#nonbinary wizard

[unicornclutter]

dressed up Wizard

[marlynnofmany]

Better Than One

I’d been having a fine day as a traveling wizard, right up until the wagon got stuck in a very suspicious muddy patch. The locals who were giving me a ride all grumbled and got out, calling to their friends in the other wagon to come give a hand lifting. The mud had looked shallow, simply a wet patch where some passerby had emptied a waterskin, but no. When the wheels hit it, they’d sunk to the axle with a jolt that made the horses squeal and buck.

“Whoa there,” cooed a lad, stepping forward to calm the mares. I kept one eye on him to make sure I wouldn’t need to heal any broken bones, and waited for the elders to finish talking in circles.

“We should put something down in front of the wheels.”

“Yes, for traction.”

“There’s nothing close but grass. You want to walk to the forest?”

“It’s not that far.”

“It’s pretty far.”

“Maybe we can scrape some rocks and dirt from the cliff… Nah.”

“Nah.”

“The longer we wait, the more settled this wagon’s gonna get.”

“This is gonna be tricky to lift. I don’t fancy the odds of keeping our footing in that mud.”

“Ooh yeah, slipping under the wheels would be disastrous.”

I was waiting to see if they’d remember they had a wizard among them, or if I should volunteer my services without being asked. Some people were touchy about magic. These folks had seemed properly respectful, though.

I’d tailored my appearance to match this region’s general idea of what a respected magic-user should look like: skin darker than theirs, shock-white hair in artful twists, a jawline beard over a face with minimal lines. Also tiny flowers sprouting from my hair, because can’t a fellow have a little fun? And I was a fellow, at least at the moment.

“Good sir,” said a sturdy woman, “Might you have any solutions for this problem?”

I stroked my goatee (that always looks wise), then pushed back the sleeves of my robe. “I might indeed. If everyone would stand back, please?”

They took me at my word and hustled off the road. The lad with the horses asked if he should stay or go, and I suggested that he keep up his soothing mutter. Horses were skittish beasts. I didn’t want them panicking while I worked magic behind them.

“Now this,” I announced to the onlookers, “Is a job for two wizards.” Then I snapped my fingers and did my favorite trick.

I split into two of myself, identical in every way. My memory thread stayed with the one on the left today. I knew that I would regain the new memories from the other when we rejoined. For now, we had a wagon to lift.

While the locals exclaimed in amazement, the two of me took up positions on opposite sides of the wagon, then lit our hands with glowing blue magic. We extended that magic to the wagon. It began lifting out of the muck.

Then it exploded in a fireball that threw me backward, and I swear, that was not my fault.

It took a moment to get my bearings among all the screaming and running around. More people were here than a moment ago. The new ones had weapons. Someone yanked me to my feet, yelling at me to run, then dragging me along when I just blinked concussedly.

I’m afraid I remained out of it for the stumbling run to the nearby town, where I was given a bed and a cool cloth on my face. People talked a lot. One of them was a doctor. Not a magical one, more’s the pity. But to everyone’s clear relief, I eventually pulled together enough coherent thoughts to remember a healing spell of my own.

“Ow,” was my first word as I sat up, with the healing glow fading. This was a bedroom, with half a dozen people talking at me. “One at a time, please. What happened?”

According to the locals, that had been raiders from another town that had recently turned to blood magic. I kept my surprise to myself. The locals went into detail about the many people who had been stolen away from the roads, usually leaving no trace but blood. One body had been found, sliced and pierced in a way that one elder swore was the style of blood mages from over the sea.

The more they talked, the more it became obvious that 1) the town had a serious problem, 2) the town had no one able to stand up to a blood mage, and 3) my course was clear.

I had one question. “Did anyone see what happened to the other one of me?”

Worried looks all around. “I’m sorry to say that the raiders got him,” admitted a slim man. “How… how big of a problem is that?”

I sighed. “Not as big as it could be.” I wouldn’t lose any important memories. “Though that blood magic is a concern.”

A matronly woman put a hand to her mouth. “Will they be able to do things to you with your own blood?”

“Probably not,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “At any rate, that sort of magic takes a lot of time to prepare. How long was I out?”

Hm. Too long. I squinted out the window at the setting sun while the locals dithered. They mentioned half-hearted plans of mounting their own raid, an idea that had gained more supporters with each missing person.

Time to make it whole-hearted. I got to my feet in one smooth motion. “Gather everyone. We attack at dawn.”

Respect is a grand thing. They agreed immediately and scattered to spread the word. I took stock of myself to make sure I was in proper shape (yes) and asked a youth in the next room if anyone had seen my bag of belongings (no). Oh well. It was nothing I couldn’t live without, and maybe the raiders would have it. Along with my other body. That was going to be unpleasant to deal with. I put it from my mind and set to planning. The locals were already pouring in.

This building turned out to be an inn of some sort, with a big enough common room that most of the town could cram inside. No one objected to me taking charge of the proceedings. They welcomed the arrival of an expert. When I asked for everything they could tell me about the other town, they obliged. Then we talked of weaponry, landscape, and a battle plan.

No one got much sleep that night. Just a few hours (which I insisted on) to make sure we were all fit to roll out in the pre-dawn light.

I was firm about who would come along: just those volunteers who were actually familiar with the weapons they brought, and not so many that the town would be devastated if the plan failed. Though really, that was a worst-case scenario that no one wanted. I left directions to send a messenger to acquaintances of mine in the nearest big city if we didn’t return.

But we would return. I was determined. How dare those raiders? No matter how dire any circumstances on their own end, there was no possible excuse for this kind of behavior. Plus they had my other self, so this was more than a little personal.

Our three wagons passed the remains of the two from the earlier attack. With the sky rapidly lightening, I didn’t spend long checking for magical residue, just enough to confirm that the raiders had used pre-constructed firebombs. They hadn’t attacked with a wizard of their own. Good.

Then we followed the road through the grasslands and around a rocky cliff, and “good” turned into “uh-oh.”

In the shadows of cliffs blocking the sunrise were four wagons full of armed people riding in our direction.

I called a halt, though the villagers were already reining in the horses and leaping out to brandish pitchforks and rusty swords at — yes, these were the raiders. They were doing the same. With weapons that weren’t much better than ours, oddly.

Hold that thought. More important observation. My other self was riding in the front wagon.

We both stood in unison. “I’ll handle this.” I don’t know if we both amplified our voices, but I sure did, and the two ranks of agitated people settled.

I climbed down, aware of the attention and the many possibilities in play. My other self did the same. We strode forward, robes flapping, to meet in the middle of the road.

I did a magical scan as I walked. No sign of a compulsion spell, illusion charms, or blood magic. I felt a similar scan in return.

“Are you safe?” I asked, just in case.

“Yes. Are you?”

“Yes.” I held out a hand. “Merge?”

My other self nodded and took my hand. We activated our magic in tandem, and the world blurred around me. When it reformed, I was facing to the side with my hand still outstretched.

I had new memories. And, thanks forever to the elder mages who’d perfected this spell, I had a moment of accelerated time in which to review them.

My other self had not been killed in the attack. I had instead been taken hostage along with several other villagers. I’d been injured in this version of events too, only regaining awareness and healing myself when I was separated from the other captives. The attackers had questions for me.

Was I aware, they asked, that the people giving me a ride were known for necromancy, and surely planned to trap me at their village? Uh, no, I did not know that.

According to my new captors (hosts?), the attack had been entirely justified, since the people of the village had been abducting townsfolk from the road for months now.

Abducting, you say? Oh yes, leaving no trace but empty wagons and broken reins where the horses had been taken too. The only body to be discovered had been missing its head. According to the elders, that was exactly the kind of thing that skull-obsessed necromancers from over the sea would do.

This was starting to sound awfully familiar to my other memory thread (casual xenophobia and everything), but I continued reviewing. Both of my selves had agreed to lead a charge to stop the vicious attacks on honest folk. Both of my selves were now one self, feeling a little silly about it and putting all my focus towards the obvious solution.

Something else was taking the travelers. What did I know? One was slashed and pierced; another lost its head. Horses taken too. No belongings.

All put together, that sounded an awful lot like the dragon attacks that farmers on the other side of the hills had reported. The sheep and cattle had been under serious predation until folks had pooled their money to import a pair of griffin guards. The dragon had then buggered off for parts unknown.

For here. These parts right here. Probably these very cliffs, unless I missed my guess. They seemed like the type to have caves.

And now they had a dragon. But good news: the townsfolk had pitchforks, determination, and a wizard who’d fought dragons before.

I loosened my grasp on the speed of time, then paused for effect while the various onlookers shuffled nervously. I lowered my arm and announced, “A DRAGON DID IT.”

There was a lot of surprised chatter at that. Weapons were lowered slightly, though not by much.

I gave one group a stern look, then the other. “Neither town is to blame,” I said. “Somewhere in these hills we will find a dragon’s lair. It will hold enough unfortunate remains to settle the matter. It will likely also hold a dragon big enough to carry off a horse, and stealthy enough to stay out of sight of all but its victims. But!” I added when they started sounding disheartened. “I have a plan. Who can tell me where the largest cave can be found?”

People in both groups pointed in the same general direction, babbling about a ravine that wouldn’t fit the wagons. That was fine. Wagons and horses would just be liabilities in a dragon fight anyway.

“Lead the way,” I said. “Even if this dragon has no hoard—” (it wouldn’t, not if it left the belongings behind) “—then its scales and claws will be valuable spell components. I have contacts in the city who will pay well enough to compensate the families of those lost, and then some.”

That cheered everyone up a noticeable amount, though they were still giving each other skeptical looks. The group with four wagons began backing and turning them in preparation for following the road to the ravine, and every soul there was still clutching a weapon.

“What’s your plan?” called someone from the other group.

“Multiple distractions, target the eyes, and send mage-darts to the brain.” It was both humane and efficient to scramble the dragon’s brain instead of actually using the pitchforks. “I’ll hit from both sides at once. Because a dragon may be a match for one wizard—” I snapped my fingers. “But it’s not a match for two.”

[pizzanotpatriarchy]

@loboflaco @makewavesandwar

[winkingrain]

Nihilism and Jars of Blood

Cheshir knew this isn't going to end well. They'd known as much since they resolved to return to Kelador nearly two months ago, and it hadn't even so much as slowed them down. Theronna had thrown caution to the wind as soon as she saw Sebastian, to whom she was united in being the old king's only other ward. Now, she teased him about things she wasn't supposed to know and showed up in the heart of the castle without explaining how she got there.

They were both going to die.

That was fine. After everything else that had happened, dying was probably the least of Cheshir's many, many problems.

They sighed, looking at their arm, then what could only be described as a spigot. They needed to test their blood and there weren't many ways to do it, but this would hurt, and they couldn't use magic to clean up the mess it would leave behind.

"Dah-hhk," they groaned, before cutting a small opening in their arm and sticking the spigot in. They tilted their arm to let the blood flow into a tiny jar they'd prepared for the purpose.

The jar filled. They tilted back, eased the spigot out, and wrapped the wound in bandages. It was a bad plan and a worse execution, but they had to know if they were carrying the same plague that had ravaged the fehlme'ehr community of Fourwall. If they were contaminated too... well, they'd cross that bridge when they came to it.

They slumbed into the hard back of the chair they'd wrangled Theronna into stealing for them, staring vacantly at the jar of their blood. They'd have to do something with it soon, but all Cheshir wanted to do now was alleviate the light-headedness of bloodloss. It wouldn't do them any good to cast a complicated diagnostic spell with their head spinning. They'd probably have to do the whole thing over again, and already the sight of the spigot made them sick.

Cheshir lost track of time.

.

They woke up in the middle of casting the spell. After asking all visitors to provide some blood, not only had they dramatically reduced the number of visitors to the quarantine hall, they'd also practiced the diagnostic spell so many times that they could, apparently, do it in their sleep. Or their unconsciousness. It came down to the same thing, nowadays. Not that it hadn't always been so; Imoryth had dragged them to bed after fooling around with spells into unconsciousness too many times already. Cheshir's cousin would probably do the same now, were they there to try it.

The spell relaxed, the impetual phase complete.

Now, the wait.

They folded their arms on the table, prepared to lay their head down and settle in for the long haul when there was a green glimmer at the center of the jar.

Cheshir leaned closer, closer, until their nose was almost touching the glass.

The green expanded and expanded until it subsumed the whole of the crimson mass within the container. There was nothing but the sickly green glow of a positive result staring back into Cheshir's eyes.

They fell back, out of the chair and onto the floor.

They really were going to die.

[every-captain]

[etamale]

Another concept illustration of our friend. They might be just a little bit of a wizard. Notice my use of the color green. It’s not very notable, unless you know how hard it is for me to work with that particular color. Overall quite proud of this one, especially the use of lighting and texture.