Carving Anew
(link to the original post)
I decided to make an addition to my most popular post, with the four additional schools. Content warning for blood mention.
When a star wizard is marked, the bright, sparkling energy of something so bright seems to blind them. Pinpricks of pain rise in a cold, detached fire, widening and filling their vision with nothing but white. When the pain abates into a slight tingling, there will be marks on the apples of their cheeks, stars that glitter, holographic markings on their skin forever. They can grow, with time, and more seemingly erratic or selfish plans pulled off to the benefit of more than themself. They will scatter across their face, varying in sizes and glittering in the sunlight, they will glimmer with strange, eclectic wisdom. They will carry constellations on their faces, amalgamations and dot-to-dots in order to represent their power.
When a sun wizard is marked the sunlight fills their body, warm, warmer, and then burning from the inside out, an instant incineration that leaves them bereft of any breath to scream with. On their back, where the spine tapers off, where their spine dips when they arch, stretching up, towards the heavens, there is a small sun. It shimmers golden, the size of their palm. It radiates warmth, loosening muscles ever tense from the stress the wizard takes upon themself. When they stray from the right path, falling into selfishness and greed, the mark freezes, turning their surrounding skin black and blue with the cold. But if they continue, if they do what is good and right, then the sun expands, gradually, until the circle is as large as their hand, fingers splayed, and the flares of the sun grow ever larger, up and down their spine, circling around their sides and to their hips, more coppery or orange as they grow older.
When a moon wizard is marked, a cool breeze hits them, pushing them around, controlled as the moon controls the tides. They are unsteady on their feet as a strange wet feeling, like a stamp pressed into their skin, hits them on their side. A phase of the moon, clear as day on their skin. The grey of the moon is darker depending on how light the wizard’s skin tone is- the mark wants to shine. As they change more, and accept these changes, on both their sides from their underarms to hips, there are lines depicting the phases of the moon, the full moon at their middle. The texture of the moons themselves are smooth, like touching a stone that had lain in a river bed for centuries.
When a shadow wizard is marked, they don’t feel it. They don’t notice anything at all. Usually they only learn shadow after already being skilled and powerful enough to be marked from their primary school, and even then, they don’t spend enough time gawking at their mark as if it was new to notice the addition. But it is there, a dark indigo, almost black mark that lines the mark of their primary school. It will continue to spread as long as the wizard still practices and progresses in shadow magic, spiraling out with cut off lines, left in the strange triangle of shadowmancy’s casting sigil. After a while they may start to emanate from a secondary school’s mark, if the wizard manages to get one of those, a rarity. The shadow marks continue, regardless of how they potentially mar the body of the wizard. The shadow always continues on, unending in it’s existence.
So few wizards even know of these schools and their existence. To obtain a marking from them is strange, an alien concept that many scholars would tell you is impossible. A made up school, a made up mark, a waste of time.
Until the stars burn into your skin and blind you, the sun becomes so cold it freezes your blood in your veins, the moon’s phases cut into the skin, the shadow takes all of those tendrils of darkness on your skin and pulls tight, binding you, stealing your breath away.
