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Last Magician

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About Last Magician

  • Rank
    Apprentice

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  • Location
    Artifacture
  • Interests
    The Grand Art, Building Artifacts, Flowers, Being Silly
  • Occupation
    Consulting Magician

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  1. The boat drifted slightly above the ground, rocking on a gentle shallow, as though pitched near the shore. It floated down the road, minding the rudder, with my lantern hook set to the mast, the lantern itself unlit as it swung gently with the rocking of the boat. Pressing a rune on the rudder, the boat scooted forward if carried on a summer breeze, stopping in front of the rest of the "Morning everyone. I trust everyone slept well, ready for an adventure?" I asked, my words flanked by a plume of delightfully heady hookah smoke. It rolled oily up over the brim of my hat, still never meeting anyone's gaze, and I was bundled up with extra blankets. I was clearly sitting on a locked chest, resting atop a tea pillow. In the boat with me was a cauldron, an unfolded easel, some spare wood, a whole bunch of rope, a block and tackle, as well as a few sacks of raw materials, notabily iron, lead, and copper ore. The only thing of truly magical comport seemed to be a densely wrapped bundle of leaves sitting in the center of the cauldron-pot. Wrapped arround my wrist, there was a turquoise charm, a snake coiled into a bundle, at first looking like some fossilized shell but clearly ending in a snake's head, quite a bit of that oily astral quality coming off of it from those that were so inclined. The only thing beyond normal that was stranger then the sight of the magician was the quite visible circle of white light that was cast around his boat. "I can fit about two on here with me if anyone should care to join me." I started, unfolding an umbrella so none of the dawn sun to deflect some of that early morning sun from warming me up to quickly.
  2. With that, our league was set. Wasn't it already? Were we here to confirm... or was that event merely fated? The future didn't show anything so this had to be... the present? "Just give me a ship and a star to sail by" I smiled, tipping my hat to the man with the horse. I patted the shoulder of the Esper as he skittered off. "Sleep well Arcmaic! See you in the morning!" In the meantime, I took out a single gold coin, setting it on the bar. With the side of my hand, I chopped the coin, and quite simply it split into two coins. I slid one over to help those that were drinking, and the other I slid over to the winged boy. "Come to think of it," I said pulling a leather sack from inside my coat. Bunching up the end, I started blowing air into it until it bulged. I bopped the leather baloon against the bar three times... the last time it found its way down there was a knock and a rustling, it sounding quite heavy with coin. Opening it up, it was just the shine of gold glittering back at him. "Go nuts kid- get yourself food and provisions, fully outfitted for the adventure to come. And just make sure you don't fly to close too the sun as you do." I said to him, before wandering from the bar, it finally letting me leave the place, just in time to off to find a boat for tomorrow.
  3. The Magician Prospero

    True Name: Given Name: Prospero Age: Apparent Age: Late 20s - Early 30s Sex: Gender: Dandy Preferred Pronouns: Masculine Sexuality: Demi Race: Hume?: N Apparent Ethnicity: Central European circa 1700s Height: 5' 11" Weight: 140 lbs Skintone: Fair Eyes: Azure Hair: Ash Blond Religious Views: Henotheism Appearance: Almost a comical pantomime of a magician, Prospero dresses in the most stereotypical of attire. An absurdly tall straw hat marks his every location, a wide brim shading him pointlessly- given how loose the weaving is it is plain to see that from beneath its brim, he can see right through it. He goes to great pains to hide his face, and there is always a pipe or cigarette to be found between his lips. His lithe, elgant hands are hidden within torn and tattered gloves, clearly once a perfect fit for his hands. Silken rags patch together what was once a fitted silk shirt, a series of rotted harnesses and tattered ceramic boning clearly marking where once some manner of corset once sat. The blue cloak he wears clearly magical, though it too tied up with belts and buckles and knicknacks and patches of moss and possibly a bird's nest hiding inside of it. It is plain, by both the offcolor stripe and the lack of fit that his trousers were improvized, possibly from a circus tent. Oddly, the only thing that seems to be well-taken care of are his shoes- made of a fine black leather that shines in the light, and to which the elements have no hold over. Other key accessories include a large ashwood lanternhook staff, with its adjoining hurricane storm lantern. Being a magician, one would assume a wand, and one would be right, though he doesn't like to take it out very often. He also carries a strange starmetal rod, with a fully dexterous hand at the top, with long, sharp, pointed nails. It has a thumbport control that can cause it to extend as needed and can even be rendered immovable. The Pocketwatch is clearly a powerful magical survival tool common to a strange group that inhabited the tower at Blairville for a time. There is also a very large snake hiding in his clothing, possibly wrapped around his thigh. Class/Profession: Magician/ Consulting Magician Specialities: Artificing, Illusions, Alchemy
  4. I smiled as I watched smoke drift over the brim of my hat, sitting quietly, my eyes closed as I listened to the vixen jongleur go on about tattooed women swinging through trees. "Always glad to meet fellow Magicians," Not raising my hat in the least, my eyes cast on my pocketwatch, winding it and making sure the time was set right. "Provisions for... Let's say a week and a half? Climbing equipment- for the man in armor- seems likely that they are druids though. A few tarps and furs. No worries about a language barrier once we meet them. We might need to barter once we get in. And of course, if we're exploring such... Ultima Thule, I'll be sure to bring my cartography gear." I was mostly talking to myself, tapping out my pipe before hiding it in my robe... and pulling out a much different pipe. It's stem was long, straight and lacquered, a metal mouth peace set at one end and a small bowl at the other, set on the table quite plainly. I pulled some long strands of tobacco, rolling them into a kind of marble between my fingers before setting it in the basin- set between three prongs. I covered my hand over the basin, and when I removed it, it was perfectly lit. I set my keiseru between my lips. The ornate pattern of the laquer though- it was common to a certain craftsman in Terrenus. "Anyone who helps out here and gets back in one peace- I can get you to Terrenus. I'd say Wayland for the most of you. Yeah- stop off to see my brother. Sounds like a plan. Fair deal that you help our fearless leader find these mysterious flying tattooed women." I didn't seem to be addressing anyone, but I was certainly speaking loud enough to be heard.
  5. I was thrown through the door. When I got up and tried to run back out, the door wouldn't let me move it. Not to say it was immovable- just to me. I scowled at the doornob of the otherwise perfectly open door, and instead spun, trying to deflect anyone who might have been watching me make a fool of myself, by insinuating my way through some partying locals who were rousing up the joint before I made my way to the bar. I peered up in my straw hat at the ceiling, being mindful that people weren't crawling about the rafters and knocking their bootdust into my drink. "We're like the start of a bad joke, you realize." It was only then that I drew my pipe, squeezing in next to the man wandering around in full-plate in the middle of the day, before turning to him and plainly stating, "Oh my goodness, you must be hot in there. Do you need any help in taking that off, good sir?" I turn. It was quite plain to see what I was. Big oversized straw hat, overflowing blue robes that somehow were a perfect fit to not drag across the ground. Of course, if my usually quite androgynous face, the pale pallor, and ashen locks didn't give it away- I don't know what did? The pipe also added to the effect, stinking up the bar with the dash of madness I was having a puff of. I reached into my pocket, throwing a scattering of coins, it quite plainly ingots of gold, "Another round, all around. Prospero- your Magician."
  6. Discovery! Rumors to be investigated (Quest)

    Would your party perhaps be in need of a wizard? The Magician Prospero is available, should you need.
  7. Arrival at the court!

    There is very little left of what was crafted by my hand. Now just shadows. The town now called Blairville. An empty tower. Cartographers. Memories of those that met the Laughing Magician. His Brother, the Executioner of Weland. A few that took classes in Herbology in the Gaian Academy. A few of my battles which I could not get too in striking my name from the record. Everything else I stripped when I left- and those that remained graciously let the dead rest in peace. Though a corpse should be left well enough alone.... its secrets beckon so sweetly. ^_^ But now I'm back... to write new things. Time is the most deadly weapon: an arrow that flies ever onward, destroying everything it passes. But there is a future so long as there is always the will to create anew. ^_^
  8. Arrival at the court!

    Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!
  9. Mermaid Tears (open)

    Bianca tilted her head, peering at the strange thief, her teeth drifting open in confusion- before she shrugged and took his hand, delivering a soft shake. "A deal then. No offense taken- though quite strange to think one would still pass up an otherwise free wish from a powerful magician." The hand released before the words had even left her mouth, stepping over, brushing her hair back over her ears. "Very well- but know this Ratkin- it is the eyes to be blamed for watching." As she turned back, her cloak swept open and staring back at him in perfect double of his garb. Her figure was the dead ringer for the cut of his jib, and other the fact that her voice did not change, any would be hard pressed to tell the difference. No sight of the tail or wings or taloned fingers, nor any glow of spellwork- it was almost too fast to even catch. "Boys feel so weird from the inside, don't they? Oh- well, I suppose you haven't tasted the sublime joys of being a maiden." She looked back, checking the back of her leg, which looked exactly as his, as though she were searching for a seam in her stockings. She smiled a grin that could be seen beneath even the mask she wore as her hands reached down, pressing her knees together as she squeezed her ass, which was a mirror for his, before sliding her hands over her muscular thighs. "Mmmm, very nice," she said, mirroring even his voice now, catching even the lisp and his cadence, "So then- you will lead, and I will be a shadow's shadow."
  10. Mermaid Tears (open)

    As soon as the words had loosed his mouth, she lounged back, her wings receding somewhere behind her, her horns drawing into her skull as a giddy laughter began to escape her. Lounging back, a figure befitting some goddess of fertility splayed about, only the faint smears of black ink and drying blood masked her most intimate of areas. Her feet wiggled with delight as she lounged back, the blood soaking into her hair as she melodically laughed to her sheer delight. "I did it! I did it! I'm amazing! I harrowed Hell! Sure! It took a minute! But I did it!" Celebrating as she danced about, wiggling on the ground, every movement betraying a succulent delight her flesh could bring, counterpointed by the fact that her thighs were smeared with blood and viscera. Her tail sliding up between her legs, hiding her maidenhead, she glanced up to The Ratkin, "Huh? Oh! Pardon me- I" looking about, she grimaced slightly, realizing that to the outside observer, she might appear to be a little strange. "Yes, well these two yokels. I had no intention of killing them, mind you," She stood, her wings returning to wrap her form, before turning black, shifting until they became a cloak to garb her figure, "It's just... when I climbed up and saw only water and darkness and the ocean on my shoulders, I thought I was in some new layer of Hell. I had to adapt, of course, the crabs not able to tell me much in the way of information. Which- I'm sorry to say- but really crabs are dumb as hell. Then, of course, I was following them, looking for food, and we all ended up in a big crabpot. Those two ninnies pulled me up- and well, I wasn't ready for the surface. Left me strangling and let me die upon that barge a few times- but well, once you've died, it's only a little trick to find your way back on the other side of your heartbeat. They strapped me down and were bundling me up, letting me starve- and well, while I was trying to return to a more... communicative form, they decided to attack me." She peered back up to him, smiling warmly, forgetting how sharp her teeth looked, licking the blood from her lips with a forked tongue. "Surely you must understand, dear Ratkin," She drew closer to him, her cloak swinging open a moment to remind him just what hid beneath, "I didn't sacrifice a perfectly good chance at Heaven to willingly be thrown into the Abyss, and climb my way up with all the other muck and the refuse, those infernal wretches, to climb my way out and be tortured and enslaved by two idiot fishermen. They thought me a monster, they sought to pacify me by force, and my life and liberty came to contrapasso." She pleaded with him, searching his eyes as he watched her, minding the two rats on his shoulders, making note of his aforementioned 'kin' before looking down at the bodies, realizing that the setting was likely not the best. "Hmmm. Lemme guess- laws are a thing in this Casper, aren't they? And if that was their reaction to me, chances are, a trial wouldn't exactly be the best of things for us both, no? Unless everyone goes out into the night looking for dates while dressed with the mens reas of a filch and a nom de guerre of a... oh my goodness, it has been a moment, hasn't it? Look at me, forgetting my manners: my name is Bianca, and it is very nice to meet you, Ratkin, you and well... your kin. I fear I could very much be in need of some place to hide from the authorities for a time, and well, you strike me as a man of industrious opportunity and radical freedom, so perhaps I could make it worth your while. What do you say? Do we have a deal? A place to stay in return of your choice of fair recompense- a wish as it were." She reached her hand out, covered in the blood of the others, which was certainly starting to reek as their insides began to wander outside of themselves, and flies and other forms of pestilence were starting to swarm in. Her figure yet again let itself be known to him, a ripe breast spilling out, swaying heavily and so matter-of-factly as she cocked her hip, tilting her head to again carefully regard his expression. Still, that hand that was covered in blood was still gentle in frame and sinew, save for the ornate talons that her nails had formed into.
  11. The Persistance of Memory

    He watched the crowds move about him, not taking any special note of him. Even as he crouched beside the cobble to sift a gloved hand through the dirt, watching it fall through his fingers. Under the brim of the wide straw hat, he regarded it carefully, as though his azure eyes were looking for something in it. Something that could be missed if not carefully regarded. Still, he wandered on, the frayed ends of his blue robe dragging across the ground as he walked, clearing away his steps. There had once been a rumor that the Saint could hear the footsteps of every man, woman, child, or beast that walked the ground in his lands. Would he remember the sound of his? Or can a person's footfalls, tracing through time, change. The Magician doubted it- no more the footfalls than the paths we all walked- the ones that were set firmly beneath our feet. Just as his path had led him back to here. He bought some catnip at the market, along with some fresh damiana and black poppy. The mortar and pestle were a little costly, but he would always pay more for quality. The hashish was a different currency- he had to cure the man's daughter of a pox- practically expecting some errant Peacekeeper to come and tear the roof off their hovel and drag him before a magistrate. But no- as much as the sky always watched, it paid little regard against the background of the most magical town in Terrenus. The key to his apartment still worked- never found out by anyone it seemed. Then again, the lock that held it was good at that. The landlord had seemed to forgotten that this room even existed- which was the point. Of course, as soon as everything was situated, he stepped down to a corner cafe, just carefully watching the crowd for that horrifying look of recognition, one that gladly never came. Paying for his lunch, he took a seat overlooking the fountain, watching gypsies draw their water from the municipal. He watched a town guard shoo them away. He could only shake his head. Waiting for his tea and chocolate coronet, he set his mortar about, along with his ingredients, before drawing a simple long-stemmed pipe he had crafted. A healing poultice of lead and pomegranate got uncorked with his teeth and went in first, before a sprinkle of the black poppy. "What a lovely day," his melodic alto singing out, smiling beneath the wide brim of his straw hat.
  12. Mermaid Tears (open)

    Few who have not known such anguish can understand what it means to fall into quiet whimpering from sorrow and pain, but even more- the stillness of this one the moment the question hit the air. The pink smoke seemed to flow stronger and stronger from the end of the bag and was kicked about by the creature's legs (which quickly looked more and more befitting a maiden, save for the blackened ink that seemed to coat her feet) before going completely still save for her tail. That tail lengthened and snaked about, drawing the blood and visera, searching for its missing piece which wrapped tightly around the gun. One hammer was still cocked- one barrel still loaded for damage. The ink-like blood began to open like a spigot as it found its severed portion before flesh fused and slackened from the firearm That tail seemed to surge with new life, before the end swelled up, forming a spaded point that throbbed and bloated, quickly becoming heart-shape. The tip of the tail snaked back over to the bag, sliding inside, before tearing its way through the cloth. Those wings that still wrapped the figure lowered slightly, a head turning from inside. Two shining onyx horns rising from a shock of magenta hair. A closed eye pointed at the Ratkin- before opening, showing at first a void, before a shining golden iris slowly faded up from the emptiness. The voice, still shaky and trembling, muttered only a single question. "What fresh Hell is this?"
  13. It is interesting- in my time, I have come to learn that every single RP interaction I have ultimately come to one thing: the drive for knowledge and it's revealing to others. I might do it in a million different ways, but that is the arc of every thread I am in, and in a way, is an interaction I never get dull with. "Prospero" may prefer weaving displays of wonder and horror. Bianca is more "fine, I say I am just a person, but if you will call me evil, then I will welcome all evil things" and seeks to "corrupt" people. Ultimately, their goal is the same, they just use a different set of symbology. So really, what makes it worth it? Changing another character's way of looking at the world. Ultimately, I would grant the secret wish you do not know you are wishing for- to come closer to some real truth in the world. Like a mystery cult, I can't just spell it out. I have to be all sneaky and make you experience something. In the words of Eliphias Levi, "We do not have to repeat here the story of the ancient initiations; the more dangerous and terrible they were, the more effective they were..."
  14. Did you get my last message by any chance? :laugh:

    1. Last Magician

      Last Magician

      I am not sure. Was it the one about liking my writing the perspective of the "mermaid"?

  15. You like Bloodborne.

    Excellent.

    1. Last Magician

      Last Magician

      I agree! Thank you.

      After all, A corpse should be left well enough alone. I know very well the secrets beckon so sweetly.

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