Storm: Cloud watching (if weather permits), stone skipping in the Common's Pond, and tinkering with spare clockwork parts they scavenged.
Fire: Hanging out around Bernie, competitive kickball-like games, and collecting igneous rocks/carving fire runes into said rocks.
Ice: Reagent farming in Grizzelhiem, reorganizing entire house/apartment, and exploring the depths of the Wizard City Library.
Myth: Collecting encyclpedias from every world on mythical creatures, (secretly) binging Harry Potter movies, and small arts and crafts.
Life: Playing with their many pets (they hoard 'em like crazy), clearning out mount pens, and making emergency med-kits for friends if they solo.
Death: nappingn, farming the bazzar for everything, and scary movie marathons in pajamas. (Myth and Fire students typically join in).
Balance: Heads to the beach to make sand castles, people-watching (studying groups of people and how they interact), and kite flying with Ice/Storm students. Sometimes Life students join in.
Welcome to day twelve of inktober!! I was excited to continue one of my older headcanons about dragons! (almost two years old! here it is!) Warnings for death mention, injury/scar mention, and dog mention.
(link to prompt lists) (link to inktober tag)
One dragon per school is right. But no one ever said there were just seven schools worth of dragons.
People only want to think that. Even the concept of creatures and magic they can’t easily control or counter is terrifying. No one will hear these rumors in Ravenwood.
There are still beings out there, both wizard and dragon, one in the same. There just happen to be four more than most think.
Those of sun, burning hotter than a fire dragon ever could, powers bigger and all consuming. They are the largest possible dragon, twice the size of the dragon-wizards of the typical seven schools. Glowing, vibrant scales in yellows and oranges, the occasional red decorate their sky blue body in wide spiraling flares. Their claws are bright, perfect gold, and the malleability of them is their sole weakness. Their face is squashed, snout short like a malformed dog, a pug. They have large fans of skin that spread when threatened, like the myth spell, Basilisk. They breathe solar flares, they could level entire worlds with it, if it weren’t so difficult with their deformed face. They nest on barren, long forgotten worlds, collecting enchanted items and too many shiny treasure cards. They’re mentored in leadership, in protecting others and learning how to fly beyond worlds, in the vast emptiness of space. In human form, they have gold nails and collect many friends in their orbit.
Star dragons are actually the smallest of any of the normal dragon-wizards, slight and mysterious. They are shiny and luminous, a bright, perfect gem, iridescent eyes disorienting as they glitter in any light. The only dull part of them is the velvety black outsides of their spiky jagged wings, in order to hide them when necessary. Their fire is blinding, colorful, and runs hot. They are quick and distant, never connecting with anyone truly before they’re gone. Hoards are full of glittery things, anything with rainbows or whites so bright it sears the human eye. They have to be mentored in stealth, because their mentor knows that a star dragon could be discovered if they’re challenged on how bright they shine. When in human form, their hair seems to have some strands of bright quicksilver hidden in it, and they can fall into their dragon form easier than any other wizard when distressed.
Dragons of the moon are broad, smaller than sun dragons but larger than the others. They breathe grey dust, and it makes beings sleepy and weightless, floating and easy prey. Hoards are full of rocks, making their cave homes easier to hide, even if they enjoy the occasional flashy geode. They seem plain for a dragon, light grey scales covering their wide frame, with darker grey patches over any injuries, and the majority of their underbelly, the inside of their wings. In human form their scars and scabs can take on an inhuman grey tinge as well. Their claws are huge crescents and pure white, almost unwieldy, and most mentors of lunar dragons have to teach them how to manage those deadly claws. The most striking thing about moon dragons are the eyes. Always following the phase of the moon from Earth’s perspective in time, always moving, their pupil-less eyes range from round voids of the new moon, or brilliant full moons. There’s nothing stranger than super moons, or blood moons, or eclipses.
Dragon-wizard beings of shadow are the smallest, the weakest of all the dragons. Their dragon form is barely the size of an average horse, almost pathetic in comparison to others. Scars litter their dragon form even if their human form has never been injured. Scattered burns, digits frostbitten, necrosis, electric burns, poisoned slashes and bites, large swathes of scales burned even worse than the others, bright scars almost mockingly colorful, and residue of sand and thick dust in between their wing scales. The shadow dragon cannot fly. It can barely fight. They have long forgotten how to breathe dangerously. Their hoards are quiet, small things, a trinket or two they cannot be parted with. All they can do is wait and hide in the darkness, in their shadows, trying to understand their magic and their dragon form. They never last long, so there’s no need for a mentor. They get what’s coming to them, and they get it young and brutal.
If you thought yourself brave enough to look for the other seven dragons, never even think of the astral dragons. Don’t even whisper drunkenly about them in an inn, don’t tell the story to your children. Powerful beings have a way of knowing.
As for the shadow dragon, well, it’s a wretched thing. If you ever learn about shadow magic, ever learn about a legend within and legend like a shadow dragon-wizard, don’t bother.
the death school has the highest concentration of juggalos, though there are at least a few present in others
juggalo death students are typically the more social of necromancers and are more likely to talk to students outside of death
while every school has their stereotypes, there’s sub-stereotypes for sub-groups inside of the schools. this goes on and on and is difficult to comprehend by people outside of that school of magic.
emo life students are way more common than one thinks
pyromancers have notoriety for apparently being the most passionate about literally anything ever, as well as actively trying to hype other folks up about stuff. bless ‘em.
Mr. Toto and Tin Man (from Unicorn Way) are a married couple. I don’t feel like there’s anything I need to add to that thought, just listen to the argument. Sounds like solid evidence to me.
yesssss I am so here for this. pls message me if I get something wrong/accidentally say something awkward/offensive though! I’m not deaf or hard of hearing at all.
Deaf/Hard of Hearing wizards are more common than people think! Sometimes close proximity to those loud loud spells (Fire Dragon, Super Nova, etc.) can effect their hearing after years of questing and being up close and personal with loud magic beings. Though, of course, some people are just born deaf/hard of hearing or have other causes.
That’s another reason why the chalk is enchanted in Ravenwood! There’s one blackboard for diagrams, another for a transcript of lectures!
Some deaf/hoh storm wizards try to invent magical alternatives to cochlear implants or other hearing aid devices, not very successfully. They do improve on existing types from Earth though!
I’ve already maybe mentioned this before, but there’s a different sign language for each world, just like I headcanon a different language. Most people try to pick up at least a little of the Common version of sign language, a mixture of trading world languages.
They quest as well as any hearing wizard, that’s a given. They can strategize and fight and be as magical as anyone else. Honestly, anyone who underestimates them is just asking to be extremely wrecked.
Depends on which side of the wand you’re on, but let’s assume the attacking side.
Casting a spell is typically a gamble, those tiny numbers noting percentages on the card aren’t there for no reason, after all. That moment where the wizard feels the mana drain, the small orb strapped to their hip losing just a bit more of its blue potion, it’s a moment that fills the wizard with relief.
The shattering of blades and traps and shields is always satisfying, in the same way people find breaking glass and crumbling sand entrancing. The wizard stands just a bit taller at the sensation, their shoulders back, wand raised, prepared to trace magic in the air, to let the card dissolve into a magical creature or force to attack the enemy.
But then a pulse fills the air, a bright spear of magic seems to come together, brilliantly shining. The wizard’s allies will grin or smirk, averting their eyes for a moment from the magic.
The magic of a spell suddenly doubling in power is almost intoxicating. It draws up through the body, and there’s feeling in every little reserve of magic that resides in the soul, this random magic they’re playing with examining them, almost as if to test for worthiness.
The wizard will raise their wand and bare their teeth in an imitation of a smile, carving magic into existence as they watch the spell card disappear before their eyes, then the morphing, pulsating form of a magical creature begins to rise.
The wizard watches their enemies’ eyes widen, if they have eyes that is, and the wizard can’t help but be in awe of the power they possess, but can’t guarantee.
A gamble indeed, one where they only have things to gain.
This took me like three hours because I don’t know how emotions work lmao. Warnings for references and implications of neglect.
catharsis: (n.) release of emotional tension
(link to ask prompt)
The balance wizard squinted in the bright burning light of Krokotopia, their robes heavy on their body, sweat already trickling off their nose that they wipe away, mildly disgusted.
“You’ll get used to it!” One of their escorts assured them, smiling. They wore the plain beige and maroon robes of the balance school, but their uniform was much lighter, to the young wizard’s envy.
They nod in response, excitement rushing through them again, though their face remained cautiously blank. Their feet were still unsteady in the sand, too used to plain dirt and cobbled streets to adjust properly yet. They stumbled slightly every once in a while, to their embarrassment.
The sorcerer asked when they’ll meet the new professor, and their two escorts looked at each other knowingly, and remained silent, even as they take a short ferry ride to another island of Krokotopia. The balance wizard’s hands were clenched into nervous fists in their robe pockets, suddenly annoyed by the subterfuge.
The new island was home to the school tree, introduced as ‘Niles’. The sorcerer waved politely, a strained smile on their face. Niles just smiled kindly, welcoming them to Krokotopia.
After that, the trio of sorcerers descended a ladder into the balance classroom. The new wizard was in awe of the room carved into the island. They had spent the first years of their magical schooling in tents, stuck without a roof because of the reluctance to change tradition. These cave-like rooms were a welcome change.
The hieroglyphics inscribed on the walls were fascinating, and they couldn’t help but trail their fingers across them as they walked from the dimly lit antechamber to the classroom.
At the podium stood Professor Alhazred, an elderly krok leaning heavily on a wooden staff. The sorcerer was still glancing around, at the chalk levitating and drawing on the blackboards, the desks and pillows on the floor by them, the shields and banners of the balance school.
“Welcome, child.” Alhazred rasped. It was then that the sorcerer realized their escorts had left without them even noticing. How long had they been enraptured by the classroom?
The wizard just muttered something in response, suddenly shy. Professor Wethersfield was constantly praising Professor Alhazred, calling the old krok ‘the most brilliant sorcerer to pick up a wand’. How do they talk to a wizard of that caliber?
The professor just smiled and gestured the young wizard to follow him, which they do, and the pair ends up in a strange chamber behind the classroom.
It was a circular room carved long ago, worn away into a smooth half sphere in the rock. Half of it was a balcony-type construction, leaning out into the void that the island floated above. Hieroglyphics were inscribed on the walls here as well, but also the ceiling, floors, and even the rails of the balcony, many of them glowing faintly in different colors and patterns.
“Sit down, please.” Professor Alhazred said quietly, already slowly crouching into a sitting position, gently laying his staff by his side.
The young wizard complied as soon as they could, sitting with their legs criss-crossed over each other, their hands resting on their knees. They stared at the floor, hesitant to look at their new professor.
They sat in silence, the young student and the wizened professor, accompanied only by the whistling winds created by the rock structure’s proximity to an endless void. Faintly, there were the sounds of wizards and native krokotopians at work.
“How do you feel about being in Krokotopia now, young wizard?” Alhazred finally said, his voice a quiet wheeze that startled the sorcerer.
And the wizard’s shoulders hunched forward, embarrassed at their flinch, and mutter something about being proud, and happy.
“Look at me.”
That sudden, sharp bark of an order made the wizard’s head snap up, their breath suddenly coming in a pant as their fingers twist the robes in their tight grip.
“Sir?” They asked, afraid.
“I don’t mean to frighten or overwhelm you. Just answer one question for me, please.” Professor Alhazred said sternly, slowly falling into a calm, soothing tone. When the young wizard nodded, he continued.
“Are you okay?” Alhazred finally rasped out, shaky claws settling in his lap.
In the pause that follows, the young wizard breaks eye contact, looking out to the balcony and the bright blue sky beyond. “Why would you ask that?” They finally say in a monotone.
“Because it’s always the same.” Alhazred spoke bitterly, his tone jaded and sharp. “You, and every other sorcerer, spend years questing and studying in a school that doesn’t care for you, does not let you have dorms. You spend years without allies or friendship, alienated from the other schools. And I would shelter you all, but this island isn’t big enough, and I regret every moment I cannot help you in your youth. Because I care about how you feel, child, and I’d like to know if you are okay.”
The balance wizard glanced up at Professor Alhazred again, their eyes widened. “I-”
“You don’t need to answer now, young wizard. But know that you can speak to me anytime during your studies here.” Professor Alhazred looked so tired, so old, in that moment. His cracked and dry scales whisper as he moved, reaching for his staff-
Only for the young wizard to lurch forward, wrapping their arms around Alhazred. They bury their head in his chest and begin to cry, shaking.
Alhazred just lets his claws rest comfortingly on his new student’s back, and whispers reassurances, all the while being tempted to construct a new island just to home all the younger sorcerers, Headmaster Ambrose’s rules be damned.
halcyon: (adj.) a period of time in the past that was idyllically happy and peaceful
example from Merriam-Webster: the halcyon days of youth
(link to ask prompt)
A group of seven wizards are seated on various logs and stumps around a stone ringed campfire in the dark woods of Grizzleheim. The group consists of one representative from each school, exploiting the system by switching in useful schools and such, using their numbers and diversity to their advantage while trying desperately to save thee Spiral as quickly as they can before too much damage is done. For now they rest, the night stretching on and surrounding them.
The storm wizard is the first to speak in a while, finding strength to function much easier than most, used to spending night after night working and studying in their school’s workshop. They look up from the little device they’re toying with and speak. “You know, when I was a kid I would spend hours trying to create things. Arts n’ crafts, drawing, melting together new toys, whatever.” When they pause, their companions look around, puzzled. They had never interacted so personally before. “One summer I built myself a treehouse. I didn’t have a shitty childhood- most diviners don’t- but that little treehouse was my own private workshop, kinda. I still think about how I’d just nap in the sunlight and dream up new things to make.” They look to the side then, as if embarrassed.
The ice wizard glances at the diviner and pulls their heavy cloak in on themself, talking quietly. “Won’t surprise any of you, but I read a lot as a kid. I would hole up in my room, nesting like a dragon in blankets and stacks of library books and read thousands of them. It was…” They yawn. “Quiet. But I loved it. I don’t know how I got from there to here, but it’s been hell- all of us have been through hell- and I’d give anything to go back.” After they speak, some of the others shift uncomfortably.
The fire wizard gets off their stump and kneels by the fire, placing their hand in and pulling out a blackened ember the size of their fist, their hand unharmed. “Well, I was the type of kid who give most parents and guardians heart attacks. Always running off to a new adventure, collecting bumps and scrapes like it was my damn job. Even with all that, I’d be a kid again anytime. Even if it hurts, I’d rather be some stupid kid than risk my life every day. Not that you guys aren’t great, but the circumstances suck.” They sigh and let the ember drop back into the fire with a spray of sparks, sitting back on their heels now.
The death wizard just leans against their stump, a quiet, bitter laugh falling from their lips as they start. “I spent most of my childhood hanging around old folks.” They pause and scowl when the life wizard at their side laughs. They elbow the theurgist harshly and continue. “Some were my relatives, some weren’t. I took care of ‘em, health issues, getting around- sometimes just listening. It’s part of why I wanted to be a necromancer, I guess- listening to all those stories from people who are probably dead now does that to a kid.” They look off into the darkness of the woods. “And same about the whole ‘this is shitty’ thing.”
The myth wizard yawns, stretching across a horizontal log. “I don’t remember a lot from being a kid.” They say casually, staring up at the stars and resting with their arms crossed behind their head. “I spent a lot of time in my own head or by myself. I played pretend and created worlds no one else could see. I liked books too- not as much as you-” They gesture with a slight tilt of their head towards the ice wizard, who smiles tiredly. “But I read my fair share. And that’s it. Just a lonely kid in their own head. I like it better now, really. There’s something nice about having no responsibilities when you’re young, but being able to do magic and make my own choices seems like a good trade for having to save the worlds every once in a while.”
The life wizard sits with their legs crossed over each other, enjoying the moment they’re having. “I climbed a lot of trees, mostly. I would’ve loved a treehouse, but I didn’t try to build one or anything. I spent some time gardening, on my own and in school programs. I liked making things grow, watching the flowers bloom and being able to take care of them.” They smile, a little wistfully. “It was nice to know something depended on me, I guess? I’d go back in a heartbeat, but I’m pretty okay with helping you guys instead.”
The balance wizard is the last to speak, their hands shaking slightly as they blow into them for warmth. “I mean, I guess I did all of that. I was always busy, whether it was taking care of people, going off by myself and getting into trouble, reading, playing pretend, or just making things.” They pause, burrowing their hands into their robe’s pockets. “I’m just- I’m not like the rest of you, and you know that. I don’t fit into any normal school, so I gotta balance it out. So I guess it makes sense, thinkin’ back on it, as a kid I didn’t really have a goal or just one hobby or whatever. But I had fun, and it was easy being a kid. But now,” They look down. “I’ve learned that the easy thing isn’t always the right thing, so I wouldn’t ever go back.”
Silence falls over the group and gradually they move, now huddled together in one misshapen pile of exhausted wizards. They sleep away the night until the sun rises again, and they continue questing to save the Spiral.
