#Wizard of Legend II

[hardcoregamer]

Humble Games’ 2023 Showcase Reveals Another Lineup of Heavy Hitters

Last year, Humble Games held a special showcase in March in order to reveal some new games, deliver a few updates and developments, and just let us know how things were doing in general. Unsurprisingly, given the quality of the games they were publishing, things were going quite well. So expectations were high in my eyes when it came to this year’s showcase, especially as it serves as a miniature kickoff for summer’s gaming showcase season. But they were able to deliver, once again highlighting another crop of promising games for everyone to place on their radar.

Go see!

[g4zdtechtv]

Cinematech's Trailer Park - Wizard of Legend II (PC)

Journey to the Floating Lands.

[larrytheflute9]

The Prince of Hyrule

[missjojolie]

The Living Obelisk

“History remembers you as The Living Obelisk—the most powerful witch of any generation, a master of Ancient Magic who shaped the wizarding world forever. But when you are pulled through the mysterious veil in the Department of Mysteries, you awaken in a time that has immortalized your deeds but forgotten the person behind the legend. Trapped in your younger self, you must navigate a world that sees you as a myth while uncovering the truth of why you were brought here. As whispers of a rising dark power reach your ears, you face an impossible question: will you reclaim your place in history, or will you forge a new legacy?

More parts on Wattpad.

Masterlist

II

The massive castle loomed ahead,��its silhouette framed against the deep navy sky. The turrets and towers pierced the horizon, illuminated by faint golden lights flickering from the high windows. You followed Hagrid silently, his broad back and swinging lantern a beacon in the darkness. The air was crisp, carrying the faint, familiar scent of damp stone and wildflowers from the grounds.

It should have been comforting, walking toward Hogwarts. It was a place you'd known intimately, a place that had once felt like home. And yet, each step only heightened the dissonance curling in your chest. The oak doors of Hogwarts groan softly as they swing shut behind you. The sound echoes through the Entrance Hall, and you stop just inside, your breath catching as you take it all in. It's the same as you remember it—or close enough. The high, vaulted ceiling still soars above, torchlight flickers on the cold stone walls, and the grand marble staircase sweeps upward in a graceful curve. But something about it feels... off.

You can't quite place it. Maybe it's the silence, deeper than it ever was in your time, even during nighttime. Maybe it's the absence of voices, footsteps, and the soft hum of magic that always seemed to linger in the air when students roamed these halls. Or maybe it's the simple fact that you shouldn't be here. Not now.

Hagrid stands beside you, the torches on the walls casting a warm glow that flickers across his broad, weathered features.

"Wait 'ere fer a moment," he says gently. "I'll let Dumbledore know yeh're 'ere."

With a nod of encouragement, he strides toward a spiral staircase at the far end of the hall, leaving you alone in the dim light.

You don't know what compels you to move, but your feet begin to carry you forward. The faint click of your boots against the polished floor echoes eerily in the stillness. You glance up at the high arched windows, where the moonlight filters through, painting the floor in fractured beams of silver.

It feels the same. And yet... it doesn't.

Your gaze lingers on the grand staircase. You remember climbing it as a student, robes trailing behind you, parchment clutched tightly in your hand as you hurried to class. Now it looms like a ghost of the past, silent and imposing. Your eyes dart to a familiar alcove near the base of the stairs where you and... your friends used to linger, sharing stolen bits of chocolate and gossip. But the alcove seems smaller somehow, less inviting, and the memory only deepens the ache in your chest.

How long has it been?

The torches burn as they always did, but their light seems duller. Shadows stretch farther than they should, and the air feels heavy with time. You pass a corridor leading toward the Great Hall and pause, peering into its depths. The doors are closed, but you can just make out the faint hum of magic beyond them.

You step closer, letting your fingers brush the smooth stone of the wall as you walk. The paintings lining the hall watch you intently, whispering to one another in voices too low to hear. A few point, their faces pinched with curiosity.

"That's her," one muttered, barely loud enough to hear.

Another nodded, their painted eyes wide. "I'd recognize her anywhere."

Your hand tightens around your wand as annoyance rather than unease prickles at the back of your neck.

Ahead, a tapestry hangs where you're certain there was none before. It depicts a witch locked in a fierce duel, her wand blazing with white-hot light. You pause to study it, your brow furrowing. Something about it seems familiar—not the figure herself, but the style, the way the fabric seems to shimmer with enchantment.

This wasn't here before... Was it?

You shake your head, trying to steady your thoughts. Memories of your schooldays clash with the reality in front of you, and the dissonance leaves you feeling untethered. It's Hogwarts, but it isn't.

You find yourself standing before a tall window, your palm pressed against the cool, smooth glass. The moonlight pours over the castle grounds like liquid silver, stretching shadows across the Forbidden Forest in the distance. The familiar sight stirs a deep ache within you, a memory rising unbidden: sneaking out after curfew, your wand lighting the way, heart pounding with the thrill of danger and discovery. Those nights had been filled with adventure—reckless and daring— they feel impossibly distant now, like echoes of a life that no longer belongs to you.

How long has it been?

The question gnaws at you, sharper now than before. You glance down at your hands, your slim, uncalloused hands, and the uneasy feeling you've been pushing aside claws its way to the surface. They're wrong—too smooth, too steady, too... young. Your heart tightens as the realization lingers just out of reach, a storm brewing on the edges of your thoughts.

You lift your gaze, catching sight of your reflection in the glass. For a moment, you stare, uncomprehending, until the truth hits you like a hammer. It's you, but not the you you've come to know. The reflection staring back is that of your fifteen-year-old self.

Your breath hitches. Your trembling fingers brush your face, tracing its smooth, untouched contours—the absence of scars, the softness of skin unmarked by years of hardship and battle. It's unmistakable. Somehow, you've been pulled not only through time but back into a body you haven't inhabited in decades.

"How is this possible?" Youwhispered to yourself.

The thought echoes through your mind as your hand falls limply to your side. A storm of questions rises all at once, clashing and tangling in your head, each one demanding answers you don't have. You grip the windowsill tighter, the cool stone biting into your palms, as you force yourself to breathe. Inhale, exhale—steady, even. But the ache in your chest refuses to subside.

TThe sight of the moonlit grounds should be comforting, but tonight, it feels like a distant memory—an illusion of peace that no longer belongs to you. You feel suspended between past and present, between what you know and what you cannot fathom.

But it is real.

The truth claws at the edges of your thoughts, undeniable. You are here, now, in a body that doesn't match the weight of the memories it carries. The dissonance sends a shiver through you. 

A sound breaks through your spiraling thoughts—heavy, deliberate footsteps echoing down the corridor. You turn sharply, your heart leaping into your throat, only to see Hagrid rounding the corner. He offers you a kind smile, though there's a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as if he's unsure what to make of you.

"'Ere yeh are, lassy," he says simply, his voice as warm as his towering frame is imposing. "Dumbledore's ready fer yeh."

He gestures for you to follow, his massive hand swinging the lantern in a slow arc that casts dancing shadows on the walls.

You hesitate for a fraction of a second, brushing your hands over your robes as though trying to smooth the invisible tremor in your fingers, before stepping in beside him. The corridors feel narrower as you walk, the flickering lantern light exaggerating every twist and turn of the ancient stone walls. The silence between you stretches, broken only by the soft creak of Hagrid's boots against the floor and the distant hum of the castle itself. You catch glimpses of familiar landmarks—a staircase you once tumbled down, a statue of a knight that used to whistle a tune—and each one sends another pang through your chest.

How long? you wonder yet again, the question now gnawing at the edges of your mind.

Hagrid clears his throat, pulling you from your thoughts. His eyes meet yours briefly as you stop before a familiar gargoyle, standing as stony and solemn as ever. He turned to you with a sympathetic smile.

"Now, don't yeh worry. Professor Dumbledore's the kind o' man who can make sense o' just about anything. You'll be in good hands," he said as if sensing your uneasiness.

The gargoyle sprang aside at his whispered password—"Fizzing Whizbee"—revealing a spiral staircase that began to rotate upward. Hagrid stepped back, gesturing for you to continue alone.

"Go on, then," he said kindly. "He's expectin' yeh."

You nod again, though you don't trust yourself to speak. Your thoughts are too loud, too chaotic.The question isn't just what happened. It's why.

The spiral staircase carries you upward, the faint whir of ancient gears humming beneath your feet. The air grows warmer as you ascend, the soft golden light spilling from the room above casting long shadows down the stone walls. Your heart races with every step, anticipation mingling with unease.

The staircase halts with a quiet click, and the familiar heavy oak door creaks open, inviting you into the room beyond. You step through cautiously, squinting as the warm glow of the office envelops you.

The space is an eclectic blend of charm and chaos. Shelves strain under the weight of books, magical artifacts, and odd devices that tick and hum softly, their movements almost hypnotic. The air itself seems alive with energy, ancient and unyielding. A faint lemony scent mingles with the familiar aroma of parchment and ink, a stark contrast to the orderly austerity you remember from Headmaster Black's office in your time.

Behind the large oak desk sits a figure who seems to command the room with his presence alone. His long silver beard flows over his chest, and his half-moon spectacles catch the flickering firelight. His piercing blue eyes meet yours with a sharp, assessing gaze, and you, instinct honed by years of vigilance, meet his stare without hesitation.

"Come in," he says gently, his voice calm yet carrying a note of intrigue.

You hesitate briefly, then step fully into the room. The door shuts behind you with a soft thud, and the muffled murmur of shifting portraits filters through the air. You don't glance around at the curious faces watching you. Your focus remains fixed on this Dumbledore, the man who has captivated your attention.

"Have a seat," he says, gesturing toward the chair opposite him.

His tone is warm and inviting, yet you remain cautious, lowering yourself into the chair with deliberate care. Your gaze never strays from his, even as your hands rest lightly in your lap, one brushing against the smooth surface of your wand. The familiar touch steadies you, though your thoughts remain anything but calm.

For a moment, the man sits in silence, his sharp blue eyes fixed on you with an unreadable expression. He seems to be weighing something, as if piecing together a puzzle only he can see.

"You'll pardon my directness," he begins at last, his voice measured, "but this is... quite unexpected."

You frown, feigning ignorance. "Unexpected?"

He leans forward, steepling his fingers. "You... are not someone I ever anticipated seeing in this office. Certainly not in this manner."

You tip your head to the side, a hint of challenge in your tone. "Whatever do you mean?"

You know perfectly well what he's implying, but you want to see how he will play it out.

His gaze softens, and with a wave of his wand, a book lands in your lap. Your grip on your own wand tightens on instinct. Your eyes drift to the embossed golden letters on the worn leather cover: The Living Obelisk: The Life and Legacy of a Witch Who Shaped History.

You hum under your breath, the title stirring a faint sense of recognition—though you've never laid eyes on this particular volume. "The Living Obelisk... So that's what people started calling me?"

Dumbledore's lips curve into a faint smile, his tone gentle but firm. "It is one of many titles bestowed upon you by history. A symbol of unwavering strength, an unshakable monument to the power of magic itself. Though I imagine you did not choose it for yourself."

You laugh, a soft, dry sound. "No, I didn't. But then, history has a habit of writing its own stories, doesn't it?"

His smile lingers, but his eyes remain watchful, as though he's waiting for you to say more. You trace the spine of the book absentmindedly, the weight of its title sinking into your thoughts. The Living Obelisk. It's a strange, almost distant way to be remembered.

Dumbledore gives you a measured look, one that seems both apologetic and fascinated. "I imagine those who used it never expected to see its subject in the flesh."

You flip the cover open, skimming the table of contents, your heart constricting at each chapter heading: The Rise of the Ancient Witch, Mastery of Magic Beyond Measure, A Vanishing No One Understood. An uneasy thrill courses through you—they really wrote all this... about me?

Your grip on your wand tightens.

"I see." It's all you can manage as you scan the first few lines, references to battles you barely remember and triumphs you never boasted of.  A twitch of anger stirs within you. You shut the book with a decisive snap.

"All of this seems... grandiose." You glance at the cover once more, the words The Living Obelisk shining in the lamplight. "They make it sound like I was untouchable."

Dumbledore tilts his head. "In the eyes of many, you were. And perhaps, to some, you still are."

You exhale, setting the book on the edge of his desk with a slight frown. "I've been called a lot of things in my time, but 'obelisk' is  rather new, I must admit."

"It must be strange," he says, his tone careful. "To witness how the world came to view your deeds. Especially given that, according to every record, you vanished decades ago."

"Decades..." you echo. Your gaze snaps to his, alarm surging through you. "What year is it?"

Dumbledore's eyes soften, and the warmth in his gaze steadies you, even as dread knots in your stomach.

"It's nineteen ninety-five," he says quietly.

Nineteen ninety-five. The words land like a punch to your gut, your breath catching in your throat. You stare at him, trying to wrap your mind around the vast gulf of time that now separates you from everything and everyone you knew.

"They believe you disappeared over 70 years ago," he continues gently, as though sensing your turmoil. "By all accounts, you simply vanished—no trace, no explanation. Over the years, stories grew... and so did your legend."

You swallow hard, your fingers curling around the armrests of the chair in a white-knuckled grip. Over seventy years. You'd known something was amiss the moment you woke up, but nothing could have prepared you for this truth.

When you finally speak, your voice comes out hoarse, almost disconnected from your own body. "Seventy years... Just like that?"

Dumbledore inclines his head. "Yes. Time has marched on without you. And yet here you are, very much alive, though quite... misplaced."

A bitter laugh stutters out of you. "Misplaced—that's one way to put it."

Your gaze settles once more on the book, its bold lettering seeming to mock you. You were the one who shaped history, but now history has outrun you. Before you can fully dwell on that thought, Dumbledore clears his throat gently.

"May I ask," he begins, his voice careful, "whether your presence here is connected to your disappearance? Was this... intentional?"

"If it were intentional, I'd like to think I'd have chosen a less disorienting method." Your eyes flick back to the book, a symbol of everything you've inadvertently become. "I was studying the archway inside the Death Chamber in the Department of Mysteries... it had runes, the archway, some that I've never seen before... There was a surge of Ancient Magic—an explosion of sorts—and then..." You gesture vaguely, the words trailing off.

Dumbledore nods slowly, a thoughtful crease forming between his brows.

"The Veil," he echoes. "A most enigmatic artifact. I've heard of it sending messages, even whispers—if one were to listen closely. But never have I read of it flinging someone... forward."

"Whatever happened... I didn't mean for it." The words taste bitter on your tongue, a reluctant admission. You swallow hard, forcing the memory of the Veil—the raw, blinding magic, the unrelenting pull—back into focus.

"I don't think it was meant to happen," you continue, your voice trembling with quiet frustration. "Or, if it was, I can't fathom the reason if it."

Dumbledore's gaze softens, though beneath the kindness, there's a spark of calculation—thoughts turning rapidly behind those sharp, glimmering blue eyes.

"Whatever transpired," he says carefully, "I am certain it was no mere accident."

You straighten in your chair, narrowing your eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

His silence stretches just long enough for doubt to creep in, and then he exhales, leaning back slightly in his chair.

"You've had a long night," he says carefully, his tone gentle. "We can continue this conversation tomorrow after you've had time to rest."

The shift in tone—the dismissal—stirs something in you. Your fingers tighten on the arms of your chair as a faint pulse of magic hums from deep within, radiating outward. It's subtle but deliberate—a warning.

The room seems to respond to your energy, a faint flicker of power brushing against the edges of the air. "Do not forget who I am, Professor. My appearance may have changed, but I am still very much the one in those books of yours."

Dumbledore doesn't flinch, though his gaze sharpens in response, meeting yours with quiet acknowledgement.

"Indeed," he murmurs, his tone steady. "And that is precisely why I am choosing my words so carefully."

You don't relax, holding his gaze as the tension lingers in the air. Finally, he leans forward, steepling his fingers as his tone shifts to something quieter, more confiding.

"I believe," he begins carefully, "that your arrival here is not without meaning. And while I cannot say with certainty what that meaning is, I suspect it is connected to the time you now find yourself in and the pressing matters at hand."

You frown the weight of his words pressing down on you. "Go on."

Dumbledore's expression turns grave, his tone heavy with meaning. "A dark wizard has risen once more—one whose ambitions threaten to plunge the magical world into chaos. His followers spread fear, division, and destruction. He is known as Lord Voldemort."

The name has no meaning to you, and your confusion must show on your face because Dumbledore tilts his head slightly. "He was not yet born in your time, but his ambitions stretch far into the past—and the future."

"What sort of dark wizard is he?" you ask, voice steady yet intrigued.

"One of unparalleled cruelty," Dumbledore replies, his tone solemn. "A man who seeks power at any cost. He has delved into magic so forbidden, so dangerous, that few would dare approach it. Death itself holds no sway over him, nor does morality."

You exhale slowly, feeling the weight of his words. "And this concerns me... how?"

Dumbledore's gaze sharpens, though he keeps his voice gentle. "I believe your command of Ancient Magic might reveal answers Voldemort desperately seeks—answers about immortality, domination, and the boundaries of magic itself. It cannot be mere coincidence that you arrived now, precisely as this threat looms."

"Are you suggesting I was... sent here to fight him?" The thought feels absurd and foreign, and you can't help but scoff faintly.

"No," Dumbledore says, his tone firm but measured. "That fate belongs to another who has been marked for that purpose. But you... I believe you were brought here for a reason, though it may not be to fight him directly. Perhaps your role is to guide. To protect. Or perhaps," he adds, his gaze softening, "to remind us of what magic can truly achieve when wielded by someone of your calibre."

A heavy silence follows, only the crackle of flames punctuating the hush. Tiredness begins to seep into your bones—physical and mental. You rub a hand over your face, as though trying to brush away the enormity of all that's happened.

You lower your hand from your face, exhaling a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

"If It's not I," you begin slowly, "then who is meant to fight this... Voldemort wizard?"

Dumbledore lifts a hand, gently stalling your next question. "In time, you shall learn. For now, though, you've been through enough. Let me find you suitable quarters so you can rest. Hogwarts may look different than you remember, but it still can offer sanctuary and I'd be honored to host someone like yourself."

You linger for a moment, torn between pressing for more information and yielding to the exhaustion weighing heavily on your thoughts. Half a dozen questions spin wildly in your mind—Who is destined to face Voldemort? How does your Ancient Magic factor into a conflict that belongs to this unfamiliar era?—but at last, you simply nod, your body too weary for further debate.

Dumbledore rises from his desk with the measured grace of someone used to carrying burdens larger than most. His long silver beard sways with the motion, trailing over his robes.

"I'll show you to a guest chamber," he offers. "It's typically reserved for visitors, but the castle has a peculiar way of accommodating those it deems worthy. I trust you'll find it suitable for the night."

You stand, more acutely aware than ever of the strange dissonance between your youthful body and the mind that has lived far longer. Your limbs feel oddly light, free of the usual aches, yet the weight pressing on your thoughts is far heavier than it ever was.

A gruff exclamation from a nearby portrait jerks your attention away from your thoughts.

"Oh, what in Merlin's name—?"

Your steps halt. That voice as unmistakable as it is unexpected. Slowly, you turn, finding yourself face to face with an all-too-familiar portrait. The painted figure leans forward, peering at you with a mixture of disbelief and indignation.

"Phineas," you say, your tone neutral but edged with a trace of exasperation. "Long time no see."

Phineas Nigellus Black, your former headmaster, scowls down at you with his usual mix of disdain and curiosity. His dark robes are as impeccable as ever, his expression as haughty. "Long time? That's an understatement. How in blazes are you here, and why do you look like... that?"

You tilt your head, amusement flickering across your features despite yourself. "Still tactful as ever, I see."

His eyes narrow. "Don't avoid the question. This is highly irregular, even by magical standards."

You exhale sharply, arms folded across your chest. "I don't have all the details just yet, but let's just say it's been... an eventful night."

Dumbledore, who has been quietly observing, finally speaks up. His blue eyes gleam with evident amusement. "Ah, yes. You were a student back when Professor Black served as Headmaster."

"She most certainly was," Phineas interjects, shooting Dumbledore a look. "And an endlessly exasperating one at that. The last time I laid eyes on her, I had graciously invited her to take the helm at Hogwarts. A marvellous offer, if I do say so myself—and she had the audacity to decline."

The memory surfaces unbidden, and a small smirk tugs at your lips. "Yes, I remember. You were positively livid when I said no, as though I'd gravely insulted you."

"You did insult me," he counters coolly. "I had a vision for this school and believed you would see it through. Instead, you dismissed me as though I were nothing more than a petulant child."

You arch a brow, "Because you acted like one. I was hardly the best candidate for that job compared to other professors."

His glare sharpens, and for a heartbeat, you wonder if he might actually leap out of the portrait in his indignation.

"The nerve," Phineas huffs. "I hardly recall you being the portrait of maturity, either."

You lift your chin, letting the smirk settle. "Indeed, I was young then—and far more sensible than you were, all things considered."

Phineas splutters, looking thoroughly put out, and Dumbledore gives a soft chuckle.

"Now, now," he interjects, raising a hand in a placating gesture. "Let's not allow old disagreements to overshadow the fact that we're, ah, rather far from the 1880s, and the circumstances have changed somewhat."

Phineas levels Dumbledore with a sidelong glare. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Not at all," Dumbledore replies, eyes gleaming with a kind amusement. "I'm merely appreciative of the opportunity to witness a reunion of such historic figures." He turns back to you. "I imagine your past with Headmaster Black must feel like another lifetime."

You exhale a dry laugh. "That's because it was another lifetime. Quite literally."

Your gaze flicks over Phineas's portrait, recalling the younger, living version of him pacing the corridors of Hogwarts with the same air of superiority. "At least you look better in paint, Phineas."

He sniffles, refusing to dignify the remark with a reply. "One might think you'd show respect to your old headmaster, particularly given how... revered you are these days." He gestures broadly, as though referencing the entire wizarding world. "But clearly time hasn't improved your manners."

A silent beat passes, tension mingling with an odd sense of nostalgia. You find yourself torn between rolling your eyes and offering a wry apology. But before you can respond, Dumbledore clears his throat once more, stepping in with his characteristic tact.

"Phineas, I'm certain you can continue this delightful exchange another time," he says smoothly. "For now, perhaps our visitor should rest. It has been quite a journey, after all."

"Hmph," Phineas mutters, folding his arms inside the portrait frame. "Fine. But do let me know when the school inevitably descends into chaos again. It's bound to happen now that she is back."

"I'll be sure to send an owl," you say, inclining your head in mocking politeness.

His dark eyes narrow, and then he turns away in that abrupt, portrait-like fashion, disappearing into the painted depths of another frame.

Dumbledore offers you a faint, knowing grin. "It's rather comforting to see some aspects of Hogwarts never truly change."

"Comforting is not the word I particularly would use," you said under your breath, a swirl of emotions churning in your chest.

Dumbledore gestures gently for you to follow him, his pace unhurried but purposeful. The soft click of your boots echoes faintly as you move through the dimly lit corridors of the castle. The familiar hum of magic resonates in the air, tugging at long-buried memories.

"You and Professor Black seem to share quite the history," Dumbledore remarks after a moment, his tone light but probing.

"You could say that." You hum, "He wasn't the easiest headmaster to work under, though I suppose his heart was in the right place. Most of the time."

Dumbledore chuckles softly. "Phineas Nigellus was many things, but I've always suspected that his sharp tongue masked a certain... fondness for his students. In his own way, of course."

"His own insufferable way," you mutter, though there's no real malice in your tone. The exchange with Phineas, though brief, stirred a surprising warmth—a reminder that some ties to your past remain, however frayed or fragmented.

As you walk, your eyes drift to the wizard beside you. His presence commands a quiet respect, a weight that speaks of wisdom and power earned over the years. There's something in his measured stride, the way the castle seems to recognize him, that marks him as someone of great influence. The title of Headmaster alone confirms his stature within the magical community, but there's an intangible quality about him that suggests he's more than just a leader.

Dumbledore. The name turns over in your mind, frustratingly elusive. It's familiar, but in the vaguest of ways, like a word you've seen in print countless times but never truly spoken or considered. Perhaps it was mentioned in a passing conversation, or perhaps you glimpsed it in an article long ago, a detail lost in the tide of other voices and concerns. Yet for all the familiarity, you cannot place him.

You hesitate before speaking, your tone measured. "Pardon me, Professor, but I find your name strikes a faint chord of recognition. I cannot, however, recall why it should..."

Dumbledore chuckles softly, the sound warm and unhurried, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "I imagine that is because our paths crossed long ago, though only briefly. I was but a boy at the time."

You frown, your brow furrowing as you search your memory. "We've met before?"

He nods, his expression tinged with a kind of bittersweet nostalgia. "Indeed. My mother, Kendra, sought you out when I was a child. She had heard of your mastery of Ancient Magic and hoped that you might aid my sister, Ariana."

The name sparks recognition, and with it, a cascade of recollections. Kendra Dumbledore. You remember the woman—a mother who had been desperate, her face etched with worry and sorrow.

"Ariana..." you murmur, the pieces falling into place. "Yes, I recall now. Your mother came to me seeking help for her daughter. She was... an Obscurial, wasn't she?"

Dumbledore nods solemnly, the flicker of a shadow passing across his face. "She was. After my father was sent to Azkaban and had died shortly after, my mother was at her wit's end, searching for a way to ease Ariana's suffering. She believed that your unique understanding of magic might offer her relief—or perhaps even cure her affliction."

You nod slowly, the memory growing sharper with each word. She couldn't take her daughter to St Mungo's for Ariana would've been kept there her for the rest of her life, seeing as her condition threatened the Statue of Secrecy, thus why she turned to you.

"I remember speaking with her," you say softly. "She loved her daughter fiercely, but I could see how heavy the burden was for her. She carried it with remarkable strength, but there was so much pain behind her eyes. I had hoped to help, but... Ancient Magic isn't a cure-all, no matter how much people might wish it to be."

You pause, the weight of the memory settling over you. The truth, one you've kept tucked away in the recesses of your mind, surfaces now. "When Kendra came to me, I wasn't sure what my magic could do. I'd heard whispers of Obscurials before, but the condition was rare—so rare that most never encountered one and such a condition is... complex, deeply tied to pain and suppression. I wasn't even certain my magic could touch it. Still, I remembered a particular work I've been studying..." You hesitate, the thought of Isidora weighing heavily on your heart. "I remembered the work of Isidora Morganach."

Dumbledore tilts his head slightly, curiosity flickering behind his calm gaze. "Isidora Morganach?"

You nod, your voice dropping slightly. "She was a witch who also wielded Ancient Magic, years before my time at Hogwarts. She sought to ease suffering by using her abilities to extract pain from others... though her methods were controversial, dangerous and ultimately destructive."

His expression grows more serious, sensing the weight of what you're about to say. "You believed her approach could help Ariana?"

You exhale, the memories of that time rushing back. "I thought, perhaps, I could adapt it. Not to take pain, but to address the root of the Obscurus—its nature, its magic. If it truly fed on suppressed emotions, there was a chance I could use my abilities to separate it from her entirely."

Dumbledore's brow furrows, his lips pressing into a thin line. "That would have been... unprecedented."

"It would have been," you agree quietly. "An experiment, in many ways, and a risky one at that. But when I met Ariana, it was clear that her condition was far too advanced. The Obscurus had entwined itself too deeply with her magic, feeding on her fear and pain. Any attempt to extract it might have done more harm than good. That sweet girl—her magic, her pain—it was a constant storm. If I'd tried to interfere, I could have..." You trail off, the weight of the unsaid lingering between you.

"You feared it would harm her further," Dumbledore finishes gently.

Your voice softens further, heavy with regret. "I couldn't take the chance of something happening. And truthfully, I refused to. I couldn't risk making her suffering worse. And when I explained that to Kendra... I saw the hope drain from her face. She didn't blame me—not outwardly—but I knew I'd failed her."

Dumbledore remains silent for a long moment, his expression contemplative. "My mother spoke highly of you, of your kindness," he says at last. "Even after you declined to intervene further, she said you treated Ariana not as a case to be solved, but as a person—a child who deserved dignity and care. That meant more to her than you may have realized."

You manage a faint, bitter smile. "Kindness... It hardly felt like enough."

"Sometimes," Dumbledore says, his voice quiet but firm, "kindness is all we have to offer. And often, it is more than enough."

His words settle over you, and for a moment, the two of you walk in contemplative silence, the distant echoes of footsteps and the crackling of torches the only sounds.

Finally, you speak, your voice carrying a note of quiet resolve. "I wish there had been more I could have done for her. For your family."

Dumbledore inclines his head. "And yet, your efforts were not forgotten. Your actions left an impression on my family—on me. And for that, I will always be grateful."

You glance at him, unsure how to respond. But there's no mistaking the sincerity in his tone. As you walk, the memory of Kendra and Ariana lingers between you like a ghost. The silence stretches, but it's not uncomfortable—more a shared reverence for what was lost.

Finally, Dumbledore speaks again, his voice tinged with curiosity. "Do you ever wonder, given the opportunity, if you could have succeeded? If your mastery of Ancient Magic might have evolved enough to extract the Obscurus?"

You glance at him, considering the question.

"Perhaps," you say slowly. "But I don't dwell on it. Ancient Magic is powerful, yes, but it doesn't exist to fix every broken thing. There are limits to what magic—any magic—should do."

Dumbledore nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. "A wise perspective."

You can't help but smirk faintly. "I've had enough time and experience to form one."

The silence that follows is thick with shared understanding, tinged with the lingering ache of what could not be. For a moment, the past hangs between you both. Ariana, Kendra, Isadora—names from a life that feels impossibly distant, yet their stories continue to echo in this strange future.

Finally, you clear your throat, turning your attention back to the winding corridor ahead. "What happened to her? To Ariana?"

Dumbledore's expression shifts, his gaze distant. "That... is a story for another time. One I will share, but not tonight. You've had enough to contend with already."

Though the answer leaves more questions burning in your mind, you nod.

As you continue to follow Dumbledore through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, the castle's familiar ambience envelops you. The stone walls, though aged, exude the same comforting presence you remember. The flickering torchlight casts dancing shadows, evoking memories of your time as a student. Dumbledore leads you to the fourth floor, stopping before a modest wooden door.

"These are the guest quarters," he explains, his voice gentle. "They offer comfort and privacy for visitors."

Upon entering, you're greeted by a long, narrow bedroom furnished with a four-poster bed draped in rich, dark fabrics. A small fireplace crackles softly, casting a warm glow that contrasts with the cool night air seeping through a nearby window. The room's simplicity is reminiscent of your student days, yet it carries an air of tranquillity suited for reflection.

"I trust you'll find everything you need," Dumbledore says, his eyes twinkling with a mix of curiosity and understanding. "Rest well. We have much to discuss in the coming days."

As he departs, the door closes with a soft click, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The weight of the evening's revelations presses upon you, yet the familiar surroundings provide a semblance of solace. You move to the window, resting your hands on the cold stone sill as you gaze out at the grounds.

The familiar outline of the Forbidden Forest stretches into the distance, its edges glowing faintly under the silver moonlight. The sight stirs a mix of nostalgia and unease, a reminder of how much has changed—and how much you've lost.

As your eyes drift, you catch your reflection in the glass. The youthful face staring back at you is at odds with the person you feel inside, the experiences and burdens you've carried. For a moment, you wonder if this younger visage will help you navigate this new era—or if it will only complicate things further.

You turn away from the window and sink onto the edge of the bed, your wand resting on the blanket beside you. The events of the night churn in your mind: the Veil, the overwhelming pull of Ancient Magic, the unfamiliar name of Lord Voldemort, and the strange, impossible reality you've been thrust into.

And yet, as you sit on the bed, staring at the flickering fire, a thought refuses to leave you. The book—The Living Obelisk—had chronicled your life in exhaustive detail, but it had stopped abruptly after your disappearance. Not a single word about a return, no whisper of a reappearance or a triumphant homecoming. It hadn't escaped your notice. The omission was deliberate, glaring in its silence.

The realization is a sharp knife twisting in your gut. You never made it back to your time.

The realization presses down on you like the weight of the castle itself, heavy and suffocating. For all the admiration and awe your name inspired in this new era, it was rooted in a world that had been forced to move on without you. They'd written you into history as a mystery, a figure forever lost to time, your story left unfinished.

Your fingers tighten around the bed's edge, the fabric bunching under your grip. It's a strange thing, to be alive and yet feel as though you've been buried. To know that the people you fought for, the places you loved, the people you have loved, the life you built—it was all gone, out of reach, left to crumble into memory.

You swallow hard, the knot in your throat refusing to ease. The fire crackles softly, its warmth a stark contrast to the cold pit forming in your chest. You close your eyes, willing the questions to quiet for just a moment, but they refuse.

What became of them? you wonder. The friends you left behind, the causes you fought for—did they endure? Or did they fade away, forgotten in the shadow of your own disappearance? Did they mourn you? Did they ever know what happened?

The silence in the room feels deafening, the stillness pressing in around you. Your mind churns, unwilling to settle. But no matter how deeply the questions gnaw at you, one truth cuts through it all, sharp and unrelenting: I never made it back.

You run a hand over your face, trying to push the weight of the revelation away. But it's there, lingering like an unwelcome spectre. If the book was right, if history truly recorded you as gone... then perhaps this is why the Veil brought you here—an echo of unfinished business, a second chance to answer the questions you'd never had time to ask. Or perhaps it's something else entirely, something beyond even your understanding of magic.

You turn your head toward the window, feeling the tears treating to fall. The moon casting its cold light over the grounds. The Forbidden Forest looms in the distance, a shadowy reminder of where you woke. It feels symbolic now—being dragged out of time, only to awaken in a place where time itself seems to stand still.

'What am I to do now, my purpose...'

Purpose. It's a heavy word, one you're not sure you're ready to carry again. But what choice do you have? The world has already shaped you into something larger than life. Even now, in this unfamiliar time, it seems to demand something more.

And so, as sleep begins to claim you, your thoughts remain tangled in the knowledge that your past is truly gone—and your future, as uncertain as it is, might just depend on the choices you make now.

And for the first time in over a century, Hogwarts watches over you once more.

[sunbirdbooks]

Sunbird Books - A fundraising project

Hello everyone,

let me introduce our fundraising project, created with the purpose to raise funds for five displaced Palestinian families.

These campaigns are all verified, our team is directly in contact with them and share constant updates about their campaigns, needs and any other important update.

What do we do?

Our goal is to provide donations to these families but in a direct way, which means that we won't receive any of the money nor we touch them in any way. So, how do we do that? It's quite simple, you can reach out to us on our accounts (you can find us on X with the same username) choosing one of our e-books and we will assign you to one of the five families.

How do we work?

Once you reach out, telling us which e-book you want, you will be assigned to a family, you will make a 10$ donation to their gofundme, so the money will go directly to them.

We only require a screenshot as proof of donation and you can cover your name for privacy, then you can provide us an e-mail so we can send you the e-book or you can ask for the direct link to download it by yoursel, if you prefer not to share your e-mail.

You can request more than one e-book, but keep in mind that 10$= 1 e-book.

About our books

Now, let's talk about our books.

First of all, all of our e-books use public domain works and resources, so it's completely legal. We also have six books which were donated to us by an indie author.

All of our e-books are created by us, meaning that we make covers and we also make original books using selected works, such as poems from different countries and in different languages.

We also offer a selection of books for children, that can be printed so they can colour them (or you can convert the file so they can colour with any colouring app/paint on tablet/computer).

Our available books

Here's a list of our available books so far, our collection is constantly expanding to provide more genres.

Check out the covers and details on our X account

Books for children:

Dinosaurs Colouring Book

Unicorns Colouring Book

Fairytales Colouring Book

Animals Colouring Book

Princess Tales

Other Books

Sudoku & Puzzles

Poems From The World

Sherlock Holmes: The Adventures - Vol.I

Sherlock Holmes: The Adventures Vol. II

Sherlock Holmes: The Adventures Vol. III

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

Innermost by Jamila Mikhail

After Anderson by Jamila Mikhail

Don't Let Me Go by Jamila Mikhail

Through The Years by Jamila Mikhail

Soul Speaking by Jamila Mikhail

Ink On A Page by Jamila Mikhail

The Grimm Tales

The Phantom of The Opera (available in English, French and Spanish)

Mandala Colouring Book

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

Lastly, here you can check our five adopted campaigns

[galedekarios]

that interview is driving me insane i've been thinking about it for the past hour and i still can't wrap my head around it. i think what really gets under my skin is it just... contradicts with the text of the game. the most positive possible reading of the ending where gale blows himself up is that it was an unavoidable tragedy dictated by fate but even that's a stretch. to say it's a good ending?? or a satisfying conclusion to his arc?? i call bull. it's more infuriating because there is such a clear good ending for gale's character arc and it's the professor ending! his arc was about learning to accept himself as he was, to value who he is as he is flaws and all, and he's done that in the professor ending! and the god of ambition ending is a bad end for him but still ties into his overall arc in a satisfying if sad way (imo). the ending where he dies just... doesn't. which is fine as a tragedy but to imply it isn't exactly that, a tragedy, is wild to me. and it being so blatantly contradictory to the actual events of the game makes me think that whole thing was just catering to people who hate gale which like... why? people who don't like him don't care about his story so why pander to them like this?

uhg. i am sorry for blowing up your inbox like this i just feel like i'm gonna rip my hair out and need to express that to a fellow gale appreciator. i love gale's epilogue SO MUCH it made me feel for a bit like maybe the writers had actually changed how they felt about him but. nope! silly of me to hope for that. wish i could memory wipe that whole interview from my brain dark urge style.

don't be sorry at all! 🖤 i feel the same way in a lot of ways. altho i feel the need to mention that gale's writer, jan van dosselaer, was not involved in this interview.

i started to make a meta post about this yesterday, but reading things like this from gale:

act ii [after elminster] Player: An old man with a craving for cheese. Hardly the great wizard of legend. Gale: A wizard doesn't reach Elminster's age without enjoying their home comforts. Those who seek danger over cheese don't tend to live as long. Gale: For Mystra to have sent him... The severity of her bidding could not be clearer. Or weigh more heavily on me. devnote: reflecting on mystra sending elminster, of all people - a powerful individual, becoming reflective. Gale: Time seems so infinite when you are young... a month is an age, a year is a lifetime... it is a strange feeling, to realise how little of it one might have left. Player: You're seriously considering doing what Elminster said?   Gale: Of course - he offered the clearest solution to our problem. All I have to do is find the right place and time, close my eyes, and let go... devnote: Trying to sound upbeat, not fully engaging with what he's saying (that he's going to kill himself). Gale: Then the slate will be clean, wrongs will be righted, the Absolute will be gone... devnote: Trying to sound upbeat, not fully engaging with what he's saying (that he's going to kill himself). Gale: ...and I along with it. devnote: Still trying to sound upbeat, though this time the reality that this means he will die weighs a bit heavier

and:

act ii [act ii romance scene] Gale: I am terrified - I will not claim otherwise. My face could scarcely conceal it even if my words sought to deny it. nodecontext: Hushed, vulnerable Gale: There is no point in running from the inevitable. Better to meet it, on my own terms. nodecontext: Resigned

as well as this:

act ii [act ii friendship version] Gale: Yes... but there is so much to live for, and so few moments in which to house it all. Gale: Damn you. Damn you for giving me so much to care about. Our friends, our adventures... this would have been so much easier if it was just me. But it isn't. Gale: If there is a way - any way - to save all that's grown dear to me, I want to seize it. I just cannot fathom what that might be, other than to fail Mystra and condemn the world. Gale: Stay with me, will you? I don't want to think of it any more, but I don't want to be alone either.

act iii [before the netherbrain] Player: Gale... I think we should consider using the orb as Mystra intended. To blow up the Netherbrain. Gale: I'm getting rather tired of how often those I care about seem to reach the same conclusion.

when you have this:

and i just... couldn't finish the meta.

it's absolutely beyond comprehension for me how anyone could try to frame this as an ending that is the right one in "many ways", as the "guy who starts off annoying everyone", eating your "most priced possessions", having to "give back to the world".

for the founder of the company to say he wasn't "ready" the "first time", but he's finally "ready" now.

gale's death isn't only unnecessary, an instruction given to him by his former mentor on the behalf of a goddess, who would've sacrificed not only him but thousands of others to achieve her own goals, he doesn't want to die. he's terrified. he wants to live. he is offering this because he believes that his time has run out. because he wants his death to have purpose if it must happen. because he feels he made a mistake far bigger than he can ever make up for. because he doesn't want others to waste their chance at life like he feels he has. the will he leaves behind in the epilogue if he sacrifices himself isn't finished because he thought there would be more time. i could go on and on.

and again, the question is too... for what exactly does he need to "give back to the world"?

being perceived as annoying after coming out of what is presented as isolation and depression? asking for help with a now chronic impairment that feeds on his very soul and wreaks havoc on his body? for making a mistake? by that logic every companion deserves the same fate.

which brings me to the contrast to how most of the other companions are framed in this interview: k*rlach, "the labrador of the party". l*e'zel, "she's so young". ast*rion, "much of what he does it out of fear". sh*dowheart, "the jason bourne" and "victim of religous trauma". w*ll, "the true baldur's gate hero".

the difference is staggering. there's empathy here. there's at least a surface level understanding and/or appreciation of the characters there.

...and then you have gale.

it's alienating and disappointing to see devs have so little respect and care for their own character, as well as for the parts of their fandom who have grown attached to the character exactly for the strengths and flaws he has, for the struggles he faces and for the healing journey he can have if he is helped and lives.

[maxdibert]

Same anon who brought up snake summoning and racism in magical community. There's something to be said that purebloods are right to fear muggles. You telling me there wasn't a Jewish wizard or witch who saw the Holocaust and didn't think *if they did that to NON MAGICAL Jews, what will they do to me???* this is the thing about framing death eaters as nazis. Are they far right? Yes but magicals are in the minority. There's still witch killings *today*. In Harry Potter, how many muggle borns or witches and wizards who grew up among muggles got sent to mental hospitals? How many got shock therapy? In the States, how many religious zealots killed their child by a priest? Forgetting the person who wrote it for a moment, im upset with fans like marauder fandom that scream F JKR but then don't critically examine what she wrote. Lily Evans could've easily been sent to a mental hospital. Heck, **Tom would have been** but these fans rather make fanfic where everyone is queer as a sign of protest while promoting her spiteful colonizing ideology

Or imagine all those witches and wizards who were literally born into zones of slavery. Before they were called to school, they worked because they were the property of their masters. Or those who had lived through Muggle wars and had seen firsthand the extent of violence. Wizards and witches in Japan after the nuclear bombs?

I also repeat that these seem like plot holes to me, because are you really telling me that racialized witches and wizards would allow white Muggles to exploit their people? Are you telling me that witches and wizards born to Muggle families just forgot that their entire family was being exploited and tortured once they went to a magical school? What sense does that make? A Muggle-born wizard from a Jewish family, for example, wouldn’t do anything during the genocide? South African wizards during apartheid? And in Latin America? Muggle-born wizards see Pinochet, Videla, or any other dictator come to power and start disappearing people, including their families? The logic of how Rowling portrays the interaction between wizards and Muggles only makes sense in a European first-world country, where the history of oppression is centered on colonialism.

Could it work in Spain, Portugal, Italy, or France? Sure, because these countries didn’t have cotton fields within their borders; if they had enslaved people, it was elsewhere, so their wizards could happily ignore those oppressions. But it’s still absurd because wars have happened, racism and discrimination have existed, and structurally it’s implausible. The Japanese Empire committed real atrocities in Korea from the late 19th century until World War II, and you’re telling me, Rowling, that the wizards in the oppressed country did nothing?

And what about cultural aspects? The Statute of Secrecy makes sense in a European or American context, meaning it makes sense in white Western countries. But it doesn’t make sense in other cultures. Asian cultures have millennia-old traditions of acceptance and coexistence with the supernatural; the number of cultural references to the supernatural in their works is incredible, and any fiction they create always has some reference. The same goes for other cultures that weren’t sterilized by Catholic ostracism and retained their myths, legends, and rituals. Do we ignore all that too?

Do we ignore that in Latin American contexts, it’s super normal to talk about the evil eye, rituals for love spells, potions, and amulets? How does that fit with the Statute of Secrecy? I’ll tell you—it doesn’t fit. It doesn’t fit because Rowling only thinks about the coherence of the relationships between wizards and Muggles from her context as a white bourgeois European woman, period. She doesn’t think beyond her own nose. And we could accept it if it were limited to English society or certain European contexts (and I say certain because in Germany, which was divided for decades until the fall of the Berlin Wall, it doesn’t fit either), but she extends it. She extends things that only make sense in her context to the entire wizarding world. Sorry, but they don’t make sense.

[best-female-villain-tournament]

Final character placement!

Two brackets this time! links will be embedded once they are posted!

(brackets under the cut)

BRACKET A

Queen Asheviere(Battle For Wesnoth(heir to the throne campaign)) VS Thiala(Not Another D&D Podcast (Campaign 1/Bahumia))

Amora the Enchantress(Marvel Comics) VS The Shapeshifter(Odd Squad)

Alvida(One Piece) VS Darcy(Winx Club)

Icy(Winx Club) VS Ursula(The Little Mermaid)

The Collector(Aurora) VS Drolta(Castlevania: Nocturne)

Morana(Castlevania) VS Erzsebet Báthory(Castlevania)

Junko Enoshima(Danganronpa) VS Tron bonne(Mega Man Legends)

Captain Syrup(Wario Land) VS Sado(The Hex)

Aurra Sing(Star Wars) VS Vermouth/Sharon Vineyard/Chris Vineyard(Detective Conan/Case Closed)

Queen Sectonia(Kirby Triple Deluxe) VS Her Imperious Condescension/the Condesce/Betty Crocker(Homestuck)

Madame Rouge(Teen Titans) VS Ikra(Samurai Jack)

Linaris the Obsidian(Ishura) VS Twizzly Gummy Cookie(Cookie Run Kingdom)

Kiara Sessyoin(Fate) VS Mion(Monkey Typhoon)

Elendira the Crimsonnail(Trigun) VS The Wicked Witch of the West(The Wizard of Oz)

Xivu Arath(Destiny Two) VS President Coin(The Hunger Games)

Pamela Vorhees(Friday the 13th) VS Jiao Liqiao(Mysterious Lotus Casebook)

————

Marilyn Thornhill(Wednesday) VS Jennifer Blake(Teen Wolf)

Queen Vanessa(A Hat In Time) VS Tiamat(Dungeons and Dragons)

The Preeminent(Lego Ninjago) VS Lolth(Critical Role)

Lorelei(Marvel Comics) VS Yubaba(Spirited Away)

Aranea Serket(Homestuck) VS Spinel(Steven Universe: The Movie)

Queen Mirage(Happiness Charge Precure) VS Aspheera(Lego Ninjago)

Lady Cassandra(Doctor Who) VS Stormy(Winx Club)

Lenore(Castlevania) VS Blackarachnia(Beast Wars)

Jadis the White Witch(The Chronicles of Narnia) VS Laverna(Barbie: Fairytopia)

Striga(Castlevania) VS Kuvira(The Legend of Korra)

Queen La(the Tarzan Disney TV Series) VS Mirage(the Aladdin Disney TV Series)

Helen/The Administrator(Team Fortress 2) VS Citizen Dawn(Sentinels of the Multiverse (Sentinel Comics))

Regina Mills/Evil Queen(Once Upon A Time) VS Taylor “Skitter” Hebert(Worm/Parahumans)

Pomegranate Cookie(Cookie Run Kingdom) VS Mrs Tweedy(Chicken Run)

Lady Macbeth(Macbeth(Shakespeare)) VS Sora Siruha(Choujin X)

The Director(Nimona) VS Chacha(Nano List)

BRACKET B

Shadow Weaver(She-Ra and the Princesses of Power)

Charlotte Linlin/Big Mom(One Piece) VS Maia(Jak & Daxter)

Carmilla(Castlevania) VS Granny Goodness(DC Comics)

Penelope Specta(Danny Phantom) VS Spider Queen(Lego Monkie Kid)

Cassidy(Pokemon)

Otohan Thull(Critical Role) VS Sofina(Dungeons and Dragons: Honor Among Thieves)

Kalina(Fantasy High Sophomore Year) VS Blackfire(Teen Titans)

Kim'dael(The Dragon Prince)

Salem(RWBY)

Raven Darkholme/Mystique(Marvel Comics) VS Pray Mayer(Knight Run)

Nerissa(W.I.T.C.H.) VS Saleen(the Aladdin Disney TV Series)

Grace Chasity(Nerdy Prudes Must Die(Team Starkid)) VS Dark Enchantress Cookie(Cookie Run Kingdom)

Raishan(Critical Role/The Legend of Vox Machina)

The Shadow Queen(Paper Mario) VS Kanako Yasaka(Touhou Project)

Winifred Sanderson(Hocus Pocus) VS Beatrice/Team Classic Pyro(Team Fortress Classic and Team Fortress 2)

Airachnid(Transformers)

————

Lady Bone Demon(Lego Monkie Kid)

Athena(Final Fantasy XIV(14)) VS Hela(Marvel Comics)

Sara Berry(The Ballad Of Sara Berry) VS Kaguya Otsutsuki(Naruto Shippuden)

Dyspear(Go! Princess Precure) VS Fiona Fox(Sonic the Hedgehog(Archie Comics))

Audrey II(Little Shop of Horrors)

Shizuka Hio(Vampire Knight ) VS Wuya(Xiaolin Showdown)

Glory(Buffy The Vampire Slayer ) VS Lilith(Supernatural)

Evil stepmother from various fairytales(trope)

Seska(Star Trek: Voyager)

Princess Opechius(Star Twinkle Precure) VS Wojira(Lego Ninjago)

Queen Tyr'ahnee(Looney Tunes) VS Selina(Winx Club)

Akito Souma(Fruits Basket) VS Lord Dominator(Wander Over Yonder)

Camille L'espanaye(The Fall of The House of Usher(Netflix))

Infected Charlotte(The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals(Team Starkid)) VS Vexus(My Life As a Teenage Robot)

Lee from Yu-Gi-Oh!(World Legacy Storyline) VS Anonymity Requested(Cipher Academy)

Orin(Baldur's Gate 3)

[bloedewir]

Avowed is slowly killing me with every news I get

Note: It's set in Pillars of Eternity world. And y'all remember Aloth Corfiser don't you? But if you don't know who he is just imagine Solas (Dragon Age) + Gale (BG3) + voice inside his head is like Oghren/Sera (Dragon Age).

Ok, back to topic. As we know Avowed won't have romance options at all.

And then they introduced the companions:

Giatta (ocean human, wizard)

Mara Junot (Ikora Rey in 'Destiny 2', Zuri Abara in 'Starfield', Player in 'Remnant II')

Marius (mountain dwarf, ranger).

Scott Whyte (Player in 'Remnant II', Rathma in 'Diablo IV')

Yatzli (hearth orlan, wizard).

Anjali Bhimani (Commander Natara in 'Starfield', Rampart in 'Apex Legends')

Kai (coastal aumaua, fighter).

Brandon Keener.

Garrus freaking Vakarian

WHAT IN THE HELLS you're doing to me XBOX?

You gave us Brandon Keener's voice after all these years and for the second time the character isn't romanceable?

(First one is Sharp-as-Night, The Elder Scrolls online Argonian companion).

Am I back to Mass Effect 1 frustration issues? Again? Oh Eothas have mercy...

And if you ask yourself how tf it is related to Bioware answer is simple: Garrus Vakarian is from the Mass Effect series, as is Liara T'Soni. Liara voiced by Ali Hillis who is also the voice of Lace Harding in DA4 (and shaper Valta btw). Boom, dots connected.

[gardenofkore]

"Of all the prophecies in verse foretelling a future Saviour to which the West has given birth, Vergil's Fourth Eclogue is the most famous. Before celebrating in his mighty epic the future of Imperial Rome, the poet painted in this relatively short poem his picture of the future ruler of the world. He lent him all the attributes of the Messiah: as befits a son of the Gods he shall greet Life with a smile, he shall bring peace on earth and the Age of Gold, and shall evoke once more the kingdom of Apollo. The Middle Ages never paused to reflect that Vergil's promises might seem to be fulfilled in Augustus, Emperor of Peace, the poet's patron. To that Christian age such prophetic verses could bear one interpretation only — a miraculous fore telling of Christ's advent. That they foretold a "Ruler" was no deterrent, for men were wont to praise Christ as "King of the World" and "Emperor of All," and to represent him graphically, in a mandorla, throned on clouds, bearing the globe and law book in his hand and on his head the diadem: the stern Ruler of the Cosmos. To the pious mind it was but one miracle the more, that the heathen Vergil, like the prophets of the Ancient Covenant, had known and told the coming of the Redeemer. Thus this short poem, with its miraculous fore knowledge, earned for Vergil the admiration and reverence of the medieval world. This Vergilian prophecy provided the inspiration both in manner and matter for the song in which the Campanian poet, Peter of Eboli, extravagantly hailed the birth of Henry V’s only son. It is by no means without significance that Vergil thus stands by the cradle of the last and greatest Christian Emperor of the German Roman Imperium.

The learned Peter of Eboli was not the only poet and sooth sayer who offered his prophetic wares to the new-born child on the day following the Christmas of 1194. Godfrey of Viterbo, the tutor of Henry VI, hailed the boy as the future Saviour foretold of prophets, the time-fulfilling Caesar. Even before the birth Godfrey had in sibylline speech informed his master that the coming son was destined to prove the long-awaited King of all the World, who should unite East and West as the Tiburtine sibyl had foretold. And later the story ran that East and West had cried aloud with joy at the birth of the imperial heir. Meanwhile other and less flattering predictions gained currency which had likewise accompanied the birth of the youngest Hohenstaufen. The Breton wizard Merlin was said to have spoken of the child's "wondrous and unhoped for birth" and in dark mysterious words to have hinted at disaster. The child would be a lamb, to be torn in pieces, but not to be devoured; he was to be a raging lion too amongst his own. The Calabrian Cistercian, the Abbot Joachim of Flora, the "Fore-runner" of St. Francis, was swift to recognise in the new-born child the, future Scourge of the World, the AntiChrist who was to bring confusion in his train. The Abbot, indeed, full of prophetic fire, was said to have informed the Emperor betimes that the Empress — overlain by a demon — was pregnant, without yet knowing of her pregnancy. The Empress too had had a dream and it had been revealed to her that she was to bear the fiery brand, the torch of Italy.

Constance obsessed the imagination of her contemporaries as few empresses have done. The strangely-secluded girlhood of the heiress of Sicily, posthumous daughter of the gifted Norman king and state-maker, Roger II, the great blondbearded Viking: her belated marriage, when she was already over thirty, with Barbarossa's younger son, her junior by ten years: her nine years of childlessness: the unexpected conception by the ageing woman: all this was — or seemed — mysterious enough to the people of her time to furnish ample material for legend. According to current rumour Constance's mother, Beatrice, daughter of Count Gunther of Rethel, had been a prey to evil dreams when, after the death of King Roger, she was brought to bed of the future Empress. And the augurs of the half-oriental Norman court declared that Constance would bring dire ruin on her fatherland. To avert this evil fate, no doubt, Constance was at once doomed to be a nun. The fact that the princess actually spent long periods in various nunneries in Palermo may well have strengthened such a report. The story further ran that Constance had been most unwilling to marry at all, and this coloured Dante's conception of her: because she left her "pleasant cloister's pale" under pressure and against her will, he gave the Empress a place in Paradise. The tale that Constance had taken the veil was widely believed, and later deliberately circulated by the Guelfs out of malice towards her son. The similar super stition of a later day foretold that a nun should be the mother of Anti-Christ. Meantime this first and only pregnancy of the forty-year old empress gave rise to another cycle of legend. It became the fashion to represent Constance as being consider ably older than she was, in order to approximate the miracle of this belated conception to Bible precedent, and she is tradition ally depicted as a wrinkled old woman. The rumour that the child was supposititious was bound to follow, and it was given out that he was in reality the son of a butcher. Shrewd woman that she was, Constance had taken measures to forestall such gossip: she had had a tent erected in the open market place, and there in the sight of all she had borne her son and proudly displayed her well-filled breasts — so the counterrumour ran.

Not in Palermo, but in Jesi, a small town dating from Roman times, in the March near Ancona, Constance brought her son to birth. After he was Emperor, Frederick sang the praises of his birthplace in a remarkable document. He called Jesi his Bethlehem, and the Divine Mother who bore him he placed on the same plane as the Mother of our Lord. Now the Ancona neighbourhood with its landscapes belongs to the most sacred regions of Renaissance Italy. As soon as the Italian people awoke to self-consciousness it recognised this as a sancta regio and consecrated it as such. From 1294 — a hundred years after the birth of the Staufen boy — the Virgin's house from Nazareth stood in the Ancona Marches, and Loreto, where it eventually came to rest, became one of the most famous places of pilgrimage in Italy. So it need cause no surprise that the March — the home moreover of Raphael — supplies the actual landscape basis (so far as a mythical landscape has a real prototype) for innumerable pictures of the Madonna playing with the Holy Child. These sunlit scenes played no part in the actual childhood of the boy. A few months after his birth Constance had the " blessed son " — to whom for the moment she gave the name of Constantine — removed to Foligno near Assisi and placed in the care of the Duchess of Spoleto, while the Empress herself hastened back to her Sicilian kingdom. She had only stayed in Jesi for her confinement, while the Emperor Henry travelled south to repress a Sicilian insurrection. This he accomplished with severity and bloodshed, and at last, after years of toil and fighting, he took possession of the hereditary country of his consort. All that Barbarossa had once dreamed, and had hoped to achieve through the Sicilian marriage of his son: to checkmate the exasperating Normans who always sided with the enemies of the Empire; to secure in the extreme south a firm fulcrum for the Empire of the Hohenstaufen, corresponding to their stronghold north of the Alps, and from these two bases — independent of the favour or disfavour of the German princes — to supervise and hold in check the Patrimonium between, and the ever-restive Italy: all this had reached fulfilment one day before the heir to this imperial power was born. Escorted by Saracen trumpeters, Henry with unexampled pomp entered as victor into the conquered city of Palermo, the terrified populace falling on their knees as he rode by, and on Christmas Day 1194 he was crowned King of Sicily in the cathedral of the capital. He was soon able to announce in one and the same letter both the victorious outcome of his cam paigns and the birth of his son and heir. The assurance of the succession gave full value to the conquest of the southern kingdom, a hereditary not an elective monarchy, and to the other great achievements of the indefatigable Emperor."

Ernst Kantorowicz, Frederick the Second, pp. 3-6

[shadowwizdaily]

The Shadow Wizard of the Day is the Player Character from Wizard of Legend I & II!

[g4zdtechtv]

Cinematech's Trailer Park - Wizard of Legend II (Multiplatform)

Prove your spellcasting prowess!

[sailorgokaidecade]

All Quaternary Kamen Riders:

Kaoru Kino (Kamen Rider Another Agito)

Takeshi Asakura (Kamen Rider Ouja)

Yuji Kiba (Kamen Rider Orga)

Mutsuki Kamijo (Kamen Rider Leangle)

Zaomaru Zaitsuhara (Kamen Rider Zanki)

Sou Yaguruma (Kamen Rider Kick Hopper) & Shun Kageyama (Kamen Rider Punch Hopper)

Gaoh (Kamen Rider Gaoh)

King/Bat Fangire (Kamen Rider Dark Kiva I)

Natsumi Hikari (Kamen Rider Kivala)

Katsumi Daido (Kamen Rider Eternal)

Sou Fueki (Kamen Rider Wiseman/"The White Wizard")

Takatora Kureshima (Kamen Rider Zangetsu)

Zoruku Tojo (Kamen Rider Lupin)

Edith (Kamen Rider Dark Ghost II)

Kiriya Kujo (Kamen Rider Lazer)

Gentoku Himuro (Kamen Rider Rogue)

Alpina/"Tsukuyomi" (Kamen Rider Tsukuyomi)

Gai Amatsu (Kamen Rider Thouser)

Yuri (Kamen Rider Saikou)

Hiromi Kadota (Kamen Rider Demons)

Michinaga Azuma (Kamen Rider Buffa)

Houou Kaguya Quartz (Kamen Rider Legend)

[thecreaturecodex]

May I ask what reference materials you have at your disposal?

This list includes only books about monsters that I own and have used for the Codex at some point. It does not include books I've gotten from libraries (I have access to an excellent university library and one of the best public library systems in the country), nor does it include RPG books or books about science and nature. We'd be here all day, and this list already took like 90 minutes to collate.

A Field Guide to the Little People—Arrowsmiths and Moore Barlowe’s Guide to Extraterrestrials; Barlowe’s Guide to Fantasy—Barlowe The Dictionary of Demons—Belanger Monsters in Print—Benedict Ghosts Monsters and Demons of India—Bhairav and Khonna The Mwindo Epic—Biebuyck and Mateene, ed. The Beast of Boggy Creek; Momo—Blackburn Bigfoot: Life and Times of a Legend—Buhs The Hidden—Christopher and Austin The Unexplained!—Clark Ghostland; The Unidentified—Dickey Prehistoric Monster Mash; Dinosaur Memories II—Debus After Man; The New Dinosaurs; Man After Man—Dixon Mysterious Creatures: A Guide to Cryptozoology—Eberhart Welsh Monsters and Mythical Beasts—Ellis The Book of Yokai; Pandemonium and Parade—Foster Encounters With Flying Humanoids—Gerhard The Leprechaun’s Kingdom—Haining Meeting With Monsters—Hlioberg and Aegisson Dragons—Hogarth and Cleary Monster Atlas Volume 1—Hyland and Kay The Field Guide to Extraterrestrials—Hyughe Bestiarium Greenlandica—Kreutzmann Evil in Our Midst—Jones The Natural History of Unicorns—Lavers Legends of the Fire Spirits—Lebling Travels to the Otherworld and Fantastic Realms—Lecouteaux and Lecouteaux Cowboys and Saurians 1 and 2—Lemay Medieval Monsters—Lindquist and Mittman The Element Encyclopedia of Magical Creatures—Matthews and Matthews The Night Parade of 100 Demons; The Hour of Meeting Evil Spirits; The Book of the Hakutaku; The Fox’s Wedding—Meyer Hunting Monsters—Naish Cryptozoologicon Volume 1—Naish, Koseman and Conway Encyclopedia of Cryptozoology—Newton The United States of Cryptids—Ocker Chasing American Monsters—Ofutt Iberian Monsters—Prado The Creatures of Philippine Mythology—Ramos A Wizard’s Bestiary—Ravenheart Giants, Monsters and Dragons; Spirits, Faeries, Leprechauns and Goblins—Rose The Encyclopedia of Monsters—Rovin Bad UFOs—Schaeffer JaPandemonium Illustrated—Sekien, translated by Yoda and Alt Dragons: A Natural History; A Manifestation of Monsters; The Beasts that Hide from Man; Flying Toads and Snakes with Wings; Extraordinary Animals Revisited; Mirabilis; A Menagerie of Marvels; The UneXplained—Shuker Dangerous Spirits—Smallman Myths and Legends of the Australian Aboriginies—Smith Monsters of the Gevaudan—Smith A Chinese Bestiary—Strassberg Mummies Cannibals and Vampires—Sugg The Ashgate Encyclopedia of Literary and Cinematic Monsters—Weinstock, ed. Mythical Creatures of the USA and Canada—Wyman The World of Kong—Weta Workshop Mystery Animals of China—Xu

Appearing on this list does not necessarily constitute a recommendation. Carol Rose's books, for example, has a lot of gaps and are responsible for a number of myths and misconceptions that have circulated around the internet. And A Wizard's Bestiary by Oberon Zell-Ravenheart is more worthwhile as a curiosity than as reference material.

There are a lot of internet sources, of course, but I'm linking my top choices. If you're not already aware of A Book of Creatures and Yokai.com, you need to be.

[mask131]

The fantasy in modern Arthuriana (2)

This is a loose translation of Claire Jardillier’s article “Les enfants de Merlin: le merveilleux médiéval revisité” (The children of Merlin: Medieval magic revisited), for Anne Besson’s study-compilation.

II/ Wizards and witches

The fantastical elements within modern rewrites are often embodied in the most visible way by a few key characters. First and foremost among this magical cast is, of course, Merlin the enchanter, but also regularly the bard Taliesin, despite his lesser presence within the Matter of Britain. Taliesin indeed only appears obviously tied to Arthur within the Welsh sources, especially “Preiddu Annwn”, where he is part of the expedition led by Arthur to steal away the cauldron of resurrection from the Otherworld. We can make the hypothesis that is it because of the historical rewrites of the Arthurian legends that the character of Taliesin gained such an importance, since it is in the Welsh sources that he is most frequently seen, sources that modern rewriters especially love due to judging them more ancient and thus more “authentic” and more Celtic than the chivalry romances and knighthood romans of France and England. Since Wales resisted more strongly to the Saxon invader, then to the Normand influence, modern novelists like to use the “Mabinogion” and the Welsh poems to historicize their Arthur. Taliesin usually stays within his traditional role of bard, in accord to the historical and bibliographical information we have about him. While quite brief, these information naturally designate him as the symbol of the Arthurian legend within a “realistic” rewriting, as a character between the history and the myth.

[In the “Hanes Taliesin” mainly, translated by Lady Charlotte Guest and which follows her “Mabinogion” translations, we discover the two births of Gwyon Bach/Taliesin, is exploits as a bard within the court of prince Elphin, and some of his poems. The historical Taliesin seems to have been a bard at the court of Urien Rheged during the 6th century, and the poems attributed to him were preserved within the “Llyfr Taliesin” (The Book of Taliesin). It notably contains the famous “Cat Godeu” (Battle of the Trees) and the previously mentioned “Preiddu Annwn”. These Welsh poems, like many others, were translated and published by William F. Skene within his “Four Ancient Books of Wales”]

As such, within Fay Sampson’s “Daughter of Tintagel” cycle he becomes one of the five narrators that relate the life of Morgan. A first-person narration that give a voice to a secondary character of the medieval corpus is a fundamental trait of modern Arthurian literature : as such, we can hear Kai, Pelleas, Bohort, Rhys or Bedwyr, characters whose point of view is rarely given in legends, alongside the manifestation of more novel characters, such as Derfel, a shadowy warrior turned saint in the 6th century who narrates Bernard Cornwell’s “Warlord Chronicles”. [Respectively, Kai is heard within Phyllis Ann Karr’s The Idylls of the Queen and John Gloag’s Artorius Rex ; Pelleas within Stephen R. Lawhead’s Arthur and Courtway Jones’ In the Shadow of the Oak King ; Bohort within Dorothy Jane Roberts’ Launcelot my Brother ; Rhys within Gillian Bradshaw’s Kingdom of Summer ; Bedwyr within Catherine Christian’s The Sword and the Flame and Stephen R. Lawhead’s Arthur.]

Within Stephen Lawhead’s works, the role of Taliesin is more developed since he becomes the father, and so the precursor of Merlin (within Marion Zimmer Bradley’s, he is Merlin’s first incarnation). In his trilogy, the bard Talesin paves the way for Merlin, who will surpass his father in his role as the companion of the major hero, Arthur king of Britain. It is precisely this dimension that is often used by modern Arthurianists. [Stephen R. Lawhead wrote in reality five novels, the last two being a flash-back to episodes from between book 2 and 3. This Arthurian cycle is especially concerned with the questions of filiation, legitimacy and predestination. As such, Taliesin announces and foreshadow the coming of his son, a sort of messiah for the Britons, but Merlin himself works for the coming of Arthur, the savior of Britain as much on a spiritual level (the writings of Lawhead are distinctly Christian in tone) as on a political level. It is probably why we also see here a weird and exceptional element introduced, as Arthur is made the posthumous son of Aurelius, and not the bastard of Uther. Here Arthur is the product of an union blessed by the Church, and as such he descends from the first High-King, not from his replacement out of a “side-branch” of the family.]

We also have to note that modern rewrites love to tell what happened during the life of characters in the form of prequels – in this case, the youth of Merlin, which is rarely detailed in the Middle-Ages outside of his birth and his encounter with Vortigern. It was the case within Mary Stewart, the first author who was concerned with the wizard’s youth, and who sems to have deeply marked modern Arthurianists, since the same pattern can be found in other novels, including those of Stephen Lawhead. This concern with “what happened before” is not exclusively Arthurian, and can be seen within other contemporary sagas – Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Blueberry… It is a tradition as old as the various “Childhoods” texts of the Middle-Ages. [Mary Stewart wrote “The Crystal Cave”, “The Hollow Hills” and “The Last Enchantment”. As a proof of the intertextuality of Arthurian novels, “the last enchantment” is an expression reused and exploited by Bernard Cornwell in the last part of his trilogy, where a dying Merlin, entirely devoured by his own student Nimue, preserves a “last enchantment” to allow Arthur and a few others to escape the battle of Camlan]

Be it Taliesin or Merlin, the first way the question of the magic implants itself within the narrative device is about the relationship between the king and his wizard. The magical element is thus tied to the political power, weighed down by a reality which, if not historical, is at least coherent. This heirloom is directly tied to the medieval sources, even if it is not obvious at first. The idea of an Arthur raised as a boy by Merlin owes much more to T.H. White’s “The Once and Future King” than to the medieval texts, where only a slow and complex evolution allowed the association of those two characters now seen as undividable. [White’s work is a set of five novels, first published separately, then compiled as one work in the 50s, and to which the last novel, The Book of Merlin, was added in 1977. This work is a precursor of all the rewrites that happened from the 60s onward, especially the first book that tells of Arthur’s childhood and his education by Merlin. It was a best-seller, and the adaptation of this first novel into an animated movie by Disney (63’s The Sword in the Stone) amplified its impact]. Indeed, within Geoffroy of Monmouth, Merlin and Arthur follow each other in the text… but never meet. It was within later rewrites, Wave, Lawamon, and in the French “Lancelot-Graal”, that the king and the enchanter will develop a more intimate relationship, culminating within Malory’s Morte Darthur. [In Geoffroy’s tale, the two characters at least never meet within the context of the tale. A doubt is allowed since in most of the manuscripts, Merlin makes a brief apparition at the very end of the “Historia”, where an “angelic voice” talks to Cadwallader, telling him that “God wishes that the Britons stop ruling within Britain until the moment that Merlin prophesized to Arthur” ; this sentence implies that Merlin might have been the king’s prophet, a role that will become more and more obvious in later rewrites]

This is due to the two characters, Merlin and Arthur, originally belonging to two distinct traditions. Once they became connected thanks to Geoffroy’s Historia Regum Britaniae, the two characters got closer and closer, and gained many interactions, just as Merlin’s interventions became more and more fantastical. This is very clear when we look at an episode shared by all the medieval Merlinian tales: the moving of the stones of Ireland to create Stonehenge. Within Geoffroy’s, it is a mechanical process. Within Wace, an unexplained way. Finally, within Lawamon, it becomes a powerful spell that makes the stone “as light as feathers”. Modern authors follow this tradition and often reuse this episode, or a similar one, in what we can call “the motif of the dancing stones”. In the same way, within Lawhead’s novel, a child Merlin proves his powers to an assembly of druids by making the stones of a cromlech levitate. Stonehenge plays an important role for Cornwell: it becomes the place of a ghost-filled ceremony during which Merlin gives Excalibur to Arthur. Even among comic books, Merlin makes stones dance before amazed mortals. [It is within the first volume of the BD series “Merlin” by Jean-Luc Istin and Eric Lambert, “La colère d’Ahès” (The Wrath of Ahès). The dancing stones of Istin and Lambert are quite similar to the ones described by Lawhead, and the scenarist confessed having read the “Pendragon Cycle”. We find in this “Merlin” the same habt of syncretizing religions as within Lawhead’s works (father Blaise is a former druid, and offers Merlin as a symbol of the union of religions).]

We find back here what we said before: the historicized Arthurian literature of the 60s-80s greatly deprived the medieval text of their fantasy, and since the 80s-90s we have a slow re-appropriation of the medieval magic within novels that still, however, wish to be historical. In other terms – the stones are dancing again, but they are always dancing in a mentioned 6th century.

Before Lawamon, Merlin only acted during the lifetime of Aurelius and Uther, before disappearing for no reason after Arthur’s birth. However, the encounter between those two historical characters was too tempting to be avoided, and we can see a true shift between Geoffroy and Malory (for example), which today leads to the many tales in which Merlin acts as the teacher, tutor, or even adoptive father of Arthur. This filiation is helped by two elements. On one side, that is an elliptic moment covering Arthur’s childhood in medieval texts, and we go from him as a baby to him as a young fifteen-year old king. [We find within Lawamon the beginning of an explication: child-Arthur was raised by elves at Avalon. This idea was reused by Parke Godwin within the novel “Firelord”.] On the other hand, we can see that all of his next of kin die around the same time. In front of this absence of parents, it is very tempting to remove Ector (the father of Kay and the tutor of the royal child in the tradition) and put in his place a more familiar and impressive character, Merlin the wizard.

We talked before of the habit of “prequels”: the cyclical temptation of modern novels, which in a way mimics the Arthurian medieval tradition of a condensed and fractioned writing of the whole Arthurian legend (usually in three volumes), favorizes the writing of the origins, of the “before Arthur”. The introduction of Merlin, but also of Taliesin, proves this attraction for what Anne Besson calls an “Arthurian prehistory”. For Stephen Lawhead, the link between the various generations (Taliesin, father of Merlin, Merlin spiritual father of Arthur) insists upon the greatness and the predestination of the king of the Britons, the bearer of Light. Even when the Arthurian tale is limited to a single novel, it is not unusual to see it begin with the generation before Arthur: it was the case with Victor Canning’s “The Crimson Chalice”, where a third of the novel follows the events that led to Arthur’s birth (even though here Arthur’s parents are named Tia and Baradoc, and bear no resemblance to Igraine or Uther).

To all the reasons described above, we must add the fictional temptation of having characters coexisting to allow a powerful confrontation. But this temptation also bears a prevalent trait of the modern Arthurian fiction, and of its dialogue with the sources. Indeed, it is not uncommon to see a rearrangement, to various degrees, of the links that traditionally unite the characters. As such, in most sources Ygerne is the wife of Gorlois and the mother of Arthur, but she can be his half-sister and the mother of Medraud within Rosemary Sutcliff’s “Sword at Sunset”. The same Ygerne becomes Gorlois’ daughter, not his wife, in Stephen Lawhead’s work, as the author plays with the writing of the myth, has his Merlin-narrator laugh about the mad rumors that circulated about the siege of Tintagel “I have even heard it said that Ygerna was Gorlas’ wife – Imagine that!”). The marvelous does not escape this kind of more-or-less extreme shifts: the case of the female characters, of their relationship to magic, and of their role within history is especially revealing.

[oscarisaacss-wp]

12 DAYS OF GIFMAS… DAY 1, an upcoming story idea: NO TIME TO DIE, A Tom Riddle Era Fanfiction.

1943 IS VALÉRIE CLEMENTINE-MACMILLAN’S YEAR.

She can feel it in her bones, clawing at her ribcage like a promise dying to be kept. This year, her dream of becoming an investigative journalist will come to fruition — this year, the opportunity arises to begin an internship at the Daily Prophet, and she would be a fool to miss it.

As the star reporter for the Hogwarts Herald, Valérie knows her resume is outstanding. It doesn’t matter that she’s forced to deal with air-headed, brainwashed boys who don’t know a semi-colon from a parenthesis (seriously, she’s concerned for their futures), because Valérie is good, and she has a mission: to scope out her next story (nobody will look twice at her if she hasn’t made five headlines by Christmas).

Her latest scoop? A centuries-old legend about a secret chamber and a mythological monster hiding somewhere in Hogwarts Castle. Nothing big.

Except, Valérie isn’t the only one taking interest in the rumors suddenly buzzing about the fabled chamber. Tom Riddle, Slytherin prefect, teacher’s pet, and encyclopedia of Things That Are Probably Dangerous, won’t fucking leave her alone.

So, whatever. He’s interested. Half the school is. When Tom offers to assist her in investigating the chamber in order to help her reach her deadline, Valérie declines (since when has Tom Riddle cared about anything other than himself?). However, the potential outcome begins to outweigh her concerns, and before she knows it, Valérie accepts his help with the promise of all credit for the story remaining hers.

But here’s the thing about Tom: he’s not only interested in solving a mystery. He’s interested in using it. And Valérie Clementine-Macmillan is now not only interested in solving the mystery of the chamber, but also that of Tom Riddle.

If her instincts are correct, Tom Riddle isn’t just charming or brilliant — he’s something much worse. But hey, at least it’ll make a killer headline.

(“Hogwarts Prefect Turns Out to Be Dark Wizard, Local Ravenclaw Blames Her Terrible Taste in Boys.”)

So, here she is: Valérie Clementine-Macmillan, accidental accomplice to potential genocide. What could go wrong?

i. spotify ii. pinterest iii. wattpad (coming soon)