"How terribly strange it is ... to be anything at all."

Vignette

The witch's apprentice wakes in the predawn darkness to an eerie silence. He knows instinctually that his teacher is gone, but not to where. Since he was a child, his days have been meticulously planned out for him -- fetch this, scribe that, pluck and sing and thread -- and then suddenly, without warning, there is only time.For three days, he skulks aimlessly through the house: through her workshop with its shelves of cloudy tinctures and extracts and elixers, its half-finished poppets, its spells woven into needle-and-thread; through her Chamber of Reflection where the shadows cling to you longer than natural; through her library and its half-decaying bookshelves and dry-rot where he spends most of his time doing what he's always wanted to: reading.Eventually, though, the pantry's stocks begin to dwindle and he must venture into the great, wild woods around their home to forage for food. This is unlike her, he knows. She would have informed him, or left a note if she was in a hurry, and yet the days stretch on carrying no sign of her and with each one an uneasy restlessness grows.After the eleventh day, he gathers his supplies for his journey: the grimoires he knows, a few he does not but has always wanted to know; the staff he and his teacher had fashioned together for himself and etched with subtle enchantments; his thick, roughly-fashioned, lovingly-worn robes and wide-brimmed, pointed hat to keep the weather at bay and mark him a sage of the world; and whatever else he can fit on his person. He locks the door, first with key and then with whispers and commands, and steps out onto the old road travelled only by two sets of feet for years, wondering as he does, if either of those sets will ever make it back again.

Qiqyat the Horsefly

Curse-Arm of Ada the Gilded Guest

At a Glance

See the Horsefly as he is: small; always stooped and skulking, always scurrying, rarely still; big fluffy tail; so big, much fluff; a crooked nose, broken some ten years ago, never set back quite right; dirt always under his uneven nails; small hands, covered in calluses; pale hair and gold eyes; fluffy hair and owlish eyes; seldom-blinking; dressed in woodland rags; a ratty shawl of fox fur over one shoulder; an old, pointed shepherd’s hat, frumpy and threadbare, capstoned in gold, etched with sigils; a couple whittling knives stuffed into his belt; pouches upon satchels upon bags, stitched by his own hands; a chatelaine of keys, talismans, and various smaller, specialised tools and measuring devices hanging from his neck; a blackthorn shillelagh hung from a strip of rawhide on one side of his hip; and a poppet tacked to the other with a needle made of bone stuck in its shoulder; hollow yet heavy as lead, and is the needle humming?

Personality & Themes

A bumbling, troublesome, and long-unsupervised apprentice; known for a spot of mischief; obsessed with weird creatures and finding every scrap of magic he can find; means well but doesn’t always understand property; prolific scavenger, even from the living; might steal your spellbook the moment you look away; “legitimate salvage”; sprites often gravitate towards and orbit ponderously around him; play pranks on him; and others; magic as folklore; as mythical and mystical; as a softer, more intuitive system that, yeah, 'just works'.Obscure, fae-like capriciousness; might trick, deceive, torment, charm, or mislead you if mistrustful; or if he wants to get to know you; but dreadfully shy and dangerously earnest at his core; soft-hearted and helpful; more bonobo than chimpanzee; thoughtless hand-holder; a sense of wonder and melancholy in equal measure; a quiet yearning to belong anywhere and a loud certainty that he doesn't.

Wheelhouse

Following the Fool's Flame

A mote of sprite-fire drifts through the air - maybe no one told you that you aren't supposed to follow them, or maybe this one just seems especially playful and insistent, but either way, you let it lead you through the trees to a glade - to the plinths that the boy is reading on, or reading about.

Zzzt

You’re minding your own business when you hear the static discharge and thunderclap of spatial relocation magic. You investigate and find a miqo’te standing in your living room and scratching his head while muttering something like: “Huh. More aetherial drift? Teacher needs to be better about routinely calibrating her anchors…”

Near-Death Experiences

Was it venom or bad mushrooms or a mean, bloody wound? Either way, you were going to die today, except fate had other plans for you, and as your vision begins to turn bleary, you notice a small, unassuming figure crouching next to you. "Not today," he says, as you descend into darkness. You wake up somewhere else, in his care.

A Literal Stray Cat

You find a cat and decide to take it home. Maybe you have it for a few days or a few weeks, but one evening you find not a cat, but a catboy rummaging through your pantry. What then?

Likes

Dislikes

Miscellany