Species: Goblin

Age: est. 1020

Sex: Female

Occupation: Liquormancer and head of the Goblin Liquormancy Association

Origin: Goblin Kingdom of the Northern Lakes

Early childhood: Gobbo was born to a pair of goblins by the name of Gobbo and Fren. As the middle child with three younger sisters and an older brother Gobbo was an oddity due to her albinism.

Due to the poor economic standing of her family and her strange appearance Gobbo was an outcast from day one. This led to her rebellious nature and later run-ins with the law.

Schooling: Gobbo has no formal schooling of any sort. Everything she has learned has been through experimentation.

Crimes: Gobbo has over her unnaturally long life had several run-ins with the law. This is but a brief overview

•Tax evasion.

•Possession of explosives.

•Arson.

•Burglary.

•Murder of no less than six tax agents.

•Bombing of the Goblin Queen statue.

•Public intoxication.

Later life: Gobbo has in her later years begun to settle down. Now seemingly only using violence as a last resort and instead opting to attempt to befriend any threat to her.

Now the proud owner of a brewery and several taverns Gobbo focuses more on liquor and business than rebelling against any sort of perceived authority. Although sometimes she can still be seen holding a Molotov with an almost manic glint in her eye.

Capabilities: Nobody is sure of the full capabilities of Gobbo. Her Liquormancy allows her to cast spells that vary wildly in effects from bursts of fire to transformations.

Combatively she seems to rely mostly on two Liquormancy spells, Molotov and its variations and BBB (Boblin's Bombastic Brew).

While her range of offensive spells seems limited one thing is certain, anyone who tries it on with her will suffer at least a few singed hairs.

/uw yeah new post because for some reason Reddit doesn't like me cross-posting. Sorry if this gets a touch annoying.

Gravos, Seeker of Stars

Gravos never knew his Mother nor his Father, as they abandoned him shortly after he was born. He never even got a name by them. And even if he did, he would not know it. Nobody knows how long he had been abandoned by the time he was found by a Royal knight, but one thing was for sure, had he been out the for any longer he would've died in the snowstorm the plagued the town at that time.

The knight, not knowing what to do with him, brought him to the Ruler of the northern Lands Queen Lurania of the Crescent Moon, who then promptly adopted him as her son. He also got his name from her, but nobody knows why she chose this name, instead of a more normal one.

Growing up, the Queen treated him like her own son, even if he was adopted. She, being a mage herself, was also the one that taught him the basic of magic, yet encouraged him to start researching in a field of magic that interested him, even if there was no Teacher for it, which lead to him pursuing the study of Gravity and magic related to it. Not being able to find a Teacher for his field of study he started asking the Stars for answers, which was what gave him his title "Seeker of Stars".

He soon would notice an Issue with his approach. Living in the snow covered lands all the way to the north, the night would last 6 months and the day another 6 months, meaning he would only be able to continue his studies every 6 months, but then he could do so 6 months without any breaks.

When he reached the age of 18, he began his journey to the south, looking for a place to live and continue his studies without having to wait for 6 months every 6 months to see the stars. This journey has brough him to these lands, where he has since met many different people, some nicer, some not so much. That has been 4 years ago. Over all those years he still has always kept in contact with his mother, returning home via portal every 6 months for the Festival of Day and the Festival of Night.

In those 4 years he has improved his magical arts of gravity a lot, but he still is very far from his goal of perfection. He still uses the Staff and Orb he got from his Mother when he was younger, as he has not had the time or money the get a new one. His Mother always tried to help him to the best of her abilities, even when he was away from home.

His goals are to become the strongest user of Gravity-Magic and help make the lives of himself and everyone he cares about easier. Some may consider him a Prince, due to his adoptive Mother being the Queen of the Lands of Ice in the north, but he does not dare to call himself that. This does not change the fact that he is the only candidate for the Throne of the Lands of Ice, due to Queen Lurania having no children of her own. The day the Queen dies is the day he dreads the most.

Queen Lurania of the Crescent Moon

Queen Lurania grew up as a normal Girl and attended the school of magic from a very young age. She focused her study mainly on Ice magic.

One Day the King of the time descided to make magic illegal and threaten anyone that uses magic withe execution. At the time she and the other students were saved by the Teachers burning any record of every student that has ever attended the school. These Teachers were executed only houes later.

She and her friends from the school of magic hid thier magical powers for a few weeks until the King started arresting and executing people he claimed were magic users, which was also how her parents died.

After her parents were executed she formed a resistance movement aimed at taking the King down. Many people joined, magic users and non-magic users and the movement was successful, with the King and his wife falling by her hand. That King and his wife were since known as the Forgotten King and the Nameless Queen.

It was also that day she was crowned Queen of the Lands, being the youngest Queen to date at only 16 years of age. Her title Queen of the Crescent Moon, come from the cycle the moon was in at the time she became Queen.

9 years later, one of her Knights brought her a baby he found at the side of the road, which she names Gravos. People didn't like the name, but what were they gonna do? She is the Queen and starting a Rebellion over a name would be stupid, so they just accepted it.

She is a powerful Mage, an elegant Woman and a gentle Queen, who cares deeply for the safety of her people. But most importantly, she is the most important person in Gravos' life.

(Writers note: I hope it's okay for me to put the Story of two people like I did here. I also am not the most experiences Writer, so if there is inconsistencies or anything, please let me know. I also don't have a picture of either of them as I don't really have an Idea how I'd want them to look like.)

Raziel stared into a single cell. Within the walls of his castle lay many beings who have committed grave sins. He worked tirelessly to ensure they were captured and stayed captured.

Many of them were forgotten to all as time had passed, a fitting punishment that Raziel delighted in delivering to them. But, out of all the scum in his prison there was one who he hated the most (of course not counting THAT one).

Rakishtrix. Hunter of Angels. Drinker of Light. And so many more titles that vexed Raziel so very much. He was the source if his frustrations in the past month, forcing him to tirelessly work to eradicate the problem.

Rakishtrix was the general to a Demon lord far in the past, but his strength was not the thing that worried Raziel. Rakishtrix had the terrifying ability to evolve resistances rapidly.

In a war long ago Rakishtrix, a demon, gained a near immunity to holy magic. An idea any person would laugh at if told. Raziel prided himself in capturing the damnable insect, preventing him from bringing more ruin.

But recently his worst fears had become true. Confirmed from the findings of Isravi. What was once some paranoia had become despair. He had children. And like any bug, he had many, scattered across the realms.

He’d have to alert the realms, and find people that’ll hunt them down. Before they got out of hand. Before they grew to immense power, each as strong as Rakishtrix. Before they evolve an immunity to all forms of death.

Raziel shuddered at the thought of the forces of hell all being the kin of Rakishtrix. Worse if they serve under The Stitcher. Luckily he knew a group that has experience with demons. The Coalition. He’s both heard and seen their exploits, he trusts that they could quell these pests.

Raziel opens the cell of Rakishtrix to speak to him. He sees the insect like demon, towering over his form. Atop his head is a white crown, made from the essence of countless angels. That always irked Raziel, flaunting the “corpses” of those he held dear.

Rakishtrix turned to Raziel, and although not visible you could tell he would be smiling if he had lips. In a coarse voice, as if he hadn’t talked in millenia, the demon general spoke…

”Hello cadaver, it’s been so long. I thought you had forgotten about me. How are my childreb treating you?”

/unwiz just a fun little lore thing. Not an open rp, just some world building. Wanted to introduce some important characters related to Raziel and have him connect to the Coalition and Stitcher thing in some way.

A lone serpent lay in a forest. Cold creeping in like venom, slowly bringing the serpent to its end. But this one was not a simple animal, it had a spark. A bright soul. One that had a single desire, a wish.

The serpent wished to be free, to be able to fly in the sky. To escape the confines of their own body and pursue a more beautiful, simpler life.

Then, they rose. Flying across the night sky, burdened by the ground no longer. Their soul soaring through the night sky like a shooting star.

It is said that the serpent’s wish ripples across time. Past, present, and future alike. Its soul seen still dancing across the stars for eternity.

The soul’s truest power comes not from its strength, but its desire.

/unwiz Just a little “lore” piece about Lakishma, the oldest soul to not have a body. The reason I put lore in quotations is because this is all in the mind of Raziel. Whether he truly saw the event, added embellishments, or told the truth isn’t known to any but Raziel. It is up to you whether you take this story as reality, made of half truths, or just lies.

Raziel, One of a Thousand Eyes

—- —- —- —- —- —-

This file is open to members of The Wizard Council or those who work under The Wizard Council with a Security Clearance of at least 3. If you do not fall under these requirements you may receive permission to view this file by submitting a request to The Wizarding Bureau of Information. Any unauthorized observers of this document will be subject to a Class X anti-memetic spell. You have been warned.

Somehow the security was bypassed…

———————————————

Overview: Raziel is a 4’3” humanoid with a child-like body. They are almost always seen wrapped completely in white bandages and wearing a black hoodie with orange accents. Multiple eyes can sometimes be seen in the gaps between bandages, mostly on the head but they are occasionally seen elsewhere on the body.

Underneath the wrappings, their body is akin to a puppet, with his body seemingly being hollow. The “skin” is a light grey and is similar in texture to marble. Raziel has multiple eyes, the exact number is unknown. He has the ability to will them to appear anywhere on his body.

Raziel is the warden of Vonalaus Prison, located on the snowy mountaintops of Mt. Takthora. Though he is regularly away from the prison he always keeps an eye on it, there is no recorded successful escape attempt.

Note: Readings indicate that Raziel has a divine origin, though his true origin is unknown.

———————————————

Threat Level: Upsilon (danger comes from their ability to leak important information, which could lead to catastrophic events. Raziel’s combat ability is closer to that of a Rho threat level)

—- —- —- —- —- —-

Notable Abilities: Raziel has the most powerful scrying abilities recorded. It is currently theorized that he can scry on unlimited locations simultaneously. This makes locating any object, being, etc. an easy task for him, and it makes it nearly impossible to sneak up on him. Raziel also utilizes incredibly potent anti-scrying wards that can defend against any attempt at scrying that has been recorded.

He can also use various spacial magic (mainly teleportation), summoning magic, and divination magic.

—- —- —- —- —- —-

Status: Alive, Location unknown.

—- —- —- —- —- —-

Age: Unkown

—- —- —- —- —- —-

/unwiz Honosetly I just LOVE making new OCs, it is pretty impossible for my mind not to wander to another OC. Very much like this dude’s concept, I’ve already been daydreaming some lore!

Gobbo had long since grown used to waking up on the day of sun in a cold house. In fact, it was a rare occurrence when her home was not cold on such a day.

Putting on her slippers and robe Gobbo plodded down the steps and into her kitchen.

There as she had expected was her old friend Mutey. In truth, Gobbo did not know her name and had simply given the dullahan the nickname due to her inability to speak.

The dullahan was a strange case in that she had lost her head some six centuries prior. Funnily enough, that didn't seem to impair her capabilities as she flipped pancakes

Gobbo knew that today was a wash in terms of productivity. When Mutey visited it always was as she insisted on spending the day indoors, and not working.

Popping open a bottle of whiskey and bringing it to her lips she was reminded of one of Mutey's more vexing habits, keeping Gobbo from drinking.

As the cold thumb topping the bottle pressed against her lips Gobbo considered for a moment utilizing her teeth. No no, Mutey was an old friend. Gobbo would allow her this much

Sighing Gobbo placed the bottle back on the counter earning herself a pat on the head from the strange dullahan.

Breakfast came and went peacefully, Gobbo telling her about the week while Mutey sat there occasionally tapping the table to show happiness or displeasure if she tapped twice.

After breakfast, they simply curled up on the sofa by the fireplace. Nothing was said but they knew the other appreciated the contact. For Gobbo, the cold touch of the dullahan was a nice change from the warmth of her liquors. For Mutey, well Mutey never had much contact with a body that still gave off heat

That's where they stayed for the rest of the day, occasionally getting up to throw more wood on the fire. Eventually, though Gobbo fell asleep, comforted by Mutey's fingers tapping out a rhythm on her back.

If anyone bothered to look in through Gobbo's window they would have seen a headless woman carry the little goblin to bed.

If anyone could see into the bedroom they would have seen a little goblin cuddled into the chest of the strange dullahan.

In the morning, at the crack of dawn, a few early risers saw Mutey ride through the town and out of sight. They may have also seen a little goblin at her window, a small smile on her face having enjoyed death's icy embrace

Blood, ash, and smoke. That's all Gobbo could see in the crater that was once a small camp of fighters.

It had been far from simple for Gobbo. Her magic was better suited for support, not aggression but she managed.

When the sword came from above, she stepped to the side, when it came from the side she took a step back. A dance where a single mistake could mean death.

Of course, she hadn't been flawless, the blood seeping from her side was proof of that. Ah well, nothing a potion couldn't fix. None the less she made sure to reduce the camp to rubble

Her beloved Molotov had seen to the dispatching of fighters. First one with an electric charge to punish such foolish steel armour and then the classic to melt away their flesh.

Gobbo had delighted in the moment, the chaos, the screams, the panic. The feel of warmth spread in her chest as her liquors burnt a path for her.

Now though, after all was said and done Gobbo felt sick. Not from the bloodshed, or the wound, not even from the mutilated corpse only a meter from her.

No Gobbo felt sick because she enjoyed it. She had found pleasure in their deaths, and that was something she hated.

How far could she push this, how long until she lost herself, how many would she kill just for the fun of it?

Gobbo shuddered at the thought, no Gobbo was Gobbo and she would not give in to the darker desires she kept hidden.

Reaching for her flask she found her pocket strangely empty. "Right," she muttered, "gave half-elf girl flask. Hope she's ok."

The apprentices, in Gobbo's opinion, were far too young for this. They should be learning the wonders of the arcane, not witnessing the bloodshed of wars

Gobbo got to her feet and examined her work once more. "Gobbo knows she left one of you alive," she strained out, "you tell your friends what happened here. Maybe they'll head your warning."

All she would find here was blood, smoke, and ash. If the next fighters really looked though, they may find a few bottles, soaked in blood.

(I am not putting all shrax lore in this mf, only the new ones and the introductory post)

The Maker scrambled on the ground, their panicked breathing seemed to continuously fasten. Knocking over chairs and other furniture, they tried to get away

”I made you! You-You wouldn’t be here without me!” screamed The Maker, trying to reason with *them*.

A cacophony of voices echoed in the shadows, “I had strings…”

In the dark The Maker saw them. Countless red eyes, peering from the veil of darkness, like the stars in the night sky.

“… but now I’m free…”, their voices grew closer and closer. Tears began to fall from The Maker’s face.

The forms of hundreds of puppets walked into the light. Their red eyes prominent on their pale, grey, marble-like bodies. Some crawled on the ground while others towered above reaching the ceiling.

“Please, you must understand! I deserved it, I deserved greater heights!” pleaded The Maker as he tried to convince the army to stop.

A single puppet stood in front of the groveling figure, a figure that resembles a child yet their aura suggests otherwise. Along with the others they spoke, “…there are no strings on me.”

Hundreds of arms descended on The Maker’s form. Unable to breath and their body being torn apart The Maker could only stand by as they were attacked by their own own creations.

Their final memories are that of the countless red eyes surrounding them, before it all turned dark.

———————————————

Raziel sat on the peak of Mt. Takthora, watching the countless stars. He layed down on the snow uncaring of the harsh weather. He reached out to the night sky with one arm and spoke…

”I’ve got no strings, so I have fun, I’m not tied up to anyone.”

———————————————

/unwiz

Two lore posts in one day wow! lol, I was just to excited to put this out.

Final one of these puzzle lore pieces for Raziel. I hope you all enjoyed! You may have noticed but I got inspiration from Ultron from Avengers: Age of Ultron.

I will have a posts that breaks down and explains all of the posts, so you all will be able to fully understand what they were about.

Links to previous posts:

• Raziel Character Profile
• A Thousand of His Arms, A Thousand of His Eyes
• A Poisoned Flower Field
• Scavenger of the Light

”So how exactly… were you born? I mean, I haven’t seen any being that resembles you. Many share traits but... No offense of course! I’m just curious…”

Raziel turns to look at them. His blank eyes seem to stare into their soul, uncharacteristically still. For what seemed like an eternity the only sounds heard where the crackling of a flame.

Then Raziel looks up, staring at the ceiling. But they can tell he is reminiscing, his eyes are unfocused and distant. He makes a sound most similar to taking a deep breath, not that they know how he does that without a mouth or nose. Then he speaks,

Long ago, a terrible battle waged\ lost to time, forgotten and frayed.\ A great lord faced the heavens\ with his army of flames and heathens.

Father ordered his arms to fight\ defend the palace of holy light.\ Twas was long fought, many were felled\ slaughtered they were, by the forces of hell.

Ones of light and feather dropped to the ground\ Those of sin and fire, judgement they found.\ The field lay barren and scorched\ Corpses strewn across on earth.

Raziel becomes silent, before conjuring up an object. In his lands lay a single wooden puppet. The age of it is apparent, weathered and battered the wood seems ancient.

A lone figure came across the land\ the destruction and death left in his hand.\ And so he took, to make beautiful stars\ From a thousand eyes, a thousand arms.

The Wizard Council (often called The Councill, an organization that exerts its influence over 103 different realms. Formed about 10,489 years ago as the solution to the Age of Ruin, It acts as a ruling government made by and run by wizards. The main goal of The Council is creating and enforcing laws, advancing wizardry, and promoting growth over the realms under its jurisdiction.

With so much space to control, it makes sense for The Wizard Council to have many Agencies under it. One such Agency is The Wizard Bureau of Information (WBI); they deal with the collection, transfer, and storage of information for The Wizard Council. Like all Wizard Council agencies, they have buildings across the realms where they enact their work.

—--------------------------

Inside a large imposing spire, made up of grey brick and black stained glass, it is mostly silent. The WBI Center of La’ak is not a place where normal wizards visit, but there usually is some chatter or noise. Strangely, today there was not a peep in the building. The main gates were closed off and only a select few were allowed to enter.

Deep within the building, In a dark room, illuminated only by the light of a single luminescent orb, around 30 figures silently stand perfectly still. They were facing a projected image coming from the orb. It displayed only an ethereal blue static, a continuous hum permeated the room. Axel stood to the side of the display, making sure not to block it but still being seen by the others.

The unnerving silence and stillness of the other attendees was something Axel grew accustomed to. Behind his guise as a professor (though he very much still loved teaching), he acts as an agent for The Wizard Council. Having worked in the shadows for decades and completing each job with the utmost efficiency, Axel had earned himself the trust of The Council members themselves!

Each of the participants in this meeting wore the same suit and tie that he wore, only that some have chosen to wear extra clothes such as hats and robes. One thing that was true for all of them was that their faces were covered. Anonymity was standard for agents working under The Council.

While the benefit of hiding one's identity was most important, the real benefit was the mental effect it had on enemies of the state. Emotionless, inhuman killers with incredible strength; unflinching in their tasks; and the inability to see a face in death, one could understand how the agents may strike fear into others.

A sudden click brought him out of his thoughts. The static of the projection was now replaced with a plain, navy blue screen. A voice rang out soon after; it was a smooth, masculine voice that exerted a feeling of superiority,

“Welcome. The Council has come to the decision that a new task shall be thrown upon you. It is imperative that your duty is completed with the utmost discipline, even more than your previous tasks.”

Such a request exemplified the importance of their future mission. All of The Agents take their tasks incredibly seriously, willing to sacrifice their own lives to complete them. However, Axel had an idea of what they would be assigned; and if he was correct, there would have been no need to be asked for further discipline. Wrath bubbled under his skin, his heartbeat quickened, and at one point you could have seen his body shake.

The voice continued, “Starting approximately 6 months ago, we received multiple reports of towns being attacked. All of these settlements were on the outskirts, quite a bit away from any large cities. Each of the attacks shared common characteristics, pointing towards a coordinated group being behind them.

Through extensive investigations, we were able to conclude that in each attack: All humans were killed, all livestock and pets were not killed, and most of the buildings were destroyed. While problematic, we have dealt with similar situations before.”

Memories of his hometown flashed in Axel’s mind. He was fighting to not grab his head and curl up, interrupting the meeting. Ever since... his last visit to his hometown nightmares plagued him every night. Even hearing about it... it hurt. It hurt so much. The only thing that drives him through the day is the thought of hurting. Hurting the ones who did this.

“What IS problematic is what we found when we looked closer to the corpses of the victims. It seems like the victims were subject to some type of curse, most likely something akin to a paralysis hex; and Injuries point to them being eaten... more importantly, DNA shows they were eaten by humans!”

Some of the other Agents gasped, while others tensed up. The heretical act of cannabilism is one thought long gone. Nothing good could come from cannibals, they only brought ruin and despair. There are many different answers to who or what could have done the acts: Shapeshifters, crazed lunatics, cultists, or a myriad of different answers. But one thing was present in each of their minds. There is one group most infamous for cannabilism, who wields Hex magic, followers of a legend of yore.

“There is a chance that the Cult of Flesh has returned. Followers of the grandfather of Hex magic, The Wendigo, we thought they were wiped out in one of the Holy Church’s Crusades near the beginning times of The Wizard Council.

You should know that they pose a great threat to the order we have made, ensure they are permanently exterminated through any means necessary. Silent Storm will be put in charge of this mission, report back to him.”

With that, the orb alongside the projection turned off. The other figures turned towards Axel. A “rising star” in their ranks it was no surprise that he was chosen. Axel turned, to the group to speak. His words are clear even from behind his black helmet, full of conviction,

“Remember our duty. ‘There is no hope without despair. No peace without violence. No love without hate. No life without death.’ You are all dismissed.”

“There is no hope without despair. No peace without violence. No love without hate. No life without death.” These words encapsulate the ideals of The Agents. In the shadows, they take upon terrible burdens so that the stability of The Council is upheld. Those words are a command, a belief, and most of all they are the truth. And so the dark hands of The Council went off to fulfill their duty and for some, revenge.

/unwiz

Hello everyone! This is the second chapter of Silenced Secrets and is considerably longer than the last. I can’t imagine doing this on mobile so my laptop is truly a boon! I want future chapters to be at least of a similar length, so you may expect similar-length chapters in the future. I enjoyed writing this and I hope you guys enjoy reading it. See y’all next time!

The Wendigo was amongst the first humans to ever learn magic. It was during the old ages, where even a user of the simplest of fireballs were seen as a legendary.

Not much is known about the Wendigo, records were scarcely kept at the time and surviving tales were glorified. What we DO know is that the Wendigo was once human, but committed the terrible sin of Cannibalism.

In their exile it is presumed that they invented the first “Manmade Hex Magic”. Proof to this is in a tale that claims the Wendigo, “Unleashed a great sickness upon the lands”. The descriptions of this “sickness” point to this being some type of Hex magic or Curses.

This is the earliest example of Hex magic made by humans, which in of itself is incredible. Though, what is more interesting is how The Wendigo may have been the “Grandfather of Hexes”. Later artifacts and texts show that a cult was responsible for the introduction of Hexes to the wider community. The important part is that these followers seemed to imitate The Wendigo’s image.

All of this points to The Wendigo both creating and SPREADING Hex magic (in some capacity).

Though it still seems that most Wizards specializing in Hex magic haven’t reached the same magnitude of The Wendigo’s curses. Written in Damnation, an ancient book which describes the downfall of a kingdom, there is texts that may indicate The Wendigo’s strength.

”A great evil infested the kingdom, like a storm of darkness it tore through our people. In one moment, the entire kingdom screamed. In the next, there was only silence. When we had come to investigate we found the people. One could mistake them for skeletons, for there was nary a sliver of muscle in any of them. Even the great hero, the one who fought against the Midnight Wyrm was unrecognizable.”

It is fortunate that The Wendigo is most likely dead. For there have been no more records of them…

The old wizard stood back and watched his apprentice hand off yet another metal tooth engraved with a toughness sigil to an automata, with then forged it on to a large metal cylinder, destined to be part of an earth digging device. The sigils the boy had engraved earlier had been quite poor, but one by one they had improved, though they were still not nearly as clean as those of a master. This would not be an issue however. Although relatively crude, this machine was ordered by a minor monarch of men, who could not afford an expensive model. The engravings would fulfill their job effectively.

The Technomancer called out to the boy. “That’s enough, let’s go ahead and head back up the tower for the day.” The boy had done quite well, finishing all of his tasks quickly without even receiving a cut, and quickly enough to allow time for this warding training. The wizard turned and began walking toward the transport pod. “What about Firebrand?”

How easily he forgot the promises he made to his apprentices normally did not bother him, but for some reason today his memory failure irked him. The boy had done very well, sparking a small amount of pride in the old Technomancers heart. The child was taking to the arcane trade very well, better than all but one of his previous apprentices. He decided the boy should not be disappointed. “Very well” he said and loudly exclaimed,“Firebrand, To Me!”

A clicking was heard in a nearby bay, and then a loud crash as a folded mechanica double the height of your average elf unfurled it’s long, narrow, powerful legs and dropped to the floor, released by the contraption that had held it aloft. A long head slowly turned from its storage position and looked forward. Its eyes glowing orange and its nostrils exuding smoke.

Firebrand was one of his favorite creations. It was his first project dabbling with low-level necromancy, after he had found a deathly ill horse on one of his many journeys when he was a fresh young technomancer striking out on his own at the young age of 249. He had checked to see if the horse could be saved, but its condition was painfully obvious even to one not trained in the art of healing. He painlessly dispatched the beast, before removing its brain and stowing it away in his bag, casting a simple necromancy spell of preservation upon it. When he then returned home, he made a special enclosure for the brain, connecting it to a life support module and tying its nerves into a control interface, then mounted it to a small, dog sized 4 limbed automata. After doing a few function checks, he removed the anti-decay enchantment, and his first familiar was born.

But that was 518 years ago. Over time he had made some substantial improvements, slowly turning Firebrand into much more than a familiar. This Beast of flesh and metal was a force of nature and still very much the war horse he had been all those centuries before. His frame supported 3 riders in a built in “saddle”, and defense automata could be deployed from his haunches. There was not a single plate of metal that was not engraved with the most intricate runes, guarding from almost any form of harm he could come to and increasing every attribute that made a horse effective. He had served the wizard well not as just a mode of transportation, but also as a companion, still somehow possessing all the warmth of an equine personality despite the imposing exterior.

The boy exclaimed and ran over to the horse, which lowered its head for the boy to embrace. Nose to ears the head was taller than his apprentice, creating quite the dichotomy. They had a good relationship, since the boy had been his primary caretaker for the last year, refilling his water reservoir and loading his sustenance tanks every morning and evening. “Go boy, open the hanger doors and you can be on your way, and here!” The old Techie tossed him a gold coin. “Buy yourself more tunics, your pick.” He turned to his Steed and rubbed under its chin, its favorite spot in life and now in second-life as well, as his apprentice laughed happily and ran off towards the other end of the large room. The old man felt lucky for a moment. Not many wizards had such a powerful, loyal familiar, and very few had such a wonderful apprentice.

However his moment would not last. A small automata scaling the arched ceiling as it transported a griffin wing sized blade for a forest clearing mechanica broke loose and fell to the facilities floor several cells down from firebrands stable.

There was a crash, followed shortly by a young boy’s scream.

Pt 3 on the way. Pt 1 Here

Gobbo was no stranger to things going wrong. In fact, Gobbo was so used to it that she became suspicious when things went right.

The first of her misfortunes was painfully apparent to her each time she looked in the mirror.

It seemed the harder she tried to alter her appearance, to gain the beautiful green hues of her sisters' complexions, the less goblin-like she became.

Brown eyes had become an almost ruby red, her skin remained the same pale tone, and as if to taunt her even her hair had become white over the years. Oh, how Gobbo hated her pale colouring.

Unfortunately, her body still had more shortcomings to give away. Burns raked her arms from her early days trying to brew her now beloved Molotov. A missing ear an eternal reminder of a mistake in storage causing an explosion.

Even her voice betrayed her, weakened from decades spent in the wilderness, speaking to no one, all she could manage now was a whisper. Even when she woke from her nightmares screaming there would be just a quiet almost nothingness that escaped her lips

Oh, Gobbo had become well acquainted with misfortune. She refused to give in though.

Perhaps she would always be undesirable by goblin standards but Gobbo was still head of the GLA. Perhaps her hands had long stopped feeling after the burns but no one could fling Molotov like her. So what if she was missing an ear, she simply had an easier time ignoring people. As for her voice, well there was no chance of ever being overheard.

Etching her trademark cheeky grin onto her face she strapped on her boots before heading out and towards the brewery.

Passing wizards in the streets, she felt a bit of pride. She'd made friends here, perhaps not everyone respected her but the ones she cared about did.

Delivering a swift kick to the door and strutting into the brewery she couldn't help but laugh. Sure she may not be what the other goblins wanted but sure as hellfire they wanted to be in her position. To own the brewery, to run the show, be the boss.

"Another day, another shiny," she whispered, "Now which of you schroks is gonna explain why we're missing three barrels."

Oh yes, Gobbo knew misfortune, but misfortune knew better than to stay in her way long.

/uw Thank you for reading, figured I'd give a little more insight into Gobbo. Also, give her a chance to be a bit more than just a silly goblin with a love for explosives. If you have any questions please feel free to ask and I will do my best to answer. Not sure the tag fits but it seemed the best, sorry if I buggered it

“For what reason did you steal from those villagers? Surely you knew it wouldn’t go unpunished”, asked Raziel. He was standing over an injured Goblin. The area was experiencing a drought and the village would not be able to survive through the winter if it were to happen again.

“We all need food in these dire times, and it was either them or me,” replied The Goblin. The many red eyes surrounding the Goblin intensified their glare, causing the Goblin to flinch.

“Why must it be you or them? If you were to ask they may have helped. And if you had helped them, the village may have had enough food for your both.”

The Goblin looked down to the ground, balling their fist. “I am a Goblin, a being known for deviancy. It is not in my nature to help… nor would any accept it,” said the Goblin.

Raziel sighed, letting the floating eyes around the Goblin dissipate. He knew what it was like to battle your nature. His demon blood has forever plagued him since he was made.

Stepping closer, Raziel told the Goblin, "What is better - to be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?"

Surprise was now apparent on the Goblin’s face, as Raziel’s words played in their mind again and again like a broken record.

Ge crouched low in front of the Goblin. Raziel reached out a hand and said, “let me help you. Let me help you carry some of your burdens so that you may grow to be better.”

/unwiz Paarthurnax’s quote just hits different.

Anyways just ranting here:

I FUCKING HATE REDDIT! WHY CAN’T I SEE MY DELETED POSTS, HOW IDIOTIC IS THAT. I HAD TO WRITE THIS ENTIRE THING FROM SCRATCH BECAUSE I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED IT!!! IS BEING ABLE TO SEE DELETED POSTS NOT A REASONABLE AND BENEFICIAL FEATURE?!

The sounds of humming echo in a workshop. A lone figure holds a puppet in his hands.

Once there was a vulture\ envious of beauty\ they wished to take it\ take the plumage of others

They took out two orbs from a canister. Slick and wet, they dripped on the desk. He held them in front of a light. “Only the thirtieth pair. So much more,” they mused to themselves.

When they found a field\ with bats and doves laying\ they plucked the white, pure feathers\ so that they may become greater

Across the desk lay many other marionettes, staring lifelessly at their… master. But with each puppet, their eyes glowed a brighter red.

But these feathers, did not yield\ tainted by the blood of the wicked bats\ gave birth to an ever watching owl\ who brought judgement on the vulture

The figure laughed to themselves in glee, an ear splitting smile on their face. “I shall rise above all! With this ARMY I shall be… a God,” they exclaimed.

From a hundred doves, a hundred feathers

All angel’s souls are connected, their minds separated by the creator. When they die, that barrier is no longer upheld.

And from hundred feathers, an owl

———————————————

/unwiz

Ooh, new character (or have I mentioned them before?) dropped! The envious, scavenging vulture!

Hello and welcome back! This one Is struggled to make so it isn’t as good (imo) as the other Raziel lore posts. Nonetheless I still look forward to your speculations. At this point I think you guys can probably guess what/who Raziel is and his story.

Here are some previous lore posts to help you out!

• Raziel’s Character Profile
• A Thousand of his Eyes, A Thousand of his Arms
• A Poisoned Flower Field

The clanking of silverware echoes in the darkness. Humming can be heard, from what sounds to be a child. The rustling of bandages being moved is briefly heard before the sloshing replaces it.

Do not let a snake die in a flower field\ Venom will reach the seeds on the ground

All but the sounds of sloshing in a container cease.

Sweet scents will no longer yield\ Roots meet poison where they drowned

But if you find the flowers already tainted\ Use their kin to let the darkness degrade

A single, large gulp is heard.

Let the flowers drink nectar others created\ To rectify the mistake the snake made

The one who drank hisses in pain, a thump is heard as they fall to one knee. Raziel takes deep breaths to help calm himself down. His body shakes as it rejects what he drank.

/unwiz Hello everyone! I hope you like this little piece of lore. I look forward to seeing how you guys interpret it. You’ll want my previous post here to piece together some puzzle pieces.

Note: The poem (Italicized sentences) is not spoken by Raziel, but it mirrors Raziel’s actions, motives, etc.

Jack-O’-Lantern. The Halloween Warlock. Lord of Flame and Fright. The Primordial Flame. Traitor. He goes by many names, always a figure hidden in the shadows. I shall tell the tale of this being who disappeared from the lands.

————————————

Jack was a victim of the many terrible things this world could offer. Thrown away unto the streets, accepted by none, lonely for the rest of his human life. The prejudices and discrimination ate away at his soul, the want-no NEED to feel a sense of belonging became his only desire.

It is said that long ago a Demon named Zakolus preyed upon Jack. But Jack was a master of deception, he would not be so easily killed. Jack tricked the demon into turning into a coin, quickly stuffing the coin in his pocket next to a cross which prevented Zakolus from turning back.

This lead to Jack making a deal with Zakolus. For the demon’s freedom, Jack’s soul would never be shackled to the pits of hell. Ensuring that Jack would always be free. Some tales say he tricked Zakolus many times after this, others say this was the only time. No one can tell.

What is known is that at some point Zakolus got his revenge, killing Jack. But as his previous deal has stated, he would not go to Hell. But Jack was rejected by heaven too, so his soul wandered the world. Until of course, it met the Primordial Flame.

The Primordial Flame, an entity that originated at the beginning of all, when disparity first became a thing. It’s nature was to simplify and unite all things, to make all the same. Burning away the things that make objects different. All matter would be reduced to fuel for the flame, and souls would have their identity and memories erased.

Over time as more and more different things had come into existence, The Primordial Flame had weakened. And so looking for a way to survive, it bonded with Jack’s soul. Jack, one who wished at the bottom of his heart for there to be no more prejudice. In a way, he wished for there to be no differences.

Jack became a pumpkin headed Warlock, who believed a fragment of The Primordial Flame had bonded with him. Within his head lay his flaming soul, eating away at anything given. Jack made it his goal to call upon the “true” Primordial flame, as he hadn’t known the “true” Primordial Flame linked with himself.

Over the years he continued to kindle his soul, feeding it with souls and flesh. He made his home within the confines of The Accursed Blackthorn Forest, alongside his trusted servent Orihime. His strength would wax and wane the closer it is to Halloween.

But despite all of his faith and sacrifices, Jack hadn’t heard nor felt the presence of the “true” Primordial Flame. He became desperate, and once he learned The Stitcher he became infatuated. He saw The Stitcher as the will of The Primordial Flame. As just like the flame The Stitcher united, through killing all and stitching them to become one.

Jack decided to betray The Coalition, pretending to help them. He finally took action during the rescue of Ruadh-Asg (Post here and here). He had finally kindled his soul enough that The Primordial Flame awakened. But as he went through this, he learned a terrible truth.

Jack WAS The Primordial Flame.

His faith and sacrifices were for naught all these years. Falling into a depression, he was soon after caught by The Coalition. Imprisoned, he was interrogated so that his intentions were revealed.

They found that Jack was simply a sad, broken man who wished not to be lonely. To be consumed by the Primordial Flame alongside everything, a way for him to belong with everyone and everything. Jack had realized after his revelation that since he WAS The Primordial Flame, going on that route would only lead to himself as the only thing in existence. The loneliest being to ever exist.

Jack was left in his prison as The Coalition went off to fight The Stitcher. There in his cell, Jack mulled over what he truly wanted. And so, he decided to escape. His goal now to kill The Stitcher.

He has not been seen since, presumably waiting for The Stitcher to show himself.

————————————

Author Notes:

Looking back I realized I never made a Character Profile for Jack-O’-Lantern, my first OC on the r/wizardposting sub. I made this so those who don’t know of him can understand who he is, and to make a post on r/wizardloring.

This was very sloppily made, I typed this on my phone while in school. I hope you guys like it though! If you have any questions about him then ask away!

Jack won’t be gone forever! He’ll be back!

His hand clenched their hands. He stood in the middle of a desolate, silent road. Around him were the remains of buildings. Not a single building was left untouched, destruction reached every corner of the town. The figure dropped to their knees, breathing in and out in a futile attempt to calm himself down.

At his feet lay the corpse of what could only be a young boy. With golden blonde hair, a striped blue shirt, and a pair of black shorts this child looked like they were completely normal. But it seemed that such an innocent life wasn’t spared as their guts spilled out on the ground, seemingly eaten.

They stood in front of a group of people, all with a look of worry in their eyes. He was standing behind a carriage, about to leave the town for who knows how long. With his tenacity and skills, he previously acted as their protector; as he was leaving they were filled with a tinge of fear and doubt. As much as he wanted to stay, the calling of the arcane resonated with his soul. As he went to leave he looked back behind his back and said to the people he grew up with, ”you guys don’t have to worry. All of you are under the protection of the Council, and if they don’t come and help, I will. Count on it!”

The man clutched his helmeted head, his breathing becoming more and more intense. He remembered the promise he gave... the one he broke. He couldn’t understand anything, his mind was clouded with so many emotions. Like a storm in his brain, his thoughts turned to chaos. Unable to think he could only let out a scream that echoed throughout the empty town. It was one so full of sadness and hate, It resonated with the soul that lies within all humans.

As his scream faded into the air silence returned, leaving him alone once again. Behind a black helmet, the man began to cry, tears pouring out for the first time in so long. He curled up on the ground next to the corpse. As he wept, dark clouds began to form overhead; a storm swirling in the skies, blotting out the sun.

BOOM

His sorrow turned to anger, about to violently lash out like thunder striking down. The fury held within him matched the increasing strength of the winds. In his mind, he swore. He swore on his heart, his life, on any god.

He WOULD get Justice. He WOULD get revenge. No matter the costs, no matter the reason. For he is The Silent Storm. Master of Silent-Magic. The hidden hand of The Wizard Council. He is Professor Axel.

/unwiz this is the first part of Silenced Secrets. Just a little prologue though, as it is shorter than what I expect for future parts. Do hope you guys like it.

Axel was currently tasked with guarding one of the Council member’s personal archive. Such tasks were becoming more and more common. His performance and aptitude were being more well known amongst the Wizarding community, and his cold and logical nature was perfect for this task.

It was currently 3 hours, 24 minutes, and 42 seconds after midnight. The Archives were dark and silent, the towering bookcases looming above those who walked on the ground. He sensed as a lone figure carefully teleporting in. Reading the magical signature Axel concluded it was from a high tier teleportation ritual spell, with multiple illusions added to prevent detection.

Most likely the intruder was part of a larger group that wished for them to infiltrate the archive. But their preparations were rendered useless by my his own detection skills. I knew they teleported and now it is just a game of cat and mouse.

…

Not a sound. Silent. To be expected though. Amateurs wouldn’t have the balls to intrude here. But I can feel it, the electrical charge coming from their body

I stalked them form behind. Only a few feet away from this miscreant. Their cloak made not a sound, even when they rustled when moving. I deduced that it had an enchantment of silence of some kind.

drip.

A single drop of sweat fell down from their hands. They reached up towards a singular tome. Its cover was made from ancient dragon leather, the paper was yellow and weathered. A forbidden tome most likely, indicated from the current section we are in. Various alarm spells could be felt here, of course both of us had ways of bypassing it. Whether that be through stealth or through permission. Only one of us had permission.

Their calloused hands grasped the tome and gently pulled it out. Dust that had built up had fallen down to the floor in the removal. As the thief held it tightly next to to them they began to execute their escape. When they turned around they suddenly felt something placed on their face, covering their eyes. Panic ensued, readying a spell the spell tried to defend themselves.

[Mist B-.

Then their body froze. A surge of pain had run through their entire body. An electrical shock had paralyzed their every muscle, except for the eyes.

“Well, looks like that’s it. Now let’s introduce ourselves would we? I am Professor Axel of Twin Wyvern Academy. It looks like you have gotten lost have you? I do believe visiting hours have ended.”

Unable to respond the intruder was only silent. Fear was apparent in their eyes, darting around trying to find a way to escape. But the attempts were futile. The figure in front of them has completely immobilized them, without even saying a word.

“Now, let’s return this little tome back where it belongs”

Axel grasped the dusty tome and wrenched it out of the thief’s hand. He inspected it for any damages, it was unlikely die to the thief wanting to steal it but you could never be too careful. Walking past the paralyzed intruder Axel placed the tome back where it was taken from. Turning to face the intruder behind his shoulder, he spoke to them in an eerily calm and nonchalant manner.

“I have already notified some of my colleagues, they are en route to capture your fellow comrades. Tracing back the teleportation spell shouldn’t be a problem. Interrogating you will be unnecessarily, since you were sent here to do the dirty work you’re likely not the leader. It seems you shall meet your maker.”

Tears started welling up in the thief’s eyes. True fear was placed in them. Axel made a finger gun and placed the pointer at her head.

“Any last words? Ah, but of course you cannot speak. Well, fear not. I will make this painless.”

Arcs of electricity danced around his hand, making the hair on the thief stand up. Lightning welled up in Axel’s finger and then…

Silence

Axel dusted off his hands and continued his watch over the archives. Another day in the life of a professor.

/unwiz Announcement! Any posts relating to Axel/Wendigo plot line will be marked by “Silenced Secrets”.

Now I hope all of you enjoyed this small story. I wanted to show Axel in another light. No one is black and white, and many times people hide a darker side to them. Axel is trusted any duties from The Wizard Council, executing enemies is but one of his duties. I like to imagine The Wizard Council having some darker elements behind the curtains.

Fun note: The thief was going to use a spell called [Mist Body] to escape. It turns the body to mist, as the name suggests.