#seven schools

[save-the-spiral]

If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!

title from Sylvia Plath’s poem Poppies In July

The storm wizard’s mouth has a small indent from a pen or pencil they chewed on while they were solving a problem. They taste metal on their tongue and their teeth feel like they’re about to vibrate out of their mouth from ambient electricity in their body. They crunch chips too loud, probably in class, and like to have lollipops only because of the dramatic energy of the stick sticking out of their mouth while they smirk and lean over into another person’s conversation, solving their problems in a sentence or two like it’s nothing. They paint their lips dark purples and reds and always forget when they do, smearing it eventually.

The ice wizard’s mouth is a thin grimacing line when they watch others mess up, hesitant to interfere and get involved. Their lips shine with a sheen of flavorless lip balm, or their lips are ragged with chapping and them picking at it. The soft burn of peppermint in their mouth lingers, they keep mints on them in a metal tin that rattles. When they exhale, if it’s cold enough there will be a pale blue-white cloud of water vapor, of condensation that can’t help but sparkle with magic and emanate a faint light.

The fire wizard’s mouth is burned from trying hot drinks too quickly. They paint their lips bright reds and oranges and golds. They don’t bite their tongue often enough and social mistakes fall from that mouth. They yell, snarl, and bite with that mouth like it is a deranged rabid dog on a fraying, charred leash, and they let it happen because they’re better at burning things than anything else, and awful at changing.

The death wizard’s mouth is painted black with lipstick of any quality. Eulogies drawl from those lips, names of those deceased easier to say than those still among the living. They can taste something awful in the back of their throat sometimes, reminiscent of the scent of freshly turned dirt and fake floral perfumes. Their teeth are just another imprint, another way to identify a body if all else fails. They cannot help but whisper goodbyes and greet with the relief of seeing someone alive that shouldn’t be.

The myth wizard’s mouth has a bit of ink just at the corner, because they fiddle with quills and cannot help but make a mistake. Plain pinks and soft corals paint their mouth, though the daring go for electric yellow and blue. They enunciate every name in every dead language perfectly. They make puns, and the wide break of a facade when they grin is enough to stop anyone in their tracks. That mouth will rasp prophecies one moment and drop open with reverence over an old text the next, and they will eventually forget both instances anyway, everything lost to time.

The life wizard’s mouth is frowning with concentration as they do their work, shoulders aching from endless burdens. They do their duty and don’t hesitate when it requires mouth to mouth, ready to give a breath of life, remembering to tap into their internal magic to make it work all the better and save a slim few that can be saved with that extra bit of magic. Plain reds are best when they look for lipstick, but they tend to pick ones labeled with flower names just to stay on brand. The color doesn’t really matter when they bark out orders, quick, efficient, and life saving with every social nicety skipped.

The balance wizard’s mouth is dry as they study, forgetting the water at their side all too often. They tug at their bottom lip with their teeth, letting the color pale from it with the pressure only to release it, captivating to anyone who appreciates their aesthetic beauty. They choose nude lipsticks and plain lip balms. They are slow to taste, quiet and appreciative, trying to pick out flavors, find a meaning in almost everything. This won’t stop them from murmuring insults under their breath when annoyed, even though they are merely a bystander most of the time.

The star wizard’s tongue sticks out, immature and childish. They pick any bright color or fancy lipstick that catches their eye, collecting them with an intent of simple ownership over something pretty. They laugh too often and don’t feel like laughing enough for how much they do of it. They have a quick trigger finger on their smile, bringing it up in the presence of others and just as fast to holster it, leaving something vacuous and empty in its place. 

The sun wizard’s mouth grins wide, and they shout and grin, they announce themselves. They wear borrowed colors from friends on their lips, smiling and thanking whenever they need to. They bite at their lips when they try to strategize, to think things through so they don’t lose anyone. They blow kisses, kiss a hand, brush their lips across offered knuckles, a smaller, more intimate and real smile showing through.

The moon wizard’s mouth is smudged with food or stray makeup. They give a tired half smile, they huff and groan and move anyway. Their mouth is slow to smile, but when they do its soft and brilliant and captivating, enough to whisper poems about and want to trace with careful fingers. They can shift expression and faces, never sure what constitutes a real show of emotion and who they are, flickering television glares of who they are becoming a blinding ray in the face of their adversary. 

The shadow wizard’s mouth is obscured by hands and darkness and the fact that sometimes they bend reality so it just isn’t there. Their lips are left uncovered, unless they find a dark purple, blue, or black that suits their particular tastes. They have teeth, you’re not sure just how sharp. Their mouth is a slash, beam of lights slicing through anything to illuminate their darkness. The rarity of smiles makes every grin a sparkle of hope, it’s created a false desert of happiness, eternally cold, a reminder that as extreme highs happen, the fall is quick to sweep them off their feet.

[save-the-spiral]

InkWizTober Day Nineteen: Sling + Home

Welcome to day nineteen of Inktober! Ended up writing this. Realizing that ‘sling’ doesn’t apply as much as I’d like it to, but they’re injured so, it counts. Also just assume they were questing in Wizard City because I was halfway through when I realized it depends on what world they’re questing in. Warnings for self doubt and death mention.

(link to prompt lists) (link to inktober tag)

To return to Wizard City, defeated, is different for every school of wizard.

The storm wizard appears in a purple cloud of magic that sparks harmlessly. They’re disappointed- only slightly in themself, mostly in their allies, the people who were supposed to heal and protect them. With a put upon, annoyed sigh they plopped down onto the sidewalk of the Commons, ready and waiting to say ‘I told you so’ to their allies when they inevitably appear.

The ice wizard appears in a cold burst of magic. They’re prideful, to be defeated is to take the hits their allies couldn’t afford. They hold their head high, shoulders back as they walk through the Commons, trying to ignore the flutter of fear that always makes their heart race. With a clenched fist and a blank face, they go to the Fairgrounds to get more potions, needing to return on their quest as soon as possible.

The fire wizard appears in a whirl of flame. They clench their fists and jaw, body almost shaking in fury. Regret and shame cause them to hang their head, mind recounting every mistake they inevitably made. They’re upset, knowing they’re too impulsive to be a hero, to be a leader. They wait in a shadowy corner of the Commons, trying to calm themself for when their friends come back to get them. As if their friends ever needed them.

The death wizard appears with a subtle dark mist clinging to their limbs, something they have to shake off so it doesn’t trail magical residue all around the Commons. They sigh, frustrated. Cold dread fills their system as their magic reminds them of their mistake, of how not every fight will end with harmless defeat. First their magic reprimands them, and then their allies will no doubt scold them for their lack of self preservation. Really, it got repetitive after the first few times.

The myth wizard appears with blue fog, triangles of gold magic swirling off of them until they move. Regret makes them frown, knowing the minion they had summoned to help their allies wouldn’t be enough in their absence. They’d have to do better next time, be stronger. They walk towards the Fairgrounds, wanting to get more potions in anticipation of solo adventures so they could be better next time.

The life wizard appears in a swarm of green magic and leaves. They stumble on the cobblestones, almost collapsing, distraught. They failed. And now they couldn’t heal their friends, couldn’t keep them safe and alive. In the end, wasn’t that all they were good for? Didn’t they spend so much of the battle focusing on others that they hadn’t paid attention to their own health until they verged on defeat? If they couldn’t even keep themself alive, how could they be trusted with their friends’ lives? They lean heavily against the side of a building, staring at the spot where their friends would return, mind already anticipating the argument to come.

The balance wizard appears with a thin shield of maroon magic that fades after a moment. They scowl at their hands, before trying to come to peace with what happened. Strategies had failed, back up plans had as well. They’d just have to do better next time. The sorcerer has to acknowledge that the past cannot be changed, that being upset will not put them back into battle. It’s hard though, and they want to sit and pout when they don’t have the time to. Well, they have all the time in the world to sit, seeing as they can’t go back into battle right away. Instead of pouting, they sit and try to meditate instead of worry. They don’t do the best job of it, but trying is what counts.

[save-the-spiral]

A hibernation of thought and magic

Warnings for death mentions. 

Storm wizards are restless in their sleep. They somehow manage to twist and roll across (and sometimes off) the bed, becoming either blanketless or a quilt burrito. They snuffle and mumble in their sleep, but they’re heavy sleepers. That is, unless a storm breaks. They’ll wake with the thunder, eyes opening at the flash of lightning, and wander to the nearest window, open it, breathing calmly. They’ll let some droplets fall onto their outstretched hand, half asleep and entranced by their magic in nature. They can feel every movement, the power contained in every part from the clouds to the rain to the lightning. It’s a comfort, and they sleep much more peacefully on those nights.

Ice wizards tend to be blanket hogs, even in the middle of summer. They’ll burrow into the blankets until the air grows stale and they have to breathe freely of the blankets again, regretfully. They don’t dream much, but sometimes they do and it leads to sleepless nights full of study instead. Most times they sleep undisturbed, a static void of rest until a chill overtakes them, frost outside growing in the night as winter grows near. Then they wake slowly, comforted like many humans feel in a light breeze during summer. They’ll wake, and putter outside, watching and helping the way of things as plants grow fuzzy white coats of frost, puddles freeze, and the world gets a little more quiet, making it even easier for them to sleep that night.

Fire wizards are the type to sleep with tons of stuffed animals and pillows, but just a single blanket. They have confusing, scary dreams often, but that will happen when you control such an unruly and emotional magic. Sometimes it will get really bad and they’ll wake up feverish and terrified of their own hands, and they wake somewhere else after a bout of sleep walking. Once in a while, in the dog days of summer, when many stay awake waiting for the night to bring a coolness that will never come, the cicadas sing. They go outside, restless as they finally stop to watch the fireflies rise and begin to dance, watching the world moving around them in full summer, and staying still for once, letting other things take action and simply learning. Warm breezes curl like intoxicating smoke in the air, and the fire wizard rests that night with dreams of warmth and light, not ravaging flames.

Death wizards sleep almost too much. They find solace in getting lost in a different world, in being detached from the grief and pain of being the opposite of life. Of course, there is no solitude even in dreams, when the dead come to visit to give messages and quests, or simply to be evil and inflict nightmares on the wizard. They tend to be utilitarian in blankets and pillows, but always have one thing, a small stuffed toy or pillow, with sentimental value. They are hard to wake, and rarely do unless disturbed quite a bit, but when someone dies near them, it’s a sudden transition with no in between of sleep and wakefulness, because they simply exist in this moment as awake, and fully aware of a spirit losing ties to their body. If they don’t recognize it, and feel that another necromancer has taken care of the soul, they simply pace until exhausted again and sleep again. If they do recognize it, they won’t be sleeping soon at all. 

Myth wizards sleep fitfully. They get snippets of visions, from the mundane to the Spiral saving kind. They don’t get the rest they need, busy half dozing until they See something and have to record it, fearful because what if this is the one that if they forget people die, what if this small vision determines the universe. But they continue to sleep, in a messy pile of quilts, practically a nest of soft things. Once in a while, they’ll get a full vision through their medium as they try to sleep, and they write it down, and they feel whole and real again after the sleep deprived hallucinations and the delirium. They pass out then, dropping dead into a sleep that may last for days, but will leave them healed afterwards.  

Life wizards sleep either not at all or just enough. It’s when they have a patient that causes them enough worry to not sleep. They just don’t want a condition to worsen or a person to die simply because they needed something as paltry as sleep. They dream peacefully, and sleep as such, unless worry clouds them. Some nights, their magic calls on them and they wake, the world fuzzy and slow around them as they begin to go outside, feeling winter coming to its end. They rise sprouts from the ground, half asleep and smiling as they do quiet, good work that will make the world a little kinder, a little more alive. Hours later they will fall into bed exhausted but happy.

Balance wizards sleep in measured amounts. They meditate before and after sleeping, and have that quiet, static void of dreamlessness. They’re talkative sleepers, mumbling nonsense that their friends may interpret for entertainment at times. They sometimes get glimpses of something strange, otherworldly even to them, a seasoned world traveler. They see flashes of gold, darkness, warmth, vindictive spite, they see small parts of how the Spiral is out of balance, and get hints of how to fix it. Sometimes they wake, if they know they can fix it and feel the call to do so. Sometimes they don’t, and sleep contently, knowing that the Spiral works in strange ways, but not every call to fight is theirs to follow.