Does things based on emotion rather than what they think would be fun or give instant gratification.
Only does homework if it’s interesting. Halston and Dalia know better than to base grades on any homework.
Very insecure about being annoying. Tend to tone down their personality because of this.
Not great with spells that do damage over time.
If they don’t care about something, it will be forgotten almost immediately.
If they truly connect with fire magic, their tempest spell can become a sea of lava, ash raining from above, molten rock rising up, looming, and even though most creatures wouldn’t have to touch the lava for it to kill them, the wave of lava still rises, only to slam down, giving the sensation of being crushed before dissipating.
When the diviner gives up, they’re frustrated. They scream into their fist with anger, their lips curled in a petrified snarl as they drop their tool or weapon of choice with a bitter tinge to the twitch of their fingers. They tried so hard too, and yet it was all for nothing because they can’t get one single thing right, and they’re not surprised if they hear faint, muffled laughter around them. With hot, frustrated tears and sparking twitching fingers that grab at their head as they recede into themself, all of the feeling draining away in a whirlpool until they’re numb, and they just don’t care about the world crashing around them.
When the thaumaturge gives up, it’s with an empty panic. They collapse and stare into nothing and for once do nothing, strangely enough without the usual restlessness. They watch the world around them descend into chaos or never change at all, and a rush of cold creeps through them glacially, making their lungs burn with it. They breathe out, and it feels like they breathe their magic out with it, the white cloud shimmering as small blue snowflakes of magic flutter in the wind. The focus on the metallic slivers of their magic, and everything else feels like it’s falling away as they let go.
When the pyromancer gives up something in them dies. That brilliant spark in their eyes dims, their shoulders slump just enough to make them feel small, they hang their head. Their shaky exhale becomes a noxious cloud of smoke, burning up their throat and out their nostrils and mouth like a bad cigarette, a bitter cigar to chew on. Embers rest on their tongue, and they feel it poison them, racing through their veins with a faint flash of adrenaline. Their own magic urges them to get up, hurting them with no other option, but they shake their head, helpless.
When the necromancer gives up they collapse, a puppet with its strings slashed suddenly, barbarically. They barely break their fall, letting their limp joints crackle and hurt, sure to bruise. Their eyes darken to black sightless voids, and their heart beats frantically for life. But that’s a battle, the death wizard is on the fence,waiting to decide whether to just stop, or let their heart beat on, to get up. They move stiffly as they push themself up, their neck perilously bared as they sit up, lean all their weight back, and wait.
When the conjurer gives up they smile grimly, because they knew everything lead to an end, and this was theirs. They have an intuition for these things, because knowing the future isn’t all tea reading and tarot, because nothing works that way. Maybe now wasn’t ideal, but they were still ready, a cold sinking feeling in the middle of their chest, the despair clouding their thoughts. Their goodbyes were already said, because the just know these things, and cannot stop them. They gave up a long time ago.
When the theurgist gives up they don’t want to. Their practicality as a healer screams at them, their compassionate humanity screaming back, because they cannot stand to lose patients, they cannot stand to have blood on their hands in a way they can’t clean off. With their shaking hands and hesitancy, they know what must be done. Theurgists don’t give up unless it’s a life they could save, because letting go isn’t something the life school teaches. Yet they still have to learn it someday
When the sorcerer gives up, they don’t accept it. Denial shakes the words spilling out their mouth, the unmeasured syllables becoming thoughtless pleas and pathetic cries. They’ve transformed from the calm mediator to a wizard overwhelmed with emotion, for once reminded that they’re still a student. A balance wizard is someone dedicated to the equilibrium of the Spiral, someone entrenched in realism as they quest forward into life. Now they see no other option but to allow themself to yield, to fall in, spiraling through a void-like air inside themselves. They try to accept what they’re doing, and fail.
Can you pretty please do headcanons for a Death main with Myth secondary?
Thanks to @french-wizard, @echoscream96 , and 2 anons, who also sent in the same request! (school masterpost)
Death wizards with a Myth secondary are far too morbidly curious for their own good.
They’re nosy, the type to go a bit too far in their studies, look too much and not even realize they’re in too deep.
Cyrus doesn’t really scare them, especially back when Malistaire was teaching. Now Cyrus tends to ignore necromancers and the fact that they exist.
These necromancers start getting strange dreams. Ones about pain, about the slow suffering, the grim march, about clawing and screaming as they’re dragged down into the force of magic they started out with.
They dream of deaths. They dream of the deaths of strangers, and have an innate knowledge of when, where, why, and how it happens. It could be strangers, it could be friends, lovers, peers, teachers. It could be themself.
They are so very afraid, but they just can’t stop now. They go deeper, search for new companions and methods of divining the future. They just don’t know when to stop.
Since someone asked what a critical feels like, what might a block feel like?
Blocking criticals is a difficult task, one only experienced wizards can do. It relies on their strength and what they’ll do with it.
The towering, monstrous spell seems twice as large, as toothy, as poisonous, as dangerous, all of its being amplified by the critical of the enemy. The wizard, bound by the battle array, has to watch the creature prepare to attack, and the only thing the wizard can do is lay a helpless hand on their wand, their deck in the other hand.
What really matters when blocking is how they feel when they recognize the critical spell for what is, what they feel when faced with something so large it can make even the strongest wizard feel insignificant, afraid.
But when a wizard stands tall, chin up, defiant in the face of a large, all consuming end. When they smirk at a creature’s warcry, they roll their eyes at a villain’s monologue. When they are fearless, there is power taken from that spell, it’s velocity toward critical mass is stolen.
Most wizards are not fearless. Yet they can block a critical anyway, and that is where the true strength comes into play.
The wizard is terrified. They are small and weak in the face of this hulking, enraged spell that could decimate them effortlessly. However, they do not cower. They refuse the faintest thought of fleeing. They raise their wand, shield, hands, whatever- as if that would do anything to stop it.
But at least they are doing something.
Because they are determined. They will take this blow because otherwise it would be their friends or allies, and that resolve, that unwavering loyalty and self-reliance, that’s enough to block and conquer the overwhelming power of the spell.
They get hit anyway, they grunt with the force of it and grit their teeth when wounded by it. But the satisfaction they feel at what they accomplished, watching their enemy’s smirk become a scowl, that’s worth it.
That brilliant glow faded to nothing, power drained away and dissipated back into the ever swirling magic of the Spiral. It saved the wizard, it made them battle with renewed vigor.
It reminded them of the danger they face, but also why they fight back.
Hey y’all !! I wrote a fic about @western-civil‘s oc Finnegan!! He’s a poor death wiz, who went Through some things.
Civil’s comic (here) and my original headcanon list (here)
Warnings for uhhh murder mention?
Finnegan stared down at the leather-bound tome in his hands that an upperclassman had dropped in his lap yesterday. His tanned fingers brushed over the ancient script, in an old language he only knew because of his ingrained magic.
The ink was dark, almost consuming the light in how it seeped into the pages, stray drawings and ink splotches somehow seeming elegant when surrounding the extravagant black script
“Why?” Finnegan muttered, his voice hoarse as he thumbed through some more page. Normally he would’ve moved, maybe gotten some water or a potion, but right now he was paralyzed.
The rough parchment in his hands and the old leather of the cover, the heavy scent of dust and age all around him, it all overwhelmed him, the sensory deprivation of the silence leading to this oddly maddening scene. He was seated in a corner made of bookshelves, resting in the typically empty Death Tower, and it was a bright day outside.
He had told Dworgyn the news, and at his twisted, ecstatic grin, Finnegan fled, claiming to be studying. But he was hiding, some acidic, cynical voice reminded him. He was hiding from everyone and everything that was outside the tower, as if they’d attack him.
They had congratulated him. It was the ‘first great step’, what he had done. His fingers curled harshly, blunt nails digging crescents into the aged parchment..
Finnegan groaned, flipping through the book again. The necromancer that had offered the book had told him that no one would check the Death Tower for a few days. As Finnegan’s eyes scanned the curly notes in the margins, the old tearstains and splotches that he could only hope wasn’t blood, he realized these were old necromancers.
Exactly how many of his peers had done this? Had taken the ‘first step’? How many of the necromancers he looked up to had done something so horrible- terrible-
Oh great Grandmother Raven. Would he have to comfort someone one day? Give them this cursed book and tip them off about the tower and congradulate them?
Finn didn’t know what to do.
He couldn’t just run away. What could he do back on Earth, when he knew a magical world was just a key and a door away? Especially if people died back home- Earth was unstable, trying to resurrect them would just-
Would just be another mistake to add to his growing pile.
What he had done, it wasn’t right. How could he help people with this blood on his hands? How could he bear to sleep, eat, learn with people who had done the same?
With a twisted frown, Finnegan slammed the book shut, hiding it away between a desk and the cobblestone wall. Even if the stupid book could help, he didn’t deserve it. He’d probably get curious later and check out the book, but for now he had to push it away, deny himself of the help.
He’d have to redeem himself. He’d save as many lives as it took to alleviate his guilt from her death at his hands. If he was going to be some great necromancer because he was a murderer, then he might as well be useful.
And if that just meant becoming the fodder for a younger necromancer’s first step, then so be it.
Hiya! I'd be interested to see headcanons for Myth with Balance secondary when you have time.
Heck yeah!! This is an awesome combination, tbh. (school masterpost)
The thing is, conjurers with balance secondaries are just plain tired.
They’ve been morphed from an innocent, eager to learn novice to a cynical wreck of a wizard who hates studying.
So what do they do? Probably sign up for a tour of the balance school in Krokotopia. Why? Because it means a whole week of no actual school and plenty of opportunity for relaxing in the sun.
They probably stay for way too long. But hey, they’ve got a super good tan (if they can tan), and they’ve picked up some balance magic.
When they finally come back, with all the faux confidence of someone who slept in and came to class an hour late with an iced coffee in hand, they learn some great news.
Professor Drake has to cut down on their homework so they can study their secondary.
They’re super smug about this but don’t tell other conjurers because half of them probably cheated off their work at some point and their competitive streak is dangerously large.
They’re more fun to be around now, and they love telling the younger wizards about their adventures in Krok. They become friends with Arthur Wethersfeild and tutor the young sorcerers, assisting any who have secondaries in myth and helping them cope.
They’re not great at healing, but they try anyway!! They enjoy being able to help out their teammates, or keep their minions around longer.
Their sandstorms are a bit more powerful than they should be. Chunks of rock churn around in the storm, launching the rubble into their enemies with a terrifying precision.
They’re just a calmer person now . They don’t worry about assignments or people’s opinions, because now they’re more at peace. They understand that their path is to know and learn from the past, and strive to make the present and future more just for people like themself.
Sure!!! Warnings for death by fire and such!! (school masterpost)
The necromancers with fire secondaries are… energetic to say the least. The slow, almost grueling pace of death magic can make them impatient, and a poor necromancer.
With competitive streaks a mile wide, they look for another kind of magic that proves their strength as a wizard. Something that shows they can do well.
They’re usually prideful of their work, and won’t stop until they prove their less than supportive peers in the fire school wrong.
Usually when they start learning, they’re… not that great, to be honest. It’s all the doom and gloom, the heavy darkness of their magic that dampens the flame. They have to nurture that warmth, give it their strength and power and determination. They have to prove themself, and some day they’ll be holding that flame in the palms of their hands even in the darkest shadows.
Sometimes they channel more dangerous emotions, their anger and jealousy and grief. Then, the fire in their spells goes dark. It becomes a flowing black river of flame, incinerating their opponents and anything that is in their way until nothing is left but ash and bone, and sometimes they’re too glad to have won to feel guilt.
When they cast poison, it doesn’t feel the same anymore. Instead of a chilling pain that spreads, the slow draw of death coming ever closer, now it burns. Now they feel it in their stomach and their throat, they claw at their mouth or what is close enough to it, and if they’re lucky enough for it to kill them, they will burn from the inside out, leaving nothing but a hollow, charred corpse, like the skeleton of a house ravaged by wildfires.
Pyromancers with a myth secondary want a challenge.
They’re tired of the relaxed, unorganized pace of the fire school, and want hard rules. They want to learn in a way that they know is regulated and strict, something that will help them in life, and in dealing with difficult people.
A lot of the conjurers think that the fire wizards won’t take it seriously, that they’ll goof off and get kicked out by Professor Drake within minutes, and sure that happens once or twice, but the ones who care, the ones who want to learn no matter what, they stay. And they succeed.
Professor Drake is always testing, snide remarks plentiful as he waits for the pyromancer to explode, giving him any reason to kick them out and hopefully expel them. But the fire wizard is trying to learn to be better, and they want to learn from Cyrus. So they don’t give in.
They improve in ways that would have never changed under Falmea. Their handwriting becomes more and more legible, they never turn in anything with a burn mark, they actually go to the library regularly.
They probably start actually drinking water as opposed to existing off of unhealthy drinks and weird hydrating potions. It’s just something they picked up as a way to stay healthy, a tip some random myth student gave them on their first day
When they’re studying they prefer to do it by candlelight, usually keeping the (usually cinnamon or vanilla scented) candle lit with an almost frustrated flick of their fingers.
In their social life they suddenly become more serious, more prone to listening to their peers and friends, now knowing that they can offer help in both school work and in life.
They smile more, even as the bags under their eyes darken and grow bigger. They’re finally challenged, and they engage in school like they would a battle, learning new strategies and maneuvers all the time.
Their favorite myth spell is probably celestial calendar, but before that they really enjoy using stunning spells, a precursor to their lingering fire spells to ensure their enemy won’t fight back.
They become wiser, and through all the hardships and challenges they become more dangerous. Suddenly that reckless firecracker of a pyromancer is a tamed, yet still roaring, flame. Suddenly they’re prepared to face the hard things in life. They’re prepared to win not only the battles in life, but the war too.
