Current
That was the worst three months of my life. Health is close to normal again. Here's to making the insurance company cry!
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2 yrs ago
"Your copay today is $20,000" How about no.
3
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3 yrs ago
Well, the "I am but an ally" to "queer af" pipeline is real.
Bio
I have gone by many names over my life, and the one I go by here is Nori.
I am a non-binary individual who has a love of participating in these stories and creating my own. I am incredibly chronically ill. If my illness flares up too much I may be pulled away.
The Benefactor had listened to each with the patience of a spider counting flies in its web. To the crowd, it would become clear that this was all beneath him. The complaints, the accusations, and the silly questions did little to move the needle on that thought. Though he did weather the storm of questions with a straight face, upright chin, and calm demeanor. Now, he finally straightened, his polished shoes clicking against the hardwood as he moved toward the hallway. The flames cast his sharp features in dancing shadows.
"Enough." A single word that silenced the room. "You seek answers? Very well."
He turned, his eyes gleaming with something darker than arrogance. "I know your secrets because I made it my business to know. Just as I know the Witch Hunters are already mobilizing. Of course, you do not know what the Witchhunters are or what we did. That is by design. You see," the Benefactor continued, tracing the silver handle of his cane, "magic used to exist until it no longer did. My organization, founded by my ancestors two thousand years ago, made it our mission to eridicate all traces of mages and their magic. We ripped it out root and stem until it was just a myth a parent would tell their children as they tucked them into bed."
A collective gasp seemingly filled the room but the sound was entirely Lena. Lena felt Jackson tense beside her.
“I was born to carry on that mission and I did until I was ousted by their leader three months ago." He let that hang in the air, watching if a shock rippled through them. "Oh yes. The modern Witch Hunters forced the old guard. Instead of tradition, and tried and tested methods we now deal with accountants with silver bullets, bureaucrats with crosses, and supposed tech geniuses who are drugged out of their minds every single day speaking as if his word is gospel. What they had was money, and they leveraged it to remove me. And when magic returned..." He tapped his temple. "I gained the unfortunate gift of clairvoyance. Visions of the future, of those who had magic around me, and what role they might play in the coming struggles. I saw you as you were and what you were doing so that is how I know."
"Okay,” Jackson interrupted, his eyebrows shot up, lips parting slightly as if punched by the revelation. The easygoing creases around his eyes smoothed into something blank and shocked like the face of a man who’d just realized he’d stepped into quicksand. “First off, you expect us to believe a self-described witchhunter wants to help mages? And that you’re family started what sounds like a genocide against people with magic? And that you, of all people, gained magic despite what your family did? And that you want to help," Jackson raised his hands into the air and waved them in front of his face. Internally, his thoughts fared no better than his words. He was distraught, dismayed, and disturbed by the idea of working for a monster.
The Benefactor's laugh was a dry crack. "I want to survive. As do you. Those idiots in charge forgot to remove me from the group chat. They have talked about the return of magic, and are confident they are about to find their first one holed up in a cabin in the woods. Your cabin, Lena. My visions show witch pyres burning in city squares within the year." He gestured to the window, where distant lightning flickered. "The world won't tolerate what it fears. It never has, and it may never will. They'll come for the firestarter first." His gaze locked on Lena, then flicked to Jackson. "Then the tidecaller. Then the rest of you, one by one, until all of magic is returned to the lands of fables."
A muscle in Jackson’s jaw twitched as the Benefactor casually mentioned witch pyres. His nostrils flared, the amber hue of his eyes darkening like water tainted with blood. The tired, familiar weight of prejudice settled over his shoulders though they were heavier now with the knowledge that their so-called "savior" had once orchestrated the same threats he now faced. His top lip curled, just slightly, revealing a flash of teeth.
"Magic death cult" Lena's voice was steel-wrapped in smoke yet hushed as a barely audible whisper. "Did you bring us here to form some magic death cult?"
The Benefactor smiled his thinnest smile yet. "I brought you here to give you a choice. Die as scattered, powerless fools... or let me teach you to fight like proper mages." He opened his palm, revealing a silver hunter's medallion - now cracked down the middle. "The only question is: which terrifies you more? Them... or what you'll have to become to stop them?"
Then, all at once, Jackson’s face slackened. His shoulders slumped forward, and he dragged a calloused hand down his face, fingers catching on the stubble along his jaw. The exhale he released wasn’t just breath it was the sound of a man too exhausted to even muster proper anger. "Of course,"that exhale seemed to say. "Of course the one person who knows how to fight them is the reason we need to in the first place."
When his hand dropped away, his expression had settled into something dangerously calm—the quiet of a river freezing over. "Let me guess," he said, voice low and rough. "Your ‘lessons’ come with strings."
Jackson didn’t blink. But Lena, watching him closely, saw the way his thumb absently traced the inside of his wrist—where his hydromancy first manifested.
The Benefactor tilted his head, the firelight carving shadows under his cheekbones as he considered Jackson. "Though it may be an oversimplification," he said, tapping his cane once on the floorboards, "you’re not incorrect." He stepped closer, the scent of bergamot and gun oil clinging to him. "I teach you to contain magic's dangers—because unchecked, your power is as likely to kill you as the hunters. You may end up killing innocent people trying to protect yourself and others. I train you to hunt monsters and protect people. And yes, you’ll protect me. Not out of loyalty, but because my death would leave you blind to their movements, and make no mistake you will die alone." His smile was all teeth. "Quid pro quo implies you and I benefit, Mr. Stone. This is... mutually assured survival."
Jackson’s fingers twitched, droplets of lake water beading along his wrists like sweat. The air smelled suddenly of ozone and wet stone—his magic prickling under his skin. "So we’re just trading one collar for another."
Before the Benefactor could respond, Lena snorted. "Remind me again why we can't just take our magic and run for Canada? I think I might take my chances across the lake." Lena finished with a thumbs up but, accidentally, flicked a blue ember off her thumb and watched as it fell to the ground below, the polished wood singeing in response. Lena froze. Even the Benefactor’s polished composure cracked for a millisecond with just a twitch at the corner of his mouth that might’ve been irritation or reluctant amusement.
The room fell into a moment of silence for the destroyed bust, save for the faint shuffle of shoes on the ground and the occasional nervous cough. Lena leaned against the wall, her arms crossed, as she surveyed the small group of people who had gathered. Her eyes landed on a short, stocky figure with damp hair and a faint smell of lake water clinging to them. Beside them stood a half-elf clutching the remains of what had once been a cherry pie, now reduced to a sad, smushed mess.
Lena couldn’t resist raising the mood. She listened as everyone introduced themself and waited for her moment to strike. Eventually, a smell wafted her way and she had it.
“Hey, Cailean,” she called out, her voice dripping with mock concern. “I love the smell of your cologne, is that Eau de Dockwater? It’s very,” Lena flashed a genuine smile, “fresh. Good thinking on the pie, though, who would’ve thought we would be down one already.”
Her eyes flashed to Jackson who simply shook his head. He had always told her that her jokes could sometimes go from good-natured fun to mean quickly, and judging by his reaction she may be perceived as mean. Lena did not like that and she knew she had to change the story.
“It was dark in here and Jackson was hearing voices and seeing shadows,” Lena forgot to mention that it was she who heard the voice, and she paused as she pointed towards the destroyed bust, “he got scared and the bust was what he took that fear out on. A sad story.”
“That is not how I remember it going,“ Jackson said as he crossed his arms. “I recall-“
“Shush, shush, shush” Lena started but paused as she heard a tapping sound.
*Tap* *Tap* *Tap*
Lena turned her head to the doorway to the next room. The tapping sound was harsh and sounded like a thin object striking the tile floor and it sounded like it was coming from above them. The room fell silent as measured footsteps echoed down a staircase and filled the room of these would-be mages. The steps continued downward, out of sight, but each one was deliberate and measured. Eventually, they stopped just around the corner and the room was once again silent. Then, a man turned the corner and the group was face-to-face with The Archivist.
He was an imposing figure, tall and lean, who carried with him an air of calculated precision that bordered on arrogance. A neatly trimmed beard framed his sharp features, and his piercing eyes seemed to dissect the room with a single, dismissive glance. Dressed in a tailored suit that looked like it belonged to another era, he carried himself with the kind of authority that made it clear he expected obedience. His ears were pointed, giving away his Elvish lineage. A silver cane rested in one hand, though he didn’t seem to need it for support—it was more like a prop, a tool to emphasize his superiority.
“Ah,” he said, his voice smooth and dripping with condescension, each syllable enunciated with a crisp British accent. “The rabble hath arrived. How… quaint. I suppose punctuality is too much to ask from those unaccustomed to the concept of timekeeping.” The man paused as he pulled out his stopwatch. While he knew that it was set five minutes ahead, that did not excuse this sorry excuse for a group from not being early.
He stepped further into the room, the cane tapping lightly against the floor with each deliberate step. His gaze swept over the assembled group, lingering briefly on each face as if mentally cataloging their flaws. When his eyes landed on Lena and Jackson, there was a flicker of something—amusement, perhaps, or disdain. They followed the smell and landed on Cailean, and his face recoiled with disgust. Mason drew a dismissive look. Azure warranted a longer look, and the Archivist chuckled ever so at the way this man carried himself. Every member of the group drew a look, and overall it seemed this man before them was not impressed by what he saw.
The Archivist’s gaze lingered on the group for a moment longer, his expression a mix of disdain and faint amusement as if he were observing a collection of particularly unimpressive insects. He snapped his stopwatch shut with a sharp click and tucked it back into his pocket, the sound echoing in the tense silence.
“Well,” he said, his tone dry and dripping with condescension, “I suppose we must make do with what we have. However, I must say, that the universe’s standards appear to have… slipped. I mean really, is this the best magic could bring?” His eyes flicked to Cailean and his nose wrinkled slightly. “And you,” he said, pointing the tip of his cane in their direction, “might consider investing in a towel. Or perhaps a bath. The smell is… terrible.”
The Archivist raised an eyebrow as he pointed toward Pom, his lips curling into a faint, mocking smile. “How generous that you too brought pie. Though I fail to see how a destroyed pastry has brought anything of value to this gathering.”
Lena snorted, unable to help herself. “He does not like pie,” she whispered towards Cailean. The Archivist’s sharp eyes snapped to her, and she quickly schooled her expression into something resembling innocence. “Sorry,” she said, holding up her hands. “Just… appreciating the feedback. Really constructive stuff. You are doing really great with this first impression and all. I like it.”
The Archivist’s gaze narrowed, but before he could respond, Jackson stepped in. He got in between the man and Lena, and used his massive frame to look down on The Archivist. As he did this, Burnie Cinder floated over his head and grew larger and more vibrant in color. “We’re not here to be scolded, nor are we looking for your approval. So, how about we skip the critiques and get to the part where you tell us why we’re here, how you knew we had magic, and what you know before I make a doorway through your wall over there and leave.”
Lena remained silent, the tension thickening as the Archivist turned his full attention to Jackson by craning his neck back. For a moment, it seemed like he might unleash a scathing retort, but then he chuckled—a low, humorless sound. He placed his cane in his armpit and then clapped three times before he took a step forward.
“Bravo! Brave words,” the Archivist said, his tone icy. “But bravery without competence is merely recklessness. Let us hope, for your sake, that you possess at least a modicum of the latter.”
“Brave words,” Lena whispered, mimicking the Archivist’s tone. “But recklessness wit-”
Jackson tapped Lena on the shoulder to hush her as he grinned, though his eyes were still wary. He had a bad feeling about the man, and wondered if it was worth it to even
The Archivist simply looked at Lena with the sides of his eyes and scoffed. “I have lived a long life, girl,” he started and leaned forward, “and you have already proven yourself to be as annoying as anyone I have met so congratulations.” He tapped his cane on the ground sharply. “We don’t have time to waste. Follow me and-”
“Hold up for just a minute,” Lena paused as she took a step towards the middle of the group, “we have a lot of questions that you need to answer first. Like what is magic, why did we develop it, and why the fuck are you such a cunt” Lena paused as she threw her arms out wide, “I think we deserve to have some questions answered first, before we do anything with you.”
“We’ll get to that when we-”
“NO.” Burnie Cinders spelled into the air as it flew from it’s perch above Jackson and landed in front of The Archivist
“You heard the fire. We have questions, you have answers, and we want them now.”
“Very well,” The Archivist placed the cane on the ground and put one hand on top of the other on top of the cane. A look of profound annoyance fell over his face, and he looked at the group with a particular disdain. “Ask away.”
The mansion’s interior was as grand as it was unsettling. The foyer stretched high above them, its ceiling lost in shadow. A chandelier hung precariously overhead, its crystals catching the faint light from Burnie’s flames and scattering it in fractured patterns across the walls. The air was thick with the scent of old wood and something faintly metallic, like copper or rust. Lena hesitated just inside the doorway, her boots clicking softly against the marble floor.
“Okay,” she muttered, glancing around. “This is officially creepy.”
Jackson stepped in beside her, his broad frame filling the space. “Yeah, no kidding. Feels like we just walked into a horror movie. I like your odds though of being the final girl.”
“Is it because I’m the only girl here,” Lena chuckled as age looked around some more.
“I plead the-“ The door creaked shut behind them, the sound echoing through the empty halls. Lena spun around, her heart racing, but there was no one there. Just the heavy, ornate door, now closed tight. Jackson sighed as he placed his hands on his hips, “-the fifth.”
“Great,” she said, forcing a laugh. “No turning back now.”
Jackson gave her a reassuring smile, though his eyes were scanning the room warily. “Should we wait here or-”
”Let’s wait and see what happens”
They both looked around the room. The walls were lined with portraits and busts of heads, and their eyes seemed to like directly at the two wayward mages. Lena shivered, pulling her jacket tighter around her.
“Do you feel like they’re watching us?” she asked, her voice low.
Jackson nodded, his expression tense. “Yeah.”
Lena glanced at Burnie, who was flickering nervously, his light dimming and flaring in erratic bursts. “You too, huh?” she murmured to the fire. “Guess it’s not just me.”
As they walked a little further into the room, the feeling of unease grew stronger. Lena’s skin prickled, and she couldn’t shake the sensation that something was just out of sight, lurking in the shadows. Every other second she’d see a wraith or a shade, but as soon as she focused her eyes she’d realize it was a coat rack, a chair, or a mirror. However, she did hear something. It almost sounded like something, somewhere, was chanting in a dead language. She didn’t know why she felt it was a dead language but something deep within her core told her so. She glanced at Jackson, who was frowning, his hand twitching which caused water droplets to form in the air around them.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, though his voice was tight. “Just… seeing things. Shadows moving where they shouldn’t.”
Lena nodded, her unease growing. “I think I’m hearing things. Whispers. Can’t make out the words, though.”
Jackson stopped, turning to face her. “Whispers? Like… voices?”
“Yeppers,” Lena said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s like… an ancient language or something. I don’t recognize it, but it’s… it’s here, it’s there, it’s every fucking where.”
Jackson’s frown deepened. “This place is messing with us. We need to find a light or something. Get our bearings.”
“Oh we both know that won’t help if it is haunted,” Lena seethed as her heart pounded. They quickened their pace, searching for a light switch or a lamp. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, and Lena clapped her hands over her ears, trying to block them out. Jackson’s breathing was ragged now, his eyes darting around as the shadows seemed to shift and twist around them.
Jackson thought he saw a specter flying across the room towards him and he threw a punch, easily punching through the marble bust in front of him. Finally, Jackson spotted a light switch on the wall. He reached for it, his hand trembling slightly, and flipped it on.
The room was flooded with light, the chandelier above them blazing to life. Lena blinked, her eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. The whispers stopped abruptly, and the shadows retreated, leaving the room looking… normal. Just an old, slightly dusty mansion. Lena could finally see that this room was the parlor room. It was square, the floor was a finely polished Pink Ivory inlaid with stone and the walls were of similar quality and filled to the brim with countless portraits, decorative shelves filled with trinkets, and weaponry all of old Elven design
Jackson shook his head, his expression a mix of relief and confusion. “I think… I think this place is haunted”
Lena let out a shaky laugh, though her nerves were still on edge. “Great. I always wanted to die in a haunted house. Perfect.”
The lights suddenly went out again eliciting a yelp from Lena. The sound of the door creaking open drew mouth their heads sharply back. Like before, the door closed behind the new person.
*Click*
The light turned back on as Jackson flicked the switch. Both Jackson and Lena recoiled at the sudden change from dark to bright, but they did see a figure in the doorway now.. Before their eyes could adjust, the room suddenly went dark once again as the door slammed closed.
“Well this will be annoying if it continues,” Lena scoffed. A moment later the door swung open allowing a pair of people to enter.
*Click*
The cycle would continue and Lena found it annoying. The door would open, a new person would walk through it, Jackson would turn the lights on, the lights would go out and the door would close. Rinse, repeat, and continue over and over until there was over a dozen people assembled in the entryway for this house. Lena was pleasantly surprised that none of them appeared to be the kind of person to lead a cult, but alas the modern age did make it hard to determine that in advance. Her eyes shifted from person to person before she decided to put her hands behind her back.
“So,” she started with a stern tone, “I bet you are wondering why I sent you the letters.”
“She did not send the letters,” Jackson sighed as he waved at the crowd. “Hi! I am Jackson, this is Lena, and the fireball is Burnie Cinders.”
Burnie intensified as it moved in between Lena and the new group. Lena knew he was apprehensive about the gathering crowd and was trying to protect her just in case.
“Let me have my-” Lena stopped speaking as she rubbed her temple. “Is this the part where we each tell each other our powers and our names? Maybe make plans to get a late-night bite after this is done?”
Far away from the hustle and bustle of the town center stood a large mansion and inside its study magic was happening. The study was a collision of eras. Shelves of gnarled, root-like wood held crumbling scrolls and leather-bound grimoires, while holographic runes flickered faintly in the air, a failed attempt to digitize the undigitizable. At the center sat Eldrin Moonshadow, his silver hair cascading over robes woven from the finest of silks. He was once a famed archeologist convinced that magic was real. He was attempting to read a tome that, if his translation was correct, would bring magic back to the world. His fingers traced glyphs in an ancient tome. The book’s pages pulsed faintly, as if breathing, its language dead for millennia.
He read aloud, each syllable a spark at the back of his mind. The words twisted as they left his lips, no longer just words but charged with every. The first sign was subtle: the flicker of the holograms stuttered, then died. Shadows pooled thicker in the corners, alive and watching. Eldrin’s voice grew steadier, louder, though his hands trembled. The glyphs began to glow, not with light, but with a negative radiance—a void that gnawed at the edges of the room.
His mind itched. A pressure built behind his eyes, as if something were peeling back the folds of his consciousness. The words now came unbidden, faster, harsher, the book’s pages turning themselves. The air tasted metallic, like blood and static. The walls… lmelted. Not into liquid, but into an assortment of impossible geometries—angles that bent away from reality, colors that had no name. Eldrin tried to stop, but his tongue was no longer his own. The tome’s magic slithered into his veins, cold and euphoric.
Then there was silence.
The study was gone. He stood, or at least he thought he did, it was hard to tell in a realm where space folded inward. Before him loomed… It.
Its presence was a paradox—a colossus that could eclipse galaxies, yet small enough to cradle in a palm. Its body was the night sky fractured: a living canvas of stars, nebulae, and black holes swirling in perfect, terrible harmony. Thousands of appendages spiraled from its core—not limbs, but *concepts* made flesh. Some resembled skeletal hands, others tendrils of liquid starlight, still more were shifting geometries that defied mortal eyes. Its “face” (if it had one) was a vortex of constellations arranged into something like a smile, vast and hungry.
“Little Siren,” it intoned, its voice a chorus of dying suns and birth cries of planets. Yet it was understandable. “You sang my symphony well. But the verse… that final verse is incomplete.”
Eldrin’s mind unraveled. Memories fractured—his centuries of study, his name, the taste of sunlight—all unspooling into the cosmic tapestry of the entity. The entity’s appendages brushed his soul (not his body, never his body), and he felt the weight of eons, the insignificance of all he’d ever known.
“Sing the last glyph,” it demanded, its form collapsing and expanding simultaneously. “Unbind me. Let us rewrite the song. Let us bring back magic.”
Eldrin’s mouth opened—to obey, to scream, he wasn’t sure—but before a sound could escape, the vision ruptured.
He gasped, back in the study, the tome snapped shut. His hands were bleeding, clawed raw from trying to close the tome. The walls were intact, the holograms humming innocently. But the air still thrummed with a dissonant hum, and when Eldrin looked down, his reflection in the polished floor showed not his face, but a flicker of star-strewn void.
Some doors, once opened, cannot be fully shut.
The Grinning Imp - 22:00
The spotlight warmed Lena’s face as she strode onto the stage of The Grinning Imp, a cramped comedy club wedged between a well-liked noodle shop and a proper bar in the quiet city of Twin Pines. The crowd—a mix of drowsy halfling students, goliath construction workers, and elven baristas nursing post-shift coffees—clapped politely. Lena flashed her sharpest grin, the one that made her cheekbones look carved. No horns, no tail, no giveaways. Just a woman with a mic and a chip on her shoulder. If the crowd had known that a Tiefling was on stage it might’ve been more fun with the hecklers. While they were all almost completely human, there was still the running stigma their demonic past brought to the present. Still, Lena smiled even harder as her eyes scanned the crowd.
“Evening, everybody!” she barked, voice bouncing off the brick walls. A goliath in the back raised a tankard. “Yeah, I see you, big guy. You’re what, eight feet tall? Funny story, I dated a Goliath once! I’ll tell you that the height difference was so wild. Every kiss looked like I was summiting Mount Trauma. I had to break up with him because I just couldn’t stand the long distance relationship we had.” The room chuckled. A halfling in the front row snorted into her cider. “Gotcha.”
For forty minutes, Lena danced on the edge of disaster—teasing a gnome about his “suspiciously shiny” bald head, (“Sir, are you polishing that or is it naturally that reflective?”), commiserating with a human nurse about chaotic ER shifts (“Ma’am, if I see one more guy say ‘I just fell on it’ at 2 a.m…”), and dodging a rogue olive lobbed by a heckling dwarf (“Wow, that almost hit! If I was the broadside of a barn I’d be a little more worried”). The room buzzed, sweaty and alive. Normal. Lena was very used to nights like this. She would do her routine, have plenty of laughs, get drunk with half her earnings at the bars around town, and then struggle to eat until her next gig. This life was chaotic, it was tiring, but it was comedy. There was very little a rowdy crowd could do to throw her off her game.
Then the smell hit.
Burnt sugar. Sulfur. Lena’s nostrils flared. A headache bloomed behind her eyes, hot and insistent. She gripped the mic stand, knuckles white as she nearly collapsed. It felt like an energy surged through her body and threatened to make her explode. “Uh… anyone eating spoiled eggs or did the Dwarf let out some steam if you know what I mean?” she quipped in, voice strained. The crowd tittered nervously. A cough could be heard to mark a woman’s displeasure at the apparent joke. In her body she felt a heat surging, and it demanded a way out. Lena caught sight of an object and suddenly she felt the energy rush out of her body.
A candle on a corner table—unlit, just decor—hissed. Then *snap*. Blue flames erupted, vivid and cold. The halfling beside it yelped, scrambling back. “Whoa, pyro effects!” a drunk human shouted, clapping. At first, it stuck to the decorative wick, but soon the entire candle and the table holding it caught fire as well.
Lena froze. No. No no no. She felt a connection to this fire that she had never felt before. It felt warm, but it also felt oh so incredibly hungry.
A dwarf tossed his ale on the fire in an attempt to douse it. The flames rippled, unfazed, as they shot upward and began licking the ceiling. Panic surged as a goliath yanked down a tapestry to smother it but instead, the blaze clung to the fabric, spreading faster, and faster, and further. The fire arched out and began to gnaw at the surrounding tables until they too caught fire.. “Get out!” someone screamed.
Lena stood paralyzed, the mic screeching feedback. The smell of sulfur thickened. Hersmell. Her fault. Again.
“Fire exit!” a gnome bellowed, herding the crowd. No one looked at Lena. No accusations, no shocked stares. Just chaos. To them, it was a freak accident—faulty gas lines, cursed decor, bad luck. Only she knew the truth humming in her veins. She caused this. If anyone died, it would be her fault. Again.
She stumbled offstage, past the fleeing bartender, and into the alley. The cold blue glow pulsed through the club’s windows. Lena pressed her back to the damp brick wall, trembling.
“What the fuck?” she whispered.
Somewhere in the city, a church bell tolled. A breeze carried the scent of smoke. Something had awoken in her, and Lena could only hyperventilate as she watched the fire consume more and more before a Goliath grabbed her and pulled her further away from the growing inferno. As she got a good distance away the fire puttered and went out all on its own. She felt something writhing about in her pocket, and she quickly opened it and saw a blue ball of fire nestled in it. A small amount of smoke had already started to rise from her burning vest.
Lena used magic, and she was terrified.
The cabin was a tomb, and Lena was its reluctant body.
She lay in the tub, her body curled into itself like a question mark, staring at the water-stained ceiling. Burnie Cinders, the name she had given oh so affectionately to the sentient ball of fire, floated nearby, his blue light casting jagged shadows that danced across the room like a ballerina troupe. He’d been quiet tonight, which was worse than his usual antics. At least when he was setting her socks on fire or scorching the dinner she had delivered, she had something to yell about. Silence left her alone with her thoughts, and her thoughts were more painful than anything this fire could bring.
“NO.”
The word flared suddenly, sharp and impatient.
“I didn’t ask you anything,” Lena muttered, her voice hoarse from disuse.
“YES”
She groaned. Burnie’s binary responses were maddening. YES and NO. No explanations, no apologies. Just a sentient flame with the emotional range of a red light, green light game. Lena had not been back to this cabin in the woods since her parents died. Her dad loved to hunt out of this place and even took young Lena out a few times to teach her. She hated hunting back then. The very idea of taking a life was a cruel joke, couldn’t they just get meat at the supermarket where no animal had to die? It took her until thirteen to realize the truth of how wrong she was. Oh she wished she could go back to that youthful innocence and to be in his presence just for a minute. She used to hate this place for so many reasons, but there was only one that stuck out to her now.
The cabin was a museum of loss. Her parents’ things sat untouched, frozen in time: her father’s flannel draped over the rocking chair, her mother’s gardening gloves on the windowsill, their wedding photo on the mantel, half-melted at the edges. Lena hadn’t moved any of it. To disturb them felt like admitting they were gone for good. There were burn marks all over the walls that had collected dust over the years. While the roof, and many of the walls were scorched, the fire that consumed her family had struck fast and was put out even quicker thanks to her parents even if the fire and smoke claimed them in the end.
Burnie had taken a liking to the flannel. He’d curl into its pocket most nights, dimming to a faint glow, like a child clinging to a security blanket. Lena didn’t stop him. It felt like a truce with a pyromaniac child who would burn anything and everything he could. It took two days after the comedy club fire to learn that this thing thought and acted on its own. Once she did, it made it easier to control even if it was like negotiating with a terrorist who had their finger on the trigger of a bomb. Lena left her apartment with the fire a week ago because she was too poor to lose the security deposit, and she’s been stuck in this cabin ever since.
She’d tried to leave again this morning. Made it as far as the porch before her legs locked. The forest stretched ahead, pines swaying like a dare. “Just walk,” she'd told herself. “One foot. Then the other*. But her lungs had tightened, her pulse thrashing through her chest. Burnie had swooped in, frantic, etching “NO NO NO,” in the air until she stumbled back inside.
Now, they had rituals. Lena would cook breakfast, letting the sentient fire char his half to charcoal while Lena tried to eat hers when her stomach allowed. The fire would try to catch random things on fire and Lena would yell and scream at it to stop, and then apologize for raising her voice. They would walk the cabin together, Burnie would try to point at items only for Lena to completely not because looking at the discarded artifacts left by her parents was not the vibe right now. Finally, at dusk, Lena would sit on the floor in the bathroom with her back against the wall and stare at her parent's wedding photo that somehow survived the inferno. While half melted it still contained their essence, her father's cocky but kind smile and her mother's resting bitch face that was just her autism made physical. For some reason, the fire always respected these items, it would never try to catch them on fire and would even dim its light as if paying respects to the dearly departed. She sighed as she smiled at that photo. She missed them so much in that moment.
“YES.” The flame would always flicker as if asking, “Ready to talk,” right after.
“NO”, she’d think back.
For some reason, it always seemed to know what she was thinking.
---
The letter came on a Tuesday. Or maybe it was a Wednesday. Time had dissolved into a slurry of exhaustion and made food in the week or so she spent at the cabin.
Lena was scrubbing ash off the countertop, Burnie Cinders had decided that it would be a fun game for it to destroy a brand new roll of paper towels and have Lena clean up afterward when the envelope slid inside. No knock. No footsteps. Just the soft *shhh* of paper sliding on hardwood.
Burnie shot past her, flaring bright and growing in size.
”NO’
“You don’t even know what it says.”
“YES’
She picked it up. The paper was thick and expensive, the kind her mother used for holiday cards. The seal broke with a sigh.
Lena, I hope this letter finds you well enough.
Magic isn’t a spark. It’s a scream. And by all accounts, you’ve been screaming for the past week. This is not in your head, magic is real. You’ve heard it in your sleep, in the hollows of your soul, and every moment that Elemental lives is proof. You are one of the first mages in five hundred years. I’m sure you have questions and I have the answers to them.
Come to 13 Mourningdove Lane. Midnight.
~The Archivist (PS: Bring the good senator. He’s righteous.
Burnie recoiled, incinerating the letter in a single, violent snap even as the letter rested in Lena’s hands. Even though the fire kissed them her hands did not burn, nor hurt, with the heat.
“They know your name,” Lena whispered.
“NO.
“The good senator, at least they have good taste in elected officials,” Lena Joked.
“YES.
”Do you have an actual name?”
”YES.”
”Can you tell me it?”
”NO.”
She sank to the floor, the tiles cold through her sweatpants. Burnie drifted closer, his heat a low thrum against her face. She didn’t pull away. Her eyes shot over to the door and the thought of the letter entered her mind.
“Are they dangerous?”
“YES.
“Are they lying?”
“NO.
“Should I go?”
Burnie stilled. The cabin creaked, the wind outside gnawing at the eaves. Lena pressed her forehead to her knees. *What would you do?* she asked the ghosts. The flannel rustled. The novel’s pages fluttered.
When she looked up, Burnie had etched a word in delicate, wavering script above the sink—a word he’d never used, a word that didn’t fit his binary soul:
“PERHAPS.
Lena watched in awe at the fire script. She had learned much about the sentient fire that seemed to have a thing for her, but it always seemed ready to surprise her again.
““You’re not just fire, are you?” she murmured.
“NO.
“Are you… them,” she pointed towards the burnt scraps of paper, “Did they… make you?”
“NO.
“Are you mine? Did I make you?”
A pause. Then, softer in color and slower in speed, Burnie Cinders spelled out: “YES.
The word hung, glowing, until Lena’s eyes burned. She cupped her hands around him, not caring if he seared her skin. He didn’t. He never did. Outside, the pines whispered. Somewhere, an owl cried. Lena’s breath steadied, syncing with Burnie’s rhythm with his flicker for inhale, his dim for exhale.
“Monday, April 14th 22:00’
Two hours.
She had two hours until the meeting with the stranger who somehow managed to find them, slide a note under their door, and disappeared without a trace. Lena did not know what was worse, having a sentient fire shouting NO at you every time you considered going to the meeting or the fact that she was considering it. She paced back and forth as as looked at the clock on her phone. Seventeen missed calls from the comedy club, seven from her best friend and roommate Jackson, and over a thousand unread text messages though only one hundred were from the last week.
Lena was so engrossed in her thoughts that she initially missed a tapping sound. A second later it came again, and suddenly Lena could hear the tapping at her cabin door, and the sentient fire grew in size and intensity. ”Hey,” a voice called out. “Tis some visitor,” Lena quoted, “tapping at my cabin door. With a voice, I’d recognize forevermore.”
“Lena,” that familiar voice called out, “It’s Jackson. I need to talk to you and you’re not answering your phone and you’re not responding to my texts even though you got the delivery of food I sent you earlier today. I know you’re in there, please open the door we need to talk about the comedy club and everything that’s happened since.”
Lena looked at the bag of Dairy Queen complete with a peanut buster blizzard, knowing it was a trap. “I never got a-”
“You’re in the drop off photo.”
“Go away Jackson,” Lena paused as she crossed her arms and bowed her head. Shit. She did not like when others saw her in the den of her despair. “I don’t want to talk….. wait.. what happened since?”
““You mean to tell me you’ve been locked up in here for a whole week without checking the news, ticktok, or anything?”
Lena looked at the sentient fire. It had dimmed ever so in the minute that she spoke, it sensing her recognition of the person on the other side. Lena thought back to the various fires that it caused over the last week. “I’ve been busy.”
The door handle turned and it was pulled open. The sentient fire hid behind her and dimmed even more. In the doorway, Lena could see only up to the chest of her friend, his head far too high to be seen from her angle. Jackson bent down and maneuvered his giant frame to fit through the door and bent his body to walk inside. He gracefully turned around and closed the door.
“You never look right walking through that door,” Lena chuckled, “like you remind me of this gif I saw with a train and a-“
““Don’t finish that thought,” he responded quickly, “at least you cleaned this place up. I don’t see any trash on the ground anymore,” he said without knowing it was all burned before he held out his hand and passed his tablet-sized phone to Lena. On the screen a video was playing, showing a man in Japan shooting electricity into the air. He swiped to the next and the video showed someone in a forest floating precariously only to fall a moment later. He swiped to the next, and the next, and the next. Each one shows someone from around the world using magic. ““No one on the news is talking about it, and as fast as they uploaded they’re removed from the apps. Still, everyone is trying to find more. As well-“
Jackson held up a hand. Suddenly water began to pull itself from the air until it pooled into a pulsating orb. He held it up and muttered a soft ““ta-da” as he pulled the magic back and the water fell to the floor.
Lena’s mouth dropped.
““Now you must have questions,” Jackson started.
“J-J-Jackson,” Lena stuttered at the revelation.
““And normally I would be more than willing to provide them.”
“Jackson st-”
““But I don’t have any, and frankly I am a little upset with you.”
Lena recoiled backward, right hand on her chest and her mouth agape. “Me? What did I-“
““Because when you need anything I’m right there for you. But when I suddenly develop magic and need my best friend in the whole world you are gone, don’t answer my desperate calls, or my sad texts.”
“Jackson I didn’t-“
““And I get it. Fire is very traumatic for you so the fire at the club must’ve been traumatic and you of course came to this safe place. Which is weird because this is a traumatic place where your parents died in a fire right in front of you but I promise I get it. I get it. I get it? I gave you space and waited for you to reach out again like the past five times you’ve had this breakdown. But I need your help now.”
“Please let me-“
““If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you didn’t care about me. Do you have any idea what this is like? To suddenly develop magic? To feel like your body isn’t your own anymore? To—”
Behind Lena, Burnie spelled out YES in flickering blue flames, the letters hovering in the air. Jackson stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he spotted the fire. ““Of course, you don’t—oh my god, what is that?”
“Ummmm Jackson, meet Bernie Cinder,” Lena paused as the flame fully revealed itself, “I developed magic too.”
Jackson stared at the sentient fire, then at Lena, then back at the fire. ““Burnie Cinder,” he repeated flatly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a poster-sized letter, the same thick, expensive stock as the one Lena had received. ““Well,” he said, his voice heavy with irony, ““I was going to try to guilt-trip you into coming with me tonight. Apparently, someone took notice of my magic. Now, I don’t have to guilt trip you because you need to see this let-”
“I got the same letter,” Lena interrupted as she pointed to a small pile of ash on the ground. “Anyone else we know get one?”
Jackson muttered a soft ‘okaaaay fuck me then’ as he put the poster down on the table. “Not that I know of. I am going to this meeting to find out,” Jackson paused as he opened the door once more and stepped outside, “are you?”
Lena hesitated, glancing at Burnie. The fire flickered uncertainly, but for once, it didn’t spell out NO. She took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes.”
Jackson’s expression softened, and for the first time since he’d arrived, he smiled. “Good. Because I’m not doing this alone, Lena. You’re my best friend, and I need you. Even if you’ve been a terrible one lately.”
Lena winced but nodded. “I’m sorry, Jackson. I… I just… I didn’t know how to deal with all of this.”
“Yeah no shit,” Jackson said, his tone lighter now. “But we’ll figure it out. Like we always somehow do.”
Lena managed a small smile. “Together.”
Burnie flared brightly, spelling out YES once more, and for the first time in days, Lena felt a flicker of hope. “Do we have enough time for me to take a shower before we go?”
“No,” Jackson responded with crossed arms.
“Can I change?”
“Yes.”
13 Mourningdove Lane 23:55
The drive to Mourningdove Lane was quiet, save for the low hum of the car’s engine and the occasional flicker of Burnie Cinder’s flames in the backseat. Lena stared out the window, her fingers drumming nervously on the armrest. Jackson, ever the steady presence, kept his eyes on the road, though his grip on the steering wheel was tighter than usual.
“You know,” Lena said, breaking the silence, “if this turns out to be some kind of cult, I’m blaming you.”
Jackson chuckled, the sound deep and warm. “If it’s a cult, I’ll befriend their leader. Get priority access to the inner workings of the cult. Build our brand you know? Do a hostile takeover, kill the existing leadership, and become the new cult leader with you as my number two.”
Lena smirked, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, because that’s exactly how I pictured my life going. Being number two in a cult. We both know I’d make the better leader because I am calm under pressure.”
“Hey, I can be a leader,” Jackson protested, grinning. “And you’re one to talk, Miss ‘I-set-a-comedy-club-on-fire-and-it-triggered-my-PTSD-really-bad-so-I-ran-to-the-woods-to-cry.’” Jackson took his hands off the wheel as he spoke, doing air quotes with them, and his voice had a mocking quality.
“Low blow,” Lena muttered, though she couldn’t help but laugh. The tension in the car eased slightly, and she leaned back in her seat, watching the streetlights blur past.
They parked a block away from the address, the mansion’s silhouette visible in the distance. It loomed against the night sky, its windows dark and foreboding. Lena hesitated as she stepped out of the car, her boots crunching on the gravel. Burnie floated beside her, his blue light casting eerie shadows on the ground.
“You good?” Jackson asked, his voice soft but steady.
“Peachy,” Lena replied, though her hands were shoved deep in her jacket pockets, her shoulders tense. “Let’s just get this over with.”
They strolled, the cool night air wrapping around them like a shroud. The streets were empty, the only sound was the rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. Lena glanced at Jackson, her brow furrowed.
“So,” she began, “how’s the whole water thing going? You’ve been pretty quiet about it.”
Jackson shrugged his shoulders, his hands in his pockets. “It’s… weird. Like, I can feel it, you know? The water. It’s like it’s alive in my hands, but I have no clue what I am doing with it. I can shape it, and move it, but it’s not always easy to control. Especially when I’m stressed.”
“Sounds familiar,” Lena said, glancing at Burnie, who flickered as if in agreement. “I still can’t believe this is real. Magic. All of it.”
“Yeah,” Jackson agreed, his tone thoughtful. “But it’s not just us, Lena. Those videos I showed you, people all over the world are waking up with powers. Something’s happening, and we’re part of it.”
“Lucky us,” Lena muttered. She kicked a pebble, watching it skitter across the pavement. “Do you think this Archivist person knows what’s going on? Like, why now? Why us?”
Jackson shook his head. “No idea. But if anyone has answers, it’s probably them. And if they don’t…” He trailed off, shrugging. “Well, we’ll figure it out. Like we always do.”
Lena smiled faintly, though her nerves were still on edge. “You make it sound so simple. Like we’re going to walk through the door and all of a sudden this all makes sense. Or we walk through the door and wake up from some collective dream.”
“It’s not,” Jackson admitted. “But we’ve got each other. And that’s gotta count for something, right?”
“Right,” Lena said, her voice softer now. She glanced at him, her expression grateful. “Thanks, Jackson. For… you know. Being you.”
Jackson grinned, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “Anytime, Lena. Now come on. Let’s go see what this Archivist wants.”
They approached the mansion, its iron gates standing open as if waiting for them. The path to the front door was lined with overgrown hedges, their shadows twisting in the moonlight. Lena hesitated at the gate, her heart pounding.
“You ready?” Jackson asked, his voice steady.
“Not even a little,” Lena admitted. But she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped through the gate. Jackson followed close behind.
As they walked up the path, the mansion seemed to grow larger, its windows like dark, unblinking eyes.
“Whatever happens,” Jackson said quietly, “if one of us dies in here the other has to delete the dead ones browsing history.”
“Oh for fucking sure,” Lena responded, her voice barely above a whisper.
They reached the front door, its heavy wood carved with intricate patterns that seemed to shift in the dim light. Lena raised a hand to knock, but before she could, the door creaked open on its own, revealing a dark hallway beyond.
“Well,” Jackson said, his tone light despite the tension, “that’s not creepy at all.” Lena shot him a look that screamed 'don't jinx us please', “Let’s just get this over with.”
Lena’s eyes caught a movement in the neighboring property and she saw a man who waved at her before darting back inside. Lena squinted. He looked familiar like she had seen him in a movie or TV show before.
Together, they stepped inside, the door closing behind them with a soft but final click.
"I don’t want to set the world on fire, that’s the other guy there.."
_______________________________________________ Lena Marie Moonshadow
| She/Her | 27 | Ethnicity: Tiefling (passing as human) | 66 | Weight: 135 lbs _______________________________________________ Resilience. _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "Comedy is just tragedy plus timing" ___________________________________
Stand-up Comedy ⫻ Lena is a natural performer, able to read a room and craft jokes on the fly. Her sharp wit and timing make her a crowd favorite, even when she’s masking her own pain. Improvisation ⫻ Years of performing in unpredictable environments have honed her ability to think on her feet and adapt to chaos. Empathy ⫻ Lena has a knack for connecting with people, often using humor to bridge gaps and make others feel seen. Survival Instinct ⫻ After losing her parents and navigating life as a struggling comedian, Lena has developed a strong survival instinct, both emotionally and physically. Fire Magic (Emerging) ⫻ Lena is just beginning to understand her pyrokinesis, though her control is shaky at best. She can summon and manipulate blue flames, but it often comes at a cost.
Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I’ll tell you what, she looks like someone bottled chaos with a sharp grin and silver tounge."
Lena is a striking figure, with sharp cheekbones and a mischievous grin that hides a world of pain. Her hair is normally a dark auburn with a wavy texture but she keeps her hair cut short and has dyed it grey for the last three years. Her eyes are a deep, almost unnatural auburn color. She has a slim but athletic build, carrying herself with a mix of confidence and weariness. Her skin is fair, though it occasionally flushes with a faint, infernal warmth when she’s stressed or using magic. Ever since she has developed her magic she has begun to notice some changes in her body. There is a sharp pain at the base of her spine, her skin’s complexion is purplish every day, and her auburn eyes have begun to grow ever more so vivid.
She dresses casually, favoring worn jeans, band t-shirts, and a leather jacket that’s seen better days. Her only concession to flair is a pair of scuffed combat boots and a silver pendant shaped like a crescent moon, the final birthday gift she got at seventeen before her parents died in the fire. When performing, she amps up her look with bold eyeliner, makeup, and a sharp blazer, though she never lets herself appear too polished. There’s always a faint scent of sulfur around her lately, and this scent is only growing stronger as her powers develop.
Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "My therapist wrote “she laughs to keep from crying, but the tears are always there beneath the surface”, what a load of horse shit."
MAIN GOAL ⫻ Lena wants to master her craft and eventually get noticed and go on tour with her comedy. While she is a long way away from this she works tireless to achieve it. As well, at her core, she hopes to honor her parent's memory and make peace with what she accidentally did. While part of her is against forgiving herself, the desire is there all the same.
PHILOSOPHY ⫻ Life is chaos, and the best you can do is laugh through it. Lena believes in survival above all else, but she’s starting to realize that connection and vulnerability might be just as important.
SECRETS AND FEARS ⫻ Lena hides her Tiefling heritage, fearing rejection and prejudice. She’s also terrified of fire, despite her newfound pyrokinesis, and carries immense guilt over the comedy club fire and her parents’ deaths.
SEXUALITY ⫻ Lena is pansexual, though she rarely lets anyone get close enough to find out. Her humor and charm make her popular, but she keeps relationships casual to avoid vulnerability.
WHAT WAS THE FIRST DAY WITH MAGIC LIKE? ⫻ Chaotic and terrifying. Lena’s magic manifested during a stand-up routine, when a sudden surge of energy caused a candle to erupt into blue flames. The fire spread quickly, and Lena felt a connection to it that was both exhilarating and horrifying. She fled to her family’s cabin, where she discovered Burnie Cinder, a sentient flame that seems tied to her emotions.
FLAWS ⫻ Lena struggles with self-doubt and guilt, often shutting down emotionally when things get too intense. She’s impulsive and prone to self-sabotage, using humor as a shield to avoid dealing with her pain. Her fear of fire and her own magic makes her hesitant to embrace her abilities, even when they could help her.
Backstory ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I don’t talk about my parents that much."
Lena, like many in Twin Pines, grew up in a loving but complicated household. Her father worked the docks but was an avid hunter and often was gone more than he was in the home. When he was there, he was tired and unwilling to properly entertain a young child but he tried his best to fight through it. Her mother worked at the local paper as an editor, so she too was gone for long hours of the day and was equally tired when she returned home. Despite this, they both worked hard to ensure Lena was as happy as could be as a kid and she was brought up to understand that hard work, and humility were the keys to success. Outside of a few long years where money was short her early years were unremarkable.
When Lena was a teenager she began to discover she had a knack for telling stories, a quality both her parents encouraged her to explore. In middle and high school she excelled in English classes, and even took a few creative storytelling college courses during this time through her school. She was involved in the marching band, and theater, and even picked up the sport of kicking a ball really hard and was a passable forward in Football. When she was seventeen her parents took her to the cabin in the woods to celebrate. When the electricity went out due to a powerful windstorm, Lena lit a candle and went to grab a drink when she suddenly tripped. The fire spread much faster than it should have, at least it did to Lena, and soon she and her parents were trapped. Instead of saving themselves, they worked to ensure Lena could get out first. Despite Lena’s own best efforts after, her parents succumbed to the fire and smoke and were pronounced dead on the scene.
She finished high school as best she could. While her parents were not wealthy they were well enough off and she was able to enroll in college and several hours of therapy a week. It was here that she met her best friend Jackson, and the two became inseparable from here on out. Lena has a degree in marketing that she does not use and instead works hard to achieve her goal of becoming a successful comedian. While she has the talent, it remains to be seen if she will use it.
Magic ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Quote about your magic here."
MAGIC ⫻ Infernal Pyrokinesis - Lena has the ability to summon and control blue flames that burn colder than a normal fire but can not be put out by conventional means.
MAGIC DESCRIPTION ⫻ Lena’s magic manifests as blue flames that seem to have a life of their own. The fire is tied to her emotions, flaring up when she’s angry or scared and dimming when she’s calm. Burnie Cinder, a sentient flame, appears to be a manifestation of her magic, acting as both a companion and a reminder of her power’s unpredictability. Lena’s control is shaky at best, and her magic often feels like it’s controlling her rather than the other way around.
Pyrokinesis ⫻ Lena can conjure, and command the fire she brings forth. This can range from the simple, like creating a fire on an object and controlling the blaze to the complex like summoning her Flame Elemental Burnie Cinders.
Fire Elemental ⫻ Burnie Cinders is a sentient, mischievous, ball of fire that acts on its own accord. While Lena can control it to some extent, it has been more like an agreement compared to full control. If Cinders does not want to do something, it will not, and it will tell Lena as much.
LIMITS ⫻ Lena’s magic is tied to her emotions, making it difficult to control when she’s upset or overwhelmed.
The flames are physically draining, leaving her exhausted after prolonged use.
Burnie Cinders has a mind of his own and doesn’t always obey Lena’s commands.
The blue flames are cold but still destructive, making them dangerous in close quarters.
WEAKNESSES ⫻
The more her fire consumes the more it will want to consume. Even outside of Cinders her fire feels alive and has a very deep well of hunger. Eventually, this hunger will be made manifest in her, making her more and more likely to burn things or objects.
While normal means of getting rid of the fire are not effective, magically created water or suppressants are. She will quickly lose a fight against a water mage.
Other ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Oh hey we have a heckler tonight folks."
MISQ SECTION
"ROCK AND STONE, brothers, rock and stone."
_______________________________________________ Aunoth Veomavea Jackson Stone
Strength and Stamina ⫻ As a Goliath, Jackson is naturally strong and resilient, capable of lifting heavy objects and enduring physical strain with ease. Problem-Solving ⫻ Jackson has a knack for finding practical solutions to difficult problems, often thinking outside the box. Loyalty ⫻ Jackson is fiercely loyal to his friends, especially Lena. He’s the kind of person who will drop everything to help someone in need. Cooking ⫻ Jackson is an excellent cook, specializing in hearty, comforting meals. He often uses cooking as a way to show care for others. Transformation Magic (Emerging) ⫻ Jackson’s magic allows him to transform parts of his body, such as his hands into bird-like claws. His control is still developing, but the potential is vast.
Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "The weather is kind of chilly up here today."
Jackson is a towering figure, standing at an impressive 7’6” with a broad, muscular build that screams strength and stability. His skin is a darker brown color with faint, swirling patterns that resemble stone that instantly reveal his Goliath heritage if the height wasn’t enough. These patterns are present predominantly on his chest, arms, and legs although his ears have the pattern. His eyes are warm amber, sparkling with humor or kindness, and his smile is wide and genuine, often accompanied by a deep, rumbling laugh. Jackson has long, wavy, and dark hair that is complemented completely by short facial hair of the same color. On his kneecaps, knuckles, and elbows that stone like swirl is made manifest. The skin is incredibly thick at these locations, visibly so, and in the past they would have made the perfect tools to crush through any who dare oppose him. However, in the modern world and when fully dressed, Jackson may appear more human than Goliath as he has fully adopted the human-centric fashion that dominates the cities.
He dresses practically, favoring flannel shirts, sturdy jeans, and heavy boots, though he’s not above adding a pop of color with a bright scarf or beanie. Despite his imposing size, Jackson carries himself with a gentle, approachable demeanor, making him a comforting presence in any room. He often looks like a mouse trying to hide in the corner, and his bulky size is almost forgettable when one looks on his casual dress and friendly demeanor.
Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I have apparently become everyone’s rock but I have to ask who my rock is? Do I not deserve to be supported too?"
MAIN GOAL ⫻ Jackson is an avid sports fan and is trying to make his way up the sports journalism ladder. While he was never good enough himself to make it up the actual sports ladder, he does have a deep knowledge of the games and a natural charisma that could allow him to be successful if he just got his break.
PHILOSOPHY ⫻ Life is about connection and community. Jackson believes in being there for others, even when it’s hard, and finding joy in the little things.
SECRETS AND FEARS ⫻ Jackson fears losing the people he loves, especially Lena. He also worries about the responsibility that comes with his magic and whether he’ll be able to control it.
SEXUALITY ⫻ Jackson is stone top gay and proudly out, though he’s currently single. He’s had a few relationships over the years, but his loyalty to Lena and his own easygoing nature has kept him from settling down. He has lost three relationships when he had to put out fires for his friends and this is something that has held him back from going steady. Still, he opens up those damned apps every night hoping for something more than blank profile pictures and unsolicited nudes.
WHAT WAS THE FIRST DAY WITH MAGIC LIKE? ⫻ The first day was pure chaos. Jackson had a long day, had run a full bath, and lit a hundred candles to make him feel better. The day was long because he had just broken off a situationship with a charming man who caught feeling after their third Netflix session. The bath was going well until the magic tried to drown him. A bruised ego emerged from the bath five minutes later, out of the destroyed tub, and Jackson realized shit had changed.
FLAWS ⫻ Jackson can be overly self-sacrificing, often putting others’ needs before his own to the point of burnout. He also struggles with expressing his own fears and vulnerabilities, preferring to be the strong, dependable one.
Backstory ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Let's take a moment to breath, okay?"
Jackson Stone grew up in the rugged, close-knit Goliath community of Highridge, a small mountain town where strength, loyalty, and resilience were valued above all else. His parents, both skilled stonemasons, instilled in him a deep appreciation for hard work and craftsmanship from an early age. Jackson was the youngest of four siblings, and while his older brothers and sister were competitive and often vied for their parents’ attention, Jackson was content to stay in the background, observing and learning. He was the kind of child who would rather help his mother carry firewood or assist his father in shaping stone than engage in the roughhousing that defined his siblings’ relationships. This quiet, steady demeanor earned him the nickname “Little Boulder” among his family—a term of endearment that stuck even as he grew into his towering frame. Life in Highridge was simple but demanding. The Goliath community prided itself on self-sufficiency, and Jackson learned early on how to fend for himself. He spent his days helping his parents with their work, exploring the mountains, and developed a strong cooking skill that has served him well through life.
By the time he was a teenager, Jackson had developed a reputation as the “gentle giant” of Highridge, someone who could be relied on to lend a hand, whether it was repairing a neighbor’s roof or mediating a dispute between friends. Despite his size, Jackson was never one to throw his weight around; instead, he used his strength to protect and support those around him. When Jackson turned eighteen, he made the decision to leave Highridge and attend college in Twin Pines, a small city that felt worlds away from the quiet mountains of his childhood. The transition was jarring. The noise, the smell, the slow-paced lifestyle of the city, the fish smell, and the island were overwhelming at first, and Jackson often found himself longing for the simplicity of home. But he was determined to make the most of his new life, and it wasn’t long before he found his footing. It was during his freshman year that he met Lena, a sharp-tongued, quick-witted Tiefling who seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. The two bonded almost instantly, drawn together by their shared sense of humor and their mutual need for connection in a world that often felt isolating. Jackson quickly became Lena’s rock, the steady presence she could rely on when her own life felt like it was spinning out of control. He was there for her during the darkest moments—when she struggled with the after effects of the loss of her parents, when she doubted her abilities as a comedian, and when she felt like giving up on her dreams. In return, Lena brought out a lighter, more playful side of Jackson, encouraging him to step out of his comfort zone and embrace the chaos of life. Their friendship became a cornerstone of both their lives, a bond that was as unshakable as the mountains Jackson had grown up in.
After college, Jackson stayed in Twin Pines, working as a handyman and part-time cook while pursuing his sports journalism career. He became a familiar face in the city, known for his easygoing nature and his willingness to help anyone in need. Despite his own struggles—navigating life as a Goliath in a town not built for him, grappling with the occasional prejudice he faced because of his size, and the fish smell, Jackson remained steadfast in his optimism and his belief in the goodness of people. He found joy in the little things like cooking a meal for friends, fixing a broken chair, or sharing a laugh with Lena after one of her shows. When magic returned to the world, Jackson was as surprised as anyone. His water abilities manifested unexpectedly, and while he was initially overwhelmed by the sudden change, he quickly embraced it as just another part of life’s chaos. He just wishes Lena was there for him like he would've been there for her.
Magic ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "STOP TRYING TO DROWN ME...ME."
MAGIC ⫻ Hydromancy – The ability to manipulate and control water in all its forms, from liquid to ice to vapor.
MAGIC DESCRIPTION ⫻
Jackson’s hydromancy allows him to shape water into various forms, from delicate tendrils to powerful waves. He can freeze water into ice, summon mist to obscure his surroundings, or even draw moisture from the air to create small amounts of water in dry environments. His magic is deeply tied to his emotions, with calm focus allowing for precise control and heightened emotions causing his powers to surge unpredictably. Jackson’s hydromancy often feels like an extension of his personality—fluid, adaptable, and life-giving. However, it also carries a hint of the chaos that water can bring, reminding him that even the gentlest stream can become a raging flood.
Combat-Focused Spells (KNOWN)⫻ Jackson can use his water magic in a few different ways in a fight. He can pull the water together into a whip and use it to slash, grab, or deflect. He can also pull it all together and shoot it out like a cannon shot.
Water Whip ⫻ Through concentrated effort, Jackson can pull water, either from a source or from the ambient air, and form a singular tendril of water. This water tendril is typically as long as he is tall but it can vary depending on the amount of water in a given area. The whip is tough to command, and if Jackson loses focus the water will buck the command and simply fall to the ground beneath him.
Water Gun ⫻ Like the water whip, Jackson can pull the water into his chest area and form a large water bubble. He can then expel that water in front of him, shooting the water with high pressure out to a distance of thirty feet with the pressure dropping off and the shot dying out after fifty. This requires a lot of water, and often the ambient air is not enough.
Non-Combat-Focused Spells (UNKNOWN)⫻ Jackson does not know it yet but his water carries a healing energy to it. If he washes the water, gently, over a wounded area the healing magic will begin to work. It is slow, and deliberate magic that requires time, patience, and a lot of his magic.
LIMITS ⫻
Jackson’s control over water is strongest when he’s calm and focused. Stress or strong emotions can make his magic erratic and harder to manage.
He requires a source of water to manipulate, whether it’s a nearby body of water, moisture in the air, or even the water content in plants. In extremely dry environments, his abilities are limited.
Creating ice or vapor requires significant concentration and energy, leaving him drained after prolonged use. While he can manipulate water, he cannot create it from nothing. This limitation forces him to be resourceful and mindful of his surroundings.
WEAKNESSES ⫻
While he can control water, he is like a rock in it. He has no special ability to not drown or breath in water so if he were to lose control, the water he commands could drown him.
Other ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Please do not try and climb me like a tall tree."
[center][img]https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/dHRmLjEwNi5iNTBiZmUuU0dWc2JHOGdZVzVrSUhkbGJHTnZiV1VzLjA,/overunder-personal-use.regular.webp[/img]
I have gone by many names over my life, and the one I go by here is Nori.
I am a non-binary individual who has a love of participating in these stories and creating my own. I am incredibly chronically ill. If my illness flares up too much I may be pulled away.[/center]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/dHRmLjEwNi5iNTBiZmUuU0dWc2JHOGdZVzVrSUhkbGJHTnZiV1VzLjA,/overunder-personal-use.regular.webp" /><br>I have gone by many names over my life, and the one I go by here is Nori.<br><br>I am a non-binary individual who has a love of participating in these stories and creating my own. I am incredibly chronically ill. If my illness flares up too much I may be pulled away.</div><br></div>
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