🔸🏰🔸 Mage Story Prompt 1:
After the strangest dream, Erys woke up with a raccoon in their satchel.
He wriggled right out, a very heavy carrot in his mouth, and said: “Hello, my name is Charles.” And that was that. After the disastrous banquet they had catered recently, Charles’ constant companionship was a welcome change from the stew of self-hatred they’d been tending to. Their benefactor had been true to his word: no one could put a name to the small chef who had directed the kitchen staff. It didn’t change the fact they looked at all of their new dishes glumly, found even their most favorite snacks tasteless, and all pleasure they usually derived from eating turned to sawdust in their mouth.
Charles insisted today would be different. Today would be better. Grumbling, but wishing desperately to taste something once more, Erys set off into the heart of Faline. The bustling market usually had some attractive looking fresh produce and today boasted some very fine radishes, huge heads of cauliflower, and some thin, dark-skinned zucchini. Lost in thought trying to plan their next meal (which would finally taste good, be delicious and satisfying, not cause their stomach to clench with anxiety and disgust for themselves), Erys almost didn’t hear the growing murmurs from a few stalls down. From where he was perched on Erys’ back, Charles urgently tugged their ear and pulled their head around to look, his little fist trembling as he pointed. “We ought to get outta here,” he hissed.
The Witchfinder was lost amongst the crowd until Erys peered around and between some bystanders' legs. She was a small thing, incredibly furry, some kind of Shetland cross. Huge round glasses dwarfed her face and a hat that looked like a sleeping cap with a comically long tail was wrapped around her neck like a scarf. The tiny mare was writing furiously. “Impossible! Impossible! These must have been grown with magic,” she shrieked. A few baleful sheep behind her, potentially members of the guard from the way they were appointed, stood at half-attention.
“I swear, miss! Not a single member of the family is a mage, I’ve actually never - “ The earnest vegetable peddler replied before being cut off again. “SILENCE! I’VE NEVER SEEN POTATOES THIS LARGE!” The pony wailed.
Oooh! I’ve gotta see these potatoes. Erys zigged and zagged, wriggled and waggled, until they crept up to the front of the audience that had formed. Okay, the potatoes were pretty big, but they just looked lovingly tended to.
“I WON’T REPOSSESS ALL OF YOUR GOODS IF YOU SIMPLY SHOW ME PROOF OF YOUR - OR YOUR FAMILY’S - ORDER MEMBERSHIP.” How did she project her voice like that? She was so little.
This was so foolish. Erys had seen countless potatoes in their lifetime, in fact, and these fell completely in line with naturally grown and harvested vegetables. If they wanted to, they could create something monstrously large and unnatural. Two saddlebags hung from their shoulders, one carrying a canteen of water and the other a satchel of flour, some salt and spices, and a larger, empty bag that they used as a cover for where the food they created would be “grown.” As the conflict grew, Erys thought absently about just how large of a potato they could summon. They'd never tried it before, mostly because the bigger something got, typically the less flavor it had. The corner of their empty satchel began to quietly swell and grow heavy, straining towards the ground, as if it was being filled from the inside.
“Excuse me,” they said, their voice a bit nasal and high. This would show the crowd who the real potato expert was. “I’m a chef. I’ve seen plenty of potatoes in my career, and these fall perfectly within the bounds of naturally grown and harvest - “ Charles scampered down Erys’ back and hid behind their legs completely in plain sight.
“EXCUSE ME? EXCUSE YOU!”
TWC: 637
+6 for base word count
+1 magic use
+1 world-specific
+1 familiar
9(*2 event)=
18 total
🔸🏰🔸 Mage Story Prompt 2: Your Mage Intervenes.
This is about to get bloody. Your mage tries to de-escalate the situation nonviolently; the accused Hidden Mage will have to fend for themself.
“YOU ARE A LIAR. OR… YOU HAVE ALSO SEEN - OR PERHAPS CREATED ?! - WRETCHED, CURSED FOOD!”
Erys’ mouth twisted around their teeth in a strange grimace, torn between a shy smile and the look you make when you realize oh, I’ve broken a bone, and yes that is my bone sticking out of my skin where it does not belong. Charles gritted his teeth so loud it was audible. Some of the bystanders audibly wretched at the idea of eating food that had been touched by magic, others simply tittered. What an absurd idea! Erys flicked their ears in annoyance. “No, I’m not saying that at all!” They’d learn enough in their little time in Ivras to lie lie lie about magic if you weren’t a card-carrying Order member.
For a moment they wished so strongly to be home in Siregal cooking dinner for their parents that they imagined the fragrant spices and steam clouding their face, making their eyes water - but they were simply beginning to cry out of frustration. Charles awkwardly petted their knee from where he still crouched and Erys resisted the urge to kick him square in the chest. They were on the verge of having a full-blown tantrum. As their rage marinated they continued to think, I’ll show you a big fucking potato, I’ll show you the biggest stupid root vegetable you’ve ever fucking seen you idiot you’ve never seen a potato before you absolute moron… and on and on. The satchel that hung at their neck sagged noticeably, but the benefit of being so small was that others often chose to look over the top of your head (for better or worse).
All of the anger, frustration, and homesickness was too much. In Siregal, crowds would clamor for enchanted foods. Ivras would rather eat dirt. Silence rippled through the crowd as onlookers waited to see if the Witchfinder would press the issue. Some of them bore the scars from the recent destruction of their capital and they were eager for any kind of retribution. Others saw the scene a different way: two tiny creatures, one menacing the other to tears.
TWC: 334
+3 for base word count
+1 magic use
+1 world-specific
+1 familiar
6(*2 event)=
12 total
🔸🏰🔸 Mage Story Prompt 3: Your Mage makes peace.
The mood of the crowd shifts subtly. Passersby begin to move away, starting at the back of the crowd. The mood in Faline wasn’t so rancorous that they would take the tears of a bullied little creature in favor of real retribution. Of course, there were sneers as well. What kind of small-minded baby fell to pieces in front of the guard, especially if they had nothing to hide? “I just mean… I’m a cook. I know a lot about vegetables,” Erys was nearly mewling now, almost astonished at how pathetic they sounded. Charles closed his eyes and clasped his little hands together, hoping they would be allowed to escape without penalty.
The Witchfinder looked at them with eyes that alternated a grandmotherly pity and schoolyard bully disgust. “Child, move along. There are more important matters to attend to. I’m sure you’re a good little chef,” the pony demurred. She coughed lightly, turning back to the vendor that had originally been accosted. “You! On the other hand…” Furious, Erys’ blinked back more tears as their belligerent thoughts raced on: YOU COMPLETE DUNCE. I’LL SHOW YOU BIG POTATOES. I’LL SHOW YOU ALL BIG POTATOES, YOU’VE NEVER SEEN A POTATO LIKE THIS…
Ready to give up and seethe somewhere privately (plus, they were famished), Erys tried to turn but the townsfolk weren’t ready to leave yet. They were hungry for something as well, some kind of action. The political upheaval had reached a tipping point. If there wasn’t open arguing in the streets, it was groups gathered like this: slaverous onlookers, jeering crowds circled around someone made out to be an unfortunate spectacle. The mood of the town was oppressively heavy, as if a political campaign could be measured like humidity. It clung to everyone and everything, a thin film that sat on top of your skin and seemed to pass through your pores until it lived in your blood. Faline fell asleep thinking about and obsessively counting uncast ballots and woke up wishing for revenge. No matter who won, someone (everyone) lost.
When they tried to pass onward through the forest of legs they were met with resistance. Scuttling nervously towards the only opening - passing behind the vendor’s stall which abutted an alley that joined to the next sidestreet - Erys made their disgraceful exit with Charles in tow. They shuffled around the open mouth of carnivorous parentheses that the crowd formed facing the Witchfinder, her guards, and the accused. Finally they were able to sidestep around the ramshackle wooden stall offering perfectly normal sized potatoes.
The crowd began jeering again once Erys crept out of view behind the clapboard vegetable stall. Their face burned with shame, but their mind was still thrumming with thoughts of potatoes. Charles had scrambled back up to straddle their back, burying his soft white face into Erys’ neck. “We’ll get ‘em soon, champ!”
“Shut up, Charles,” they muttered.
The sack that had now begun to sway pendulously reached critical mass and unfurled the loosely tied knot that had kept it secured around their neck. With a thunk, a 25lb, oddly symmetrical potato hit the ground and rolled back towards the crowd. Erys let out a strangled noise, pride mixed with oh shit and sugar, I really did that. They hadn't really meant to do anything at all, had only meant to privately ponder potatoes, and yet here it was: an abominable potato. The potato entered the fray from seemingly behind the vegetable stand, as if it may have tumbled out of a sack of other wares brought to market by the accused, and was met with curses, screams, and jostling:
“I SEE IT! IT’S HUGE!”
“THAT’S UNNATURAL!”
“OH, I THINK I MIGHT PUKE - “
“Quick, grab it! I’ll pay you to take a bite, just one bite!”
And finally, the pony Witchfinder had her man. “ARREST HIM!” She bellowed. One guard lurched first towards the potato before a withering glare had him redirecting his weapons and ire towards the accused hidden mage. Once the dangerous vegetablemancer was subdued, they turned to leave. “Hey! Don’t leave that out in public,” she hissed towards the fool guard who had nearly arrested a potato. “Carry it along now. The whole way back to Namarast. If you drop it, I’m forcing you to eat it in one sitting.” With a heavy sigh, the guard hefted the huge potato and brought up the rear, trudging out of the market towards the pitted and well-traveled road to Namarast. “Every time you stop to rest, take a bite!” The Witchfinder called over her shoulder. “Idiot…”
TWC: 734
+7 for base word count
+1 magic use
+1 world-specific
+1 familiar
10(*2 event)=
20 total