#wyrmdust

[ghostcond]

carpe diem society but headcanons

[catisawells]

Grading Papers

    Within the Violet Bastion Estate’s personal chambers, a dim light flickered beneath a single chamber door. This late at night most were already asleep, though Catisa was up late burning the midnight oil with a stack of papers upon her desk. Even in the dim lighting it was painfully obvious she had barely unpacked her belongings, a suitcase on top of the dresser had clothes hanging out where they hadn’t been put away. Among those were a mask and goggles she had obtained in preparation for the excavation in Uldum. The Scrying Orb seemed to be the only bit of personal belongings unpacked, the only thing she had left of her mother.

    She smiled each time she looked at it and from time to time, despite herself, she found she spoke to it as if her mother could still hear her through it. The aspiring Sorceress scanned page after page, a side assignment she had picked up from Ilrygon Wyrmdust in an attempt to prove her worth. One of many, she was sure. Next to her rest a stack of books, most pertaining to studies of ley lines, which was one of her weaker subjects. Occasionally she had to check herself and ensure she was correct in grading the students of Master Wyrmdust. It wouldn’t do to have her marking them incorrectly.

    “I’m glad I have new friends that are willing to reassure me I’m not pathetic for seeking an opportunity to prove myself and further my teachings. In fact they encourage it. You would like them, mama. They’re a little odd and drink to excess, but they’re good people. Papa always told me what a good judge of character you are. I hope I got your judgement.” She giggled to herself as she continued to grade with an occasional glance over to the Orb. “In fact they gave me the courage to admit who I am to myself and to the world. I only hope my experiences with the Director and any other tutors she appoints, depending on what she decides, is so encouraging. I want to impress them, but I am also here to learn.”

    With a light sigh she turned over the last of the pages. Finally, she thought, How many students does Ilrygon have, anyway? Catisa smirked to herself and stacked them up neatly to be taken to Ilrygon’s office first thing in the morning before she went to blow the candle out, only pausing to look at the Orb once more and say, “Goodnight, mama and papa.”

@wyrmdust​

[victoria-moonhunter-thaumaturge]

Rainbow and Progress flags color-picked from the Carpe Diem Society

[mb-blue-roses]

Carpe Diem Society HCs

(I wanted to write a fic but ehhh)

- Declan and Carson are childhood friends

- They all enjoy cuddles,,, esp Bentley and Kestrel

- Bentley's the tallest

- Carson's second-tallest

- Then Quinn

- After that is Taylor

- Then Declan

- And Kestrel's the shortest

- The Carpe Diem Society are all in a polyamorous relationship

- Taylor and Quinn are probably the most defensive of the six

- They all started to read a lot less following the Lost Pages event

- Both Arthur Wethersfield and Harold Argleston both develop an almost fatherly attachment to them following the LP Event

- Bentley doesn't have a label for his sexuality

- Quinn is a trans bisexual

- Carson is a he/they biromantic asexual

- Declan is pansexual

- Taylor is panromantic asexual

- Kestrel also doesn't have a specific label

(More potentially TBA)

[wolfw101]

Lost Pages Event Complete

Kestrel Blackstorm - Wizard City

Taylor Froghead - Krokotopia 

Declan Wyrmdust - Mooshu

Carson Spritetheif - Celestia

Quinn Legendbreaker - Avalon 

Bentley Daysong - Azteca

[wyrmdust]

Ilrygon Wyrmdust, Abjurer and Instructor of the Kirin Tor

(Truly blown away seeing Ilrygon brought to life like this. I couldn’t be happier with Xen0fiendz and their work, I highly recommend them!)

[mooshus]

the lost pages

The moment you defeat Kestrel Blackstorm, your eyes are opened. You see the world like spinning lines of code and text - you feel as if you touched a wall, it would open up and reveal your secrets.

You know how abnormal this is. You go to the School of Life - but even the finest graduates of Ravenwood’s theurgy courses cannot diagnose what’s wrong with you. They simply try their best, and in the end, dismiss it, and tell you to check-in as soon as possible.

Perhaps it is the - no, it could not be. That is not how the magic spreads.

So you go to Krokotopia, in hopes of finding answers from ancient magic and ancient creatures, hoping that they have some way of helping you. The Sergeant Major Talbot directs you to the fact that there are now Spellwrit Stalkers - bereft and high on this pedestal that the magic has placed them upon.

You defeat them, easily, though each time one of them crumbles to dust you feel a horrible aching inside as if you are doing something fundamentally wrong. But you are the saviour of the spiral, are you not? You saved billions upon billions of wizards and creatures. You can deal with a little disease.

Then you meet Taylor Froghead. She is harder to defeat than Kestrel, but you are strong. You defeat her.

Your sight gets worse. You are now, always, cold. You can no longer stand anywhere with fluorescent lights without them shattering overhead, as they seem to be attracted to your very presence. It startles you, but you do not care.

Mooshu seems the right place to go. You may heal your mind and you will train your spirit. You will clear this hellish movement from your soul. You accept Xun Zhao’s task - to defeat the Spellwrit Ronin. You meet Declan Wyrmdust, and you defeat him in battle. He is stronger than the others.

You remove the page from him without a second thought.

You move terribly slowly, afterwards. You have trouble feeling happiness and strength and trusting others. You are melancholic and unable to be consoled. It takes days for your best friend to convince you to travel to Celestia, in hopes that their magic, old as it is, can provide you some new, unfound strength. Its astral spells may hold a key to helping you become who you once were.

The Lost Pages, however, have infiltrated there. From Celestia, you travel to Avalon, and then to Azteca, where, although you have other duties, you must go to find a cure.

By the time you have completed the questing in Azteca, you can no longer see colour. The theurgists have nothing to say. The sorcerers are far too wary of you - they whisper in their tents and speak to Arthur Wethersfield about you, and talk about your energy, and the way you fit against the world.

The necromancers watch you, sombre. Knowing.

Soon, your thirst for power grows great - take them, kill them, they’re worthless. You have the power. You are strong enough.

You recall the book. Harold had told you that the reason that those students had been corrupted was because of the book, yes? They checked it out - and it filled them with hate and pain, and a desperate wish, a desperate want to destroy everything the Spiral has, through its six hosts.

Successfully, you eliminated the Carpe Diem Society’s role within this disaster. But what did you take onto yourself?

What was it about the Lost Pages that turned you into a monster?

[ecotone99]

[FN] Wyrmcloud

The sounds of raucous laughter, excessive drinking, and sheer horror assaulted Buluk from the large brush that hid his tall, muscled body. He gazed up and down the warlord Leerick’s camp, fresh with shackled victims of their latest raid. Buluk could only shake his head as they wailed in despair. This was dangerous country, deep in the heart of a nation literally named “The Wildlands.” Any village unable to defend themselves against a sorry camp of bandits and raiders out here was in for a terrible time.

The men laughed and cheered at their despair, shouting about their own plans of fun with their mostly female quarry before turning them over and filling their pockets with slaver coin. Buluk had other plans for the criminal scum, but for now his attention was elsewhere. His purpose lay somewhere in this camp, and giving a village of fools a second chance at life was such a pointless matter that he wouldn’t so much as consider it a priority, but rather a joyful opportunity to bring justice straight into the gut of the pathetic filth that ran this place.

His eyes followed the winding trails notched into the camp to a large, rounded tent on the edge of the campground, extensively decorated with the gang’s symbol of a broken chain, the skulls of large animals, and peppered with paintings and sketches of scenes and creatures depicting various kinds of violence. Upon closer inspection, Buluk was quite disgusted to spot that a few of the skulls were human. This was a brutal man leading brutal men across the country side, stealing and killing, killing and stealing. He flaunted his sadistic trophies proudly, and no doubt enjoyed the wealth obtained from raiding and slaving within his hellish monument.

Buluk took solace in knowing the warlord’s reign would end today. As a scroll hunter of Karvakia, he had strict rules to follow. He had finances, knowledge, and a trade to provide with masterful skill. It was what he was trained and raised to do; hunt. All with one objective in mind. No sidetracks, no distractions, nothing but his prey lay ahead. A folded piece of golden dragonstone. One of many scrolls given directly from the demigod known only as “The Cartographer.”

He had been tracking the scroll to a village across the countryside, ready to pay handsomely for it. As a law-abiding citizen of his people, the man he tracked the scroll to could have lived a comfortable life for the rest of his days. Unfortunately, he only found a corpse and a burnt village. This changed his code. Any man living outside of the laws of his people would have any of these scrolls wrenched from their cold, lifeless hands. Not a single coin, agreement, or deal would be given. It took a few long weeks of trailing their path of destruction, but there would be no more hiding now that Leerick was finally found.

Buluk took a slow, deep breath into his nose, taking in the scene around him. The pungent odor of a hundred bandits and their trademark lack of hygiene mixed terribly with the wet, earthly fragrance of this beautiful land. Amidst the scent, a power hung in the air. A sort of distinct taste. Magical strength lingering like an incense. The power of the scroll itself gave off an aroma that a rare few could detect. Even fewer of those individuals would be trained into scroll hunters like Buluk, who could track it right into the large, decorated tent of Leerick himself.

As he finished his moment, savoring the hunt to come, Buluk leapt forward and raced among the brush, cutting through the path he had been scouting. With all the excitement pumping through the returning raiders, now was his best opportunity. The drunkenness of victory and the adrenaline rush of a successful hunt was far stronger than the more literal drunkenness of celebration, when eyes would be scheduled to monitor the camp’s security.

Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be entirely easy, as a single glance at him would call the attention of the camp. The fair-skinned raiders with their filthy leathers would certainly notice the dark-skinned Karvakian weaving his way through their camp in his beautiful scroll hunter gear. His armor was a dazzling ensemble of polished white quicksilver, a rare metal forged with a secret only known by the elves and the Karvakians themselves, woven through perfectly polished leather, and inlaid with lines of bright gold and black steel, forming a sturdy yet light armor that offered strong protection against both magic and blade. The Karvakian symbol of a white and black quill on golden parchment gleamed, proudly emblazoned onto his chest. He spent a painstaking amount of time taking care of his superb garb, but he did have to cover the brighter pieces with mud to help him blend in with the nature around him.

He darted between crude tents and shelters, using their discarded broken barrels, general waste, and untended vines as cover. With his quick legs and honed senses, Buluk navigated his way past the murder-drunken fools to the side of Leerick’s tent without raising any alarm, though he did pause to stare at a large collection of empty containers lined with remnants of the rather uncommon drug “Wyrmdust” piled beside the tent. While the vices of choice might vary from place to place, outlaws always seemed to be the same drug addled filth no matter where in the world one traveled.

After one last shake of his head, he swiftly pulled out his quicksilver scimitar, cut a hole through the side of the tent, sheathed the blade, and slipped inside. All in one smooth, perfect motion. He was immediately assaulted with a strong scent of mixed chemicals. Buluk squinted his face and wrinkled his nose as he took in his surroundings.

As he expected, the tent was less of a home and more of a treasure pile. Warlords of these regions were vain and prideful. Leerick was clearly no exception. The walls were lined with trophies of the gang’s exploits; tattered paintings, removed pieces of stained architecture, and trinkets that seemed more shine and sentiment than value. What he did not expect was the lack of a bed. Instead at the center of the room was a pristine table filled with glass containers, strange measuring tools, burners, and other various pieces of chemical equipment.

It appeared that the tent was not a place to sleep after all, but rather a very ornate (to a warlord’s standards at least), private, airtight alchemy lab, personalized by Leerik and his eclectic trophies. It was indeed an unusual building for any bandit camp, but it certainly made sense. He could feed his clearly pervasive drug habit by independently making it himself, as well as keep the secrets of his scroll a bit safer from other bandits. After all, a drug addict working an alchemy lab was simply a time bomb waiting to go off. Even these fools knew that.

But his target would not be hidden away from Buluk. The runoff smells of whatever chemicals were used to make his drugs made it hard to detect the scroll by scent, but the strength that resided within the powerful piece of golden dragonstone could certainly be “felt” in here. He went straight for a lockbox sitting on the alchemy table, drawing a small dagger and picking the lock. It gave way with ease, and he slowly opened the lid, grinning like a young fool.

The golden scroll shone before him, so perfectly radiant that he could see his long face staring back at him with deep brown eyes. Black grooves of magic-absorbing ebony ore crossed in perfect, thin straight lines, making a randomized pattern of crisscrossing rectangles and squares. The beautifully blended decoration created a stable anchor of power where the words of a god could be written. He quickly scooped out the scroll and unfurled just enough to read the inscription at the bottom.

“The Cartographer”

Buluk shuddered as he read the inscription. He rubbed his thumb across the signature, feeling the cold silver writing inlaid into more dark ebony, creating a rich shadowed effect. It felt exquisite underneath his touch. His grin grew ever more childish as he held the beautifully engraved penmanship of divinity.

Not that anyone in Karvakia worshipped gods of any kind, but the power of The Cartographer’s knowledge was what fueled the advanced society of his people. The scrolls were truly perfect in any information they shared. Most of them were detailed maps of known and a few unknown worlds, but among the vast numbers of these truly marvelous charts were stories long lost, history wiped to the ages, future prophecies (many of which had come to pass perfectly as described), and crafting techniques allowing for monuments and feats of engineering exceeding the works of the known world had come to surface.

But the most terrifying, and the most exciting of all, were the engines and methods of war that had begun to trickle into the mix over the past few decades. Gunpowder had been the first of these developments, launching the world into a boom of the best kind of science; the kind that helps everyone kill each other. His heart beat quickened as he continued to unfurl the scroll, blood rushing in the excitement of what secrets this scroll held.

A warning flashed in his mind. He had what he came to this awful place for, and now he could leave. He should leave, finish what he came here to do, and avoid being caught. He scoffed at the notion. He could obliterate every single man of this camp with a hand behind his back. Even if Leerick himself stumbled in and forced Buluk to prove his mettle, there would be no small pleasure gained in making an example of criminals stealing treasure such as the one he held. With his mind set, He pulled the scroll open, and his mouth watered as he stared at the brilliant literature. Buluk greedily devoured the words before him, eager to see what glory and renown he would bring home.

Dread and horror crept into his chest as he read.

Those who worshiped The Cartographer made a great many claims about his character as a god. Claims of how he shares knowledge with the world, planting these scrolls to best advance society, while simultaneously sharing the wealth with those whose hearts were pure and would gain most from the value of such relics.

But there was nothing pure about the knowledge sprawled before him. This was a rare gem detailing a new kind of weapon. Specifically, a chemical weapon. An unnamed gas of horrifying potential created using many basic components and only one uncommon ingredient; Wyrmdust. He turned towards the entrance of the tent as he realized the screams of the stolen villagers had ceased.

The flap opened as a man slowly moved in, holding a large tube-shaped weapon attached to a cylindrical pack on his back, covered head to toe with thick leather and a large, beaked mask used by those doctors brave enough to try and treat breakouts of the plague. As Buluk stared, he understood a deeply recognized truth among his people. The cartographer held not a single care about the people of their world. Powers beyond mortal imagination had begun to surface through his word in the cruelest form possible; complete randomness. Utter chaos.

The weapon made an audible click, and a hissing sound filled the tent. Buluk tried to move, tried to retreat, but as hot air filled his lungs, he couldn’t so much as stop himself from falling to the floor. The screams of those he could no longer save echoed in Buluk’s head as a thousand nameless faces spun around the room, staring at Buluk hopelessly as the hunter fell. They echoed with his own screams as he watched the flesh fall from his outstretched hand.

​

first crack at posting a short story here, and I plan on writing many, many more. hope you guys enjoyed it!

submitted by /u/JBWhinery [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2I5zx1J

[victoria-moonhunter-thaumaturge]

A little something I noticed about the Lost Pages dialogue, whenever Harold Argleston is telling you to talk to Wethersfield

For Kestrel:

For Taylor:

For Carson:

For Quinn:

For Bentley:

For Declan, for some fucking reason:

In case you missed it:

I just thought it was interesting that he specifically tells you to bring Declan home safe. Like I figured that was kinda already a thing I was supposed to be doing, but thanks man.

[victoria-moonhunter-thaumaturge]

More Carpe Diem Society/Lost Pages HCs!

- Bentley, Boris Tallstaff, and Argleston all blame themselves for the event to some degree

- As the leader, Bentley feels that he should've been able to do something

- Boris mostly just feels bad about misfiling the book

- Argleston feels he should've noticed before the Society grabbed the book

- Bentley remembers nothing of what he did

- Kestrel remembers everything

- The others remember varying amounts

- Declan puts up a positive façade around others

- The only people he drops said façade around are the rest of the Society, and Librarian Argleston

- Boris would never admit how much he worried about the others

- Each member apologizes to whoever gives the quest in-game

- Only a couple people know about their relationship

- Those people include Boris, Simeon, Argleston, and Wethersfield

[victoria-moonhunter-thaumaturge]

Powers from the Above AU Notes

Wizard101, Carpe Diem Society AU

They all wear something connected to their death

Kestrel wears a raincoat

Taylor wears a torn scarf

Idk what Declan wears

Carson wears a pair of gardening gloves

Idk what Quinn wears

Idk what Bentley wears

Bentley dies first, burns to death

Quinn dies next, god knows how

Then Carson, who ate pokeberries (those are poisonous btw)

Then Declan, who got ill (from a fungus) after taking shelter in a tomb

Then Taylor, who froze to death

Lastly Kestrel, who was struck by lightning

August 26th was the date this all happened

Every year, on August 26th, they relive the effects of their death

Bentley begins feeling very warm

Quinn becomes extremely paranoid

Carson begins coughing up blood

Declan chokes on fungus

Taylor becomes incredibly cold

Kestrel experiences excruciating pain, especially in her left shoulder

Bentley and Taylor end up with slightly naturally higher and lower body temps, respectively

Kestrel generally conducts a lot of static electricity

All of them ended up in the hospital

Taylor got out first

Quinn was second

Kestrel was third

Carson was fourth

Declan was fifth

Bentley was sixth, by a significant margin

Arthur Wethersfield is their team manager, and Bentley's adoptive father

They end up breaking up for several years

(Both the performing group, and their relationship)

Declan and Carson remain together

Declan keeps the skeleton of his pet cat, Mr. Puddles (reanimated and acting like a normal cat, ofc)

Bentley is the first person to leave, due to stress

More TBA! This AU is heavily under development!

[victoria-moonhunter-thaumaturge]

Kestrel: My boyfriend is too tall for me to kiss him on the lips. What should I do?

Declan: Punch him in the stomach. Then when he doubles over in pain, kiss him.

Taylor: Tackle him.

Quinn: Dump him.

Carson: Kick him in the shins.

Bentley: NO TO ALL OF THOSE! JUST ASK ME TO LEAN DOWN!

[victoria-moonhunter-thaumaturge]

[Image ID: Two images of the six members of the Carpe Diem Society photoshopped onto pride flags, the colors of which are picked from them. The first one is the six-stripe rainbow flag, the second is the progress pride flag. End ID]

Rainbow and Progress flags color-picked from the Carpe Diem Society