his gaze fell on the violin case still resting on the table and he stilled as the memories from his dream came rushing back to his waking mind. John exhaled sharply and ran his hands over his face in disbelief. He looked up at the mirror facing the bed and found the same shadow reflected in it that he had seen upon waking the day before. Either his mind was playing tricks on him or he could just make out a silhouette -- the same as the day before but slightly more defined -- of a face and hair that reminded him of the Sherlock from his dream. As he watched it, the shade drifted back and forth between the bed and the violin case.

“Shit!” John exclaimed. He recalled his nudity the night before, cursed again and made sure at least his lower half was still covered.

“Eirian, give me strength,” he muttered under his breath. He watched the shade as it drifted back and forth, seemingly agitated, in the sunlight. “Tea first. Then I’ll look at your bloody violin case and journal,” he muttered at the mirror, since he could see the shade better there. The almost face seemed to frown at him. “My house, my body, my schedule. I need tea and to use the privy so, if you don’t mind, kindly make yourself as scarce as possible.”

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[rowanwanders]

A battle weary mage, a shade that lives a half life, dream lovers, demons, a peaceful village on the edge of an evil forest, and a choice that will determine if Light or Dark prevails. Where John is a mage who finds a home in a small village that was left unprotected after the previous mage dies under mysterious circumstances, but he soon finds out that Sherlock might not be as dead as everyone seems to think.

John stood and stared at the items surrounding him. When he’d stopped by to let Mrs. Hudson know he’d be moving into the house that evening and he just needed to pick up a few things for the cupboard, he hadn’t realized that one of the villager’s sons was there picking up the family’s bread order. Before he knew it, the young boy had dashed out to spread the word. By the time John had finished afternoon tea with his landlord -- she had insisted after all -- many of the townspeople had showed up with various things they thought he’d need.

“Really, I only needed a few items,” John told Mrs. Hudson quietly. “I don’t know how I’m going to manage to carry all these things out to the house. I haven’t even done anything for most of these people yet.”

“Welcome to being a village mage, dearie,” she tutted kindly at him. “They know it’ll be their turn soon enough and they’re just glad to have you here.”

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[rowanwanders]

Sunday Six-ish

Before I miss it completely (like the last couple of Sundays) here, have John explaining magic to Archie in simple terms:

“Is that where he died?” the boy asked fascinated.

“Archie, remember how I told you I’d answer your questions about magic?” John asked him somberly, kneeling down to his level. Archie nodded. “You haven’t asked this question yet, but I’m going to go ahead and answer it for you. Is magic dangerous? Yes. Even simple spells carry risks. Like when you zap a bug. But every time you zap, use magic, you use up a little bit of the energy inside you. You’re young, you recharge quickly because you’re outside in the sun a lot and like to play in the water, you rest hard because you play hard, and you eat when you’re hungry. Unless you zap a lot of bugs at once you probably won’t even feel the effects of using magic. Magic isn’t an inexhaustible well of power for people and mages to draw on. That’s why we use stones and staffs. Each stone has a special purpose, each staff unique to each wizard. They can help to anchor and channel our power. But if you use too much power too fast, without taking care to recharge yourself or your tools, it can cause more harm than good. Does that make sense so far?” Archie nodded, his eyes wide. “Big spells, ones that require casting circles like that, require an enormous amount of concentration and energy. A mage puts both a lot of time into preparing one and a lot himself into that sort of spell. If something goes wrong, if there was too much power drawn at once that the mage wasn’t anticipating, or something was off, and the mage casting it didn’t realize it, terrible things can happen. In this case, a mage, Sherlock, died. And now there could be residual magic, power, or something else trapped there. That's why I haven’t touched it yet.”

From the next chapter of A Light in the Gloam

[rowanwanders]

After treating a few of the ailments that had been plaguing some of the townsfolk, John returned to the house the next day. Having become so engrossed the day before in the books and notes left behind by Sherlock -- he’d started calling the man by his name instead of “the previous mage” sometime the night before -- John decided it was best to focus on the kitchen area and bedroom so he could actually move in and then tackle everything else once he lived there. He’d spent much of the night before trying to piece together who Sherlock had been based on the opinions of the townspeople and the notes in the books he’d read, and he still hadn’t been able to come to any sort of conclusion about the man other than he must have been a force to be reckoned with. Even so, he had found himself with a growing admiration for the man and regretting that he would never meet Sherlock to form his own opinion.

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[rowanwanders]

The demon grinned. Oh, he’d been right not to have his minion interfere with the new mage. When he’d first tasted those golden tendrils he’d been intrigued, so he’d ordered them not to do anything yet. He wanted to see what this new mage had to offer. When the mage had raised his protective ward around the forest, the demon had almost regretted his decision. He hadn’t counted on the man being that strong. But then he’d tasted the momentary hum of excitement that had run through the mage when the demon had pushed back. A thrill seeker, a mage with power, a mage who had experienced death on the battlefield — the demon had tasted all those things in that moment; oh, this was just too tempting to pass up.

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