Blizz

Avengers Academy: X of Swords ⚔️

Leah Jordan

---

Location: The Kingston-Gray House
Gear:
Skills:

---

---

"We are not playing Spin the Bottle," Leah said, agreeing with others. "If you want to kiss someone, just say so. And not me, by the way." She didn't know Gideon well enough for that, and there were two people in that room who were allowed to kiss her, one of which wasn't about to for any conceivable reason. The other probably would, despite all the people in the room. Hell, that would probably motivate her. And she definitely didn't want to kiss anyone else in this room. So that one was just not happening, thankfully. Leah didn't know what Mafia was, or Werewolf or most of those suggestions were. She had never done this sort of thing, being at someone else's house and playing games like there wasn't something important to do. It was hard to picture kids actually doing this regularly. Why? what was the fun in it? Just making each other cringe with embarrassment?

She had no idea how to play and of those.

And, unfortunately, she got the general premise of the one Sabine suggested. Fuck Marry Kill. Leah was sitting next to her, and gave the shorter girl one of her usual Confused Leah Expressions™️ that she often gave about this stuff. Captain Marvel, Vision and Doctor Strange?

She thought about it. She thought about it a lot.

”If I had to pick… I’d rather fuck Vision, because he’s a robot made of metal and least likely to die from it out of the three; Marry Captain Marvel, because then I can divorce her and marry Sabine instead. Maybe. And kill Strange, because I’m not losing a fight to a snobby wizard who runs around wearing a magic red bed sheet like a cheap Halloween look.”

Camp Athens - Closed

Azariah Willow Child of Hecate * Bar

Two people, one after another, making not so subtle moves on Azariah. That was fun, plenty of mischief between these two. Though, he had already had his fair share of physical exercise for one night. And with someone such as Chariselle, it was hard to top that. (Actually, it was very easy, but that’s neither here nor there.) He felt just a little bored by the advances. Did he mind them? Not remotely. But variety was spicy too. He needed something new and interesting. Was everyone just trying to fuck and be fucked right now? Indifferent, or perhaps apathetic to whatever the fuck else was hornily happening at this whoredom, Azariah swiped a fresh bottle from behind the counter, when no one was looking, and poured another shot. Then he sat it back down. "I don't know who anyone at this gathering is, dear thing, but I have to admit, there's a fine line between passion and whatever they're doing over there," He said. "There are more than enough rooms around this place, they could at least show a small amount of subtlety." And there was zero subtlety of any kind in his voice. He was bored of pleasures found in the flesh for the moment.

"Well, I for one am glad you did. It doesn't seem like it's going to be boring here, if that was any indication. I'm no prude, but I think fun times like that should be...intimate. Don't you think love?"

"Far be it from me to rebuke an expert." Azariah slid the bottle closer her way. "Careful, now. It's strong. You seem fun, Lily. I'm sure we'll see each other tomorrow." He half-expected them to run off, hands entwined, drinking every last drop of it on the way to whatever place they'd be fucking in for the next few hours.

Marlen Ross Child of Apollo * Bar

Marlen cracked open the water bottle, and without noticing the look of blatant unamusement on the bartender's face. Or, if they did happen to notice it... They didn't seem to care. Marlen stuck their thumb over the hole where the lid just was, and gave the whole bottle a swirl. A vigorous one, at that, and then they tipped it upside down, into their mouth. Rather than just take a drink from it like an ordinary, sane and normal person, a tiny whirlpool formed in the bottle, keeping it from sloshing out as water usually did. They didn't even seem to swallow a gulp of it, it just went down their throat with all the ease of water going down the side of a fucking gutter. The amount of time it took to pick up the water bottle and unscrew the lid was about as much time as it took Marlen to empty the damn thing.

"I needed that. Thanks," They said, before turning around and launching the bottle like a basketball perfectly into a trash can from a distance.

Marlen was about to consider talking Mister Scruff's ear off, then the guy next to him decided to shoot a shot. At least... It seemed like he was with the look on his face. And, of course, most of the bar was about like that. Man, was Marlen the only one sober here? Crazy.

"Say.... is this a regular thing? Big parties like this?"

"This is a party?" Marlen asked, as if they had any business inserting themselves into a conversation. "Thought this was just a bar. Do people drink like this every day, here? I wouldn't know, since I just showed up."

Avengers Academy: X of Swords ⚔️

what

Avengers Academy: X of Swords ⚔️

Leah Jordan

---

Location: The Kingston-Gray House
Gear:
Skills:

---

---

”I got…” Leah held up hers. All infinity of them, in one glass. ”This fucking thing. Told one of them I never had one, since I don’t really drink stuff like. Then he snapped his fingers and left this for me. It’s everything. I dunno how. Magic or something.” Leah took another sip from it, and it tasted like… Rocks on a road? Yeah, that was tolerable.

Leah noticed that look Vicky gave her. Except she didn’t register why. Given the fact that she was a little busy ensuring someone hadn’t been killed, actually calling for Miss Robot wasn’t immediately feasible. Besides, it turned out to been a fluke caused by magic. Which could kill her, if Leah remembered right.

”Nemo? I knew he wasn’t actually dead. But… What happened up there?” She asked her girlfriend. Stepping a little closer to Sabine, she put an arm around her and kept it there. ”I figured you’d all be busy for an hour. That was barely ten minutes. And what was that shouting about? I don’t really know how necromancy stuff works.” They were all looking pretty rough.

And then Sabine explained it. She used her powers on one of them, and it went poorly. Shit.

They probably hated her? Oh, hell no. If they had a problem with Sabine, they had a problem with Leah. She could probably blow the door off and get Sabine to the hotel and alert Vision quick enough that they couldn't hurt her. Or what if they could teleport? No, she could just do that thing where she-

Sabine pulled away again, and was back upstairs before Leah could shut her damn brain off.

Several seconds passed where she was just standing there, around the rest of them, gears turning in her head.

"...What in the fuck?" Leah didn't even know she could have bad moments like that. Shit, she had them too, but... Fuck. Shit. Damn, she was feeling real jittery all of a sudden, and she already felt jittery in some way or another tonight by just being in this house. What were they gonna do with her? Or... What would they do to her?!

Okay. Okay. Calm the fuck down. You're doing it again.

She'll be fucking fine. They wouldn't hurt one of us. And if they tried, she could kill them faster than you could punch them.

You're overthinking. It'll be okay. Stop acting jumpy.

Leah took in a deep, deep breath as quietly as she could. Then she held it and let it go.

And then someone scared the fucking shit out of her.

When Max and Sabine teleported in with a black hole, it almost made Leah jump out of her skin. The glass she had miraculously didn't get flung across the room, and she froze up for half a second before realizing who they were.

"Whatinthegoddamnfucking- Oh. It's just you." Sabine seemed okay. That was great. That didn't last nearly as long as Leah's hyperactive brain had expected. She held the glass up, that she was still consuming copious amounts of shaken milk from. "You gave me... What, a thousand? They're all pretty okay, mostly- Thanks, by the way. Sabine, look at this thing. It's magic. I'm drinking magic, he put everything in it, and somehow none of it's blurred together. It's different every time."

She took another sip from it, and that time, her eyes widened. It tasted like vanilla.

She glanced down at the glass, then back at Max. Then at Sabine. Then at Max, then the glass.

And then, she sloooowly turned her head around and looked at Ben. "That's not worth $100."

New Here!

<Snipped quote by Blizz>

Ohhh whaddup. Glad to see you in this space.

@Chellizard

Yeah lmao I’ve been here like a decade

New Here!

I didn't expect to see you here. Hi lol

Redacted indeed. I played Stareater over there if you remembered that one.

Camp Athens - Closed

Marlen Ross Child of Apollo * Camp Entrance

The conversation around the bonfire didn’t really go anyway. Perhaps Marlen had simply ran their mouth too much, or made an ass of themselves by admitting how little they knew. Or maybe the unsolicited ukulele was the nail. Either way, the vibe seemed to shift mere moments after River left. Some people just couldn't keep up a conversation, or handle the slightest nudge beyond their comfort zone, and that was okay. Some people just couldn't handle food seasoned with more than table salt, either. Marlen lingered in that spot for a moment, and began to notice something... Where the heck was everyone? There were more people bouncing around this way and that earlier, not so many now. They weren't all going home, and apparently there was something happening at midnight that kept people awake that long, so clearly something was afoot.

Marlen like it when something was afoot. They also liked finding out what.

So they stood up and tossed the ukulele into the bonfire. When the fires engulfed it, it vanished from sight. Not burned, not ruined, not turned into ash, just gone. They noted a person or two heading off in yonder direction, so that was where they headed next. The warmth of the fire trailed away and replace with the cold again. Things seemed quiet, for a place like this. Marlen half expected people to be scampering around every square inch, but it appeared people were just flocking into groups as people tended to do. Marlen didn't know most or even any of them, really. People were... Well, people.

As far as they could tell, the bar was where people were, right now. Marlen wasn't a big alcohol enjoyer, but, hey, it was a big night. So they slid up to a corner of the bar and caught a scruffy-looking dude handling shots and bottles. As one did, behind the counter. This place was pretty damn packed, actually. It seemed that the vast majority of these demigod kids were gonna enter the new year on their asses with a glass held high for the moon. After all, what better way to christen a new chapter of one's life than to wake up on the first of January, with a raging hangover and a spontaneous regret for all those resolutions?

Marlen took a seat next to someone who wasn't sat down.

"Hey, bar-man," They greeted. "What's a fella gotta do around here to get some water around here?"

Strange Academy: Journey into Mystery

---

_Rohan
Rohan

^{"I'll figure things out. I always do."}

---

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________

C H A R A C T E R P E R S O N A L I T Y C H A R A C T E R P E R S O N A L I T Y _________________________________________________________ | Creative | Jumpy | _________________________________________________________ | Calculated | Friendly | _________________________________________________________ | Thoughtful | Exhausted | C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Character Info Full Name: Jiro Tadashi N/A Aliases: Rohan Birth Place: Japan Age: 19 Birthday: October 9th Gender: Male Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Unknown Build: Skinny Body Modifications: Petrified wood around his ribs and chest. Habits: Staring at trees, hoarding tools. Hobbies: Camping, woodcarving, reading. Social Handle: treewizard Medical History: Magically induced seasonal hypersomnia and insomnia. During most of the year, Rohan physically cannot fall asleep. During winter, he has a difficult time staying awake. Rohan doesn’t have blood running through his veins. He has tree sap. ► Fears Wildfires Loss of humanity Heights ► Toxic Traits Vindictive Conniving ► Likes Coffee Early mornings Hiking Quiet Nature Dogs ► Dislikes Sudden noises Fires Snow Monsters Deforestation Violence - A B I L I T I E S A B I L I T I E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M A G I C & S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Magic Source: Cursed by a malevolent spirit known as Namiki. Type: Natural Artifice. Rohan channels his curse into natural materials derived from a tree to create magical items. ► Grimoire Find Familiar: Rohan's familiar is a wooden owl that springs to life from a small charm, named Root. Mountain Scepter: A walking staff made of rowan wood, which staves off malignant magical affects when used. Churchwarden's Seal: A ring of yew that provokes the undead when worn, drawing them in from nearby through an unspoken challenge. Wallbiter: Made from tembusu wood, arrows fired from this bow are quickly enchanted to loudly break through magical barriers. Spirit Hallows: Containers made from oak that can bind an immaterial entity within, when its image is carved into the side. Mask of Other Things: A mask made from ritually purified bog wood, that lets its wearer see mystical forces that are not normally visible. Flamepitch: Tree sap suffused with cursed magic for three days and three nights, which causes it to burn demonic things as if they were struck with burning napalm. ► Skills limit 10 total points - things such as video editing and boxing go here, list them out Outdoor Living +2 Stealth +2 Bladed Weapon Fighting +2 Archery +2 Mundane First Aid +2 ► Languages English and Japanese ► Possessions Phone Earbuds Journal with a pen clipped to the front Old knife Multitool Flip lighter Cord bracelet Pouch filled with roasted cashews One-handed longsword, from Connie Metal water bottle - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T I N G N O T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Relationship Notes Connie: She was one of the first people Rohan got to know when he showed up, and the first to learn that his magic came from a humanity-eating curse. They get along well, and he once made her a longbow that doesn't actually do anything magical, but is pretty damn sturdy. Finley: Rohan has had his fair share of tricks played on him by old things already. He sees Finley as someone who's had centuries to perfect the arts of shenanigans and fuckery, and never rules out the possibility that they're saying nothing when they're saying a lot. They're reason number one for why he carries a sword around with him wherever he goes. Nicholas: Slightly easier company to get along with than his brother, given the lack of mindbending magic. Nicky makes a decent cup of high-caffeine bean juice, and their interests align. Though, for his own safety, Rohan doesn't let the guy go into the woods with him, so they don't talk that much. Bartholomew: Rohan's been inside the Neverish once or twice, mainly during Winter, and he always has his Mountain Scepter in arm's reach just in case one of those jackasses tries to fuck him. He seems okay, for a hedonistic immortal. The guy makes coffee good enough for Rohan to see past it. Callaghan: Rohan isn't a fan of the flirty people around the school. It's not what he's here for and it's not who he is. Cal, being that and someone who turns into a fire-breathing monster, means Rohan keeps the guy at arm's length. The fire thing, he could work around. After all, he's not completely made of wood yet, but it's just obnoxious being around horny people so much. ► Important Posts Note/Link Note/Link -

---

C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y
C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y

[+]

Once upon a time, there was a kid named Jiro Tadashi. He lived in the countryside of Japan where people were superstitious to a fault, and for good reason. Just over a hill and down a long road, their town led into a place they called the Forest of Ghosts. From a young age as a kid, they always told him to never cross the hill, and that if he really had to for some reason, to only ever do so at midday. Not morning, not evening. Only when the sun was highest over his head.

The elders of his village told Jiro that if he ever walked into those woods, no one would look for him. They’d just assume he was dead.

One day, he started hearing whispers and odd noises past the hill, and so the young boy snuck out in the middle of the night. He went into the Forest of Ghosts. He set foot in a place where none should go, and the second he turned around, he was lost. The forest had him, and those odd whispers became a laughter.

A rabbit ran along the forest floor and stopped to stand on its back legs, and it stared at Jiro. Flowers bent themselves into crooked shapes to slow him down. Moss crept closer when he wasn’t looking, and every time he stopped to get his bearings, he could’ve sworn the trees were moving to follow him.

That was when he realized his mistake. And it was too late.

The longer he stayed in that place, the worse it got. In an hour, there were eyes forming out of the bark in the trees, and corpses started to emerge out of the forest floor to mock his decisions. Jiro walked for what felt like literal weeks, never finding the edge of that place, but always finding something else. He always found something more to walk through and hide in, no matter how far he walked. The place defied logic, it was cursed and as far from natural as one could understand. The Forest of Ghosts seemed to be normal from the outside, but once you were in there, it was a whole other world. You could walk into a valley of beautiful flowers, and the second you touched one, they would grab you and drag you down beneath a mile of dirt. Even the animals that were otherwise prey watched Jiro with the intent to kill him, whispering and stalking him at every opportunity.

Running for his life for so long that time stopped mattering, always looking over his shoulders to keep an eye on how much the trees moved and watching every last crease in the bark in case eyes started growing out of them changed the boy. There came a point when he started thinking like a prey animal more than he did a human being. He never slept more than minutes at a time, always moving again the moment he heard Namiki whispering on the winds. Jiro eventually got good at living like this. He carried rocks and broke them into the shapes of spearheads, using them to gut the rabbits that smiled rictus grins at him. He gouged out the eyes in the grass, and bled them dry when he didn't trust river water to be just water. Jiro packed his wounds full of moss that cackled quiet as a whisper when he wasn't looking, and tore out the throats of deer that tried to eat him alive, with nothing but his teeth.

In time, he found his way to the very heart of the forest, following the whispers that made the birds go quiet. The woods got so deep that a cloudless midday sun couldn't light the ground up. With a torch made of twine and dead leaves, Jiro walked in and found the monster that had perverted this place.

Namiki, the dead thing older than swords. Buried long before men invented firearms. A monster in the form of a tree, gaunt limbs, a face hewn out of bark and mired with lichen. He was a malevolent trickster, calcified by time and so much spite for the ones who imprisoned him in the woods, that it remained here.

The one thing it couldn't control in this forest was fire, so Namiki burned. And Jiro ran as he had run so many times since coming here. The fire spread in ways it shouldn't, turning the sky to grey and twisting over every rock and river running through the Forest of Ghosts. When the smoke became so thick that there was no more air to breathe, no matter how hard the boy ran, Jiro was swallowed up by it. It got inside his lungs and down into his soul, and it just wouldn't leave. It seeped into skin and left a void behind that life would spring from. Where wrong things would inevitably originate.

Namiki had his fun with Jiro, and now came the last laugh.

He felt the last gasp of the flowers. He heard the screams coming from every root and blade of grass. He saw the falling tears of the leaves that would never feel the sun again. It was as if a monster had reached into the parts of Jiro that made him who he was, grabbed them, and twisted. It distorted him, and something foundational to the human soul was left behind in that place.

The change labelled Jiro an enemy of the natural world, by something that couldn’t be further from natural itself. Everywhere he went, if nature had more authority than man, everything from prey to the very grass would rise up to hunt him until his last breath. Even after he left the forest, things had changed at home. He found that no one recognized him at first. Some people seemed older. Not by much, but they had a few creases in their face that he didn’t remember, or their hair was a few shades lighter from age. When they realized he had set the forest ablaze, the people put two and two together and attacked him. Viciously.

Jiro didn’t stop moving for weeks, and he eventually found his way to the coast, where he decided he still had to keep going. He used a knife made from bones and rocks to carve trees and driftwood into a raft, and then found that the raft had something magical about it. He didn’t question it until he was floating across the Pacific Ocean, when only three days passed before he hit dry land.

A teenager showed up to Strange Academy one day, covered in scars and smelling like blood and moss. He called himself Rohan, and nothing more. The boy demonstrated a magical gift for imbuing power into objects made from wood, and professed an interest in learning to hone that gift. In time, he eventually began researching curses and the tolls they took on mortal souls, hoping to find some measure of balance between it and his humanity.

He still hasn’t found it. But he’s trying.

Strange Academy: Journey into Mystery

---

_Rohan
Rohan

^{"I'll figure things out. I always do."}

---

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________

C H A R A C T E R P E R S O N A L I T Y C H A R A C T E R P E R S O N A L I T Y _________________________________________________________ | Creative | Jumpy | _________________________________________________________ | Calculated | Friendly | _________________________________________________________ | Thoughtful | Exhausted | C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Character Info Full Name: Jiro Tadashi N/A Aliases: Rohan Birth Place: Japan Age: 19 Birthday: October 9th Gender: Male Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Unknown Build: Skinny Body Modifications: Petrified wood around his ribs and chest. Habits: Staring at trees, hoarding tools. Hobbies: Camping, woodcarving, reading. Social Handle: treewizard Medical History: Magically induced seasonal hypersomnia and insomnia. During most of the year, Rohan physically cannot fall asleep. During winter, he has a difficult time staying awake. Rohan doesn’t have blood running through his veins. He has tree sap. ► Fears Wildfires Loss of humanity Heights ► Toxic Traits Vindictive Conniving ► Likes Coffee Early mornings Hiking Quiet Nature Dogs ► Dislikes Sudden noises Fires Snow Monsters Deforestation Violence - A B I L I T I E S A B I L I T I E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M A G I C & S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Magic Source: Cursed by a malevolent spirit known as Namiki. Type: Natural Artifice. Rohan channels his curse into natural materials derived from a tree to create magical items. ► Grimoire Find Familiar: Rohan's familiar is a wooden owl that springs to life from a small charm, named Root. Mountain Scepter: A walking staff made of rowan wood, which staves off malignant magical affects when used. Churchwarden's Seal: A ring of yew that provokes the undead when worn, drawing them in from nearby through an unspoken challenge. Wallbiter: Made from tembusu wood, arrows fired from this bow are quickly enchanted to loudly break through magical barriers. Spirit Hallows: Containers made from oak that can bind an immaterial entity within, when its image is carved into the side. Mask of Other Things: A mask made from ritually purified bog wood, that lets its wearer see mystical forces that are not normally visible. Flamepitch: Tree sap suffused with cursed magic for three days and three nights, which causes it to burn demonic things as if they were struck with burning napalm. ► Skills limit 10 total points - things such as video editing and boxing go here, list them out Outdoor Living +2 Stealth +2 Bladed Weapon Fighting +2 Archery +2 Mundane First Aid +2 ► Languages English and Japanese ► Possessions Phone Earbuds Journal with a pen clipped to the front Old knife Multitool Flip lighter Cord bracelet Pouch filled with roasted cashews One-handed longsword, from Connie Metal water bottle - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T I N G N O T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Relationship Notes Connie: She was one of the first people Rohan got to know when he showed up, and the first to learn that his magic came from a humanity-eating curse. They get along well, and he once made her a longbow that doesn't actually do anything magical, but is pretty damn sturdy. Finley: Rohan has had his fair share of tricks played on him by old things already. He sees Finley as someone who's had centuries to perfect the arts of shenanigans and fuckery, and never rules out the possibility that they're saying nothing when they're saying a lot. They're reason number one for why he carries a sword around with him wherever he goes. Nicholas: Slightly easier company to get along with than his brother, given the lack of mindbending magic. Nicky makes a decent cup of high-caffeine bean juice, and their interests align. Though, for his own safety, Rohan doesn't let the guy go into the woods with him, so they don't talk that much. Bartholomew: Rohan's been inside the Neverish once or twice, mainly during Winter, and he always has his Mountain Scepter in arm's reach just in case one of those jackasses tries to fuck him. He seems okay, for a hedonistic immortal. The guy makes coffee good enough for Rohan to see past it. ► Important Posts Note/Link Note/Link -

---

C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y
C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y

[+]

Once upon a time, there was a kid named Jiro Tadashi. He lived in the countryside of Japan where people were superstitious to a fault, and for good reason. Just over a hill and down a long road, their town led into a place they called the Forest of Ghosts. From a young age as a kid, they always told him to never cross the hill, and that if he really had to for some reason, to only ever do so at midday. Not morning, not evening. Only when the sun was highest over his head.

The elders of his village told Jiro that if he ever walked into those woods, no one would look for him. They’d just assume he was dead.

One day, he started hearing whispers and odd noises past the hill, and so the young boy snuck out in the middle of the night. He went into the Forest of Ghosts. He set foot in a place where none should go, and the second he turned around, he was lost. The forest had him, and those odd whispers became a laughter.

A rabbit ran along the forest floor and stopped to stand on its back legs, and it stared at Jiro. Flowers bent themselves into crooked shapes to slow him down. Moss crept closer when he wasn’t looking, and every time he stopped to get his bearings, he could’ve sworn the trees were moving to follow him.

That was when he realized his mistake. And it was too late.

The longer he stayed in that place, the worse it got. In an hour, there were eyes forming out of the bark in the trees, and corpses started to emerge out of the forest floor to mock his decisions. Jiro walked for what felt like literal weeks, never finding the edge of that place, but always finding something else. He always found something more to walk through and hide in, no matter how far he walked. The place defied logic, it was cursed and as far from natural as one could understand. The Forest of Ghosts seemed to be normal from the outside, but once you were in there, it was a whole other world. You could walk into a valley of beautiful flowers, and the second you touched one, they would grab you and drag you down beneath a mile of dirt. Even the animals that were otherwise prey watched Jiro with the intent to kill him, whispering and stalking him at every opportunity.

Running for his life for so long that time stopped mattering, always looking over his shoulders to keep an eye on how much the trees moved and watching every last crease in the bark in case eyes started growing out of them changed the boy. There came a point when he started thinking like a prey animal more than he did a human being. He never slept more than minutes at a time, always moving again the moment he heard Namiki whispering on the winds. Jiro eventually got good at living like this. He carried rocks and broke them into the shapes of spearheads, using them to gut the rabbits that smiled rictus grins at him. He gouged out the eyes in the grass, and bled them dry when he didn't trust river water to be just water. Jiro packed his wounds full of moss that cackled quiet as a whisper when he wasn't looking, and tore out the throats of deer that tried to eat him alive, with nothing but his teeth.

In time, he found his way to the very heart of the forest, following the whispers that made the birds go quiet. The woods got so deep that a cloudless midday sun couldn't light the ground up. With a torch made of twine and dead leaves, Jiro walked in and found the monster that had perverted this place.

Namiki, the dead thing older than swords. Buried long before men invented firearms. A monster in the form of a tree, gaunt limbs, a face hewn out of bark and mired with lichen. He was a malevolent trickster, calcified by time and so much spite for the ones who imprisoned him in the woods, that it remained here.

The one thing it couldn't control in this forest was fire, so Namiki burned. And Jiro ran as he had run so many times since coming here. The fire spread in ways it shouldn't, turning the sky to grey and twisting over every rock and river running through the Forest of Ghosts. When the smoke became so thick that there was no more air to breathe, no matter how hard the boy ran, Jiro was swallowed up by it. It got inside his lungs and down into his soul, and it just wouldn't leave. It seeped into skin and left a void behind that life would spring from. Where wrong things would inevitably originate.

Namiki had his fun with Jiro, and now came the last laugh.

He felt the last gasp of the flowers. He heard the screams coming from every root and blade of grass. He saw the falling tears of the leaves that would never feel the sun again. It was as if a monster had reached into the parts of Jiro that made him who he was, grabbed them, and twisted. It distorted him, and something foundational to the human soul was left behind in that place.

The change labelled Jiro an enemy of the natural world, by something that couldn’t be further from natural itself. Everywhere he went, if nature had more authority than man, everything from prey to the very grass would rise up to hunt him until his last breath. Even after he left the forest, things had changed at home. He found that no one recognized him at first. Some people seemed older. Not by much, but they had a few creases in their face that he didn’t remember, or their hair was a few shades lighter from age. When they realized he had set the forest ablaze, the people put two and two together and attacked him. Viciously.

Jiro didn’t stop moving for weeks, and he eventually found his way to the coast, where he decided he still had to keep going. He used a knife made from bones and rocks to carve trees and driftwood into a raft, and then found that the raft had something magical about it. He didn’t question it until he was floating across the Pacific Ocean, when only three days passed before he hit dry land.

A teenager showed up to Strange Academy one day, covered in scars and smelling like blood and moss. He called himself Rohan, and nothing more. The boy demonstrated a magical gift for imbuing power into objects made from wood, and professed an interest in learning to hone that gift. In time, he eventually began researching curses and the tolls they took on mortal souls, hoping to find some measure of balance between it and his humanity.

He still hasn’t found it. But he’s trying.

The Season of the Enlightened

Location: The Haven

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Morris heard his name and stopped, turning around and catching Prudence behind him. A young woman who had few friends in a place where people went because they lacked friends in society. Ironic, in a way. To no one’s surprise, certainly not his own, she seemed bored. That wasn’t terribly uncommon among this place’s tenants, given that they were underground, and learning clandestine tricks could only entertain for so long.

”Ms. Havesford,” He greeted her. ”He’s much more well-behaved now than the last time he had a task. But if you wish, I won’t tell you otherwise.”

He then held up the thin stack of envelopes he had. ”I’ve come back from a trip above, gathering the mail for the day. Not so adventurous, unless you intend to sneak these into chambers when none can see.” She was a bit of an elusive thing, as far as he always knew. Turning invisible and personally seeing to a lot of business for Lady Rosemarie. ”Afterwards, I have work for an incomplete project to finish. Unfortunately, I don’t believe I have much to trouble you with.”

He preferred to do his work privately, away from where others could snoop and watch him weave marrow like cloth and mold bone like clay. Some occasionally expressed interest in how Morris did it, especially those with more industrious abilities, but he didn’t like to share those details.

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Location: St. Eustace's School

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”Oh, he’ll behave himself from now on,” Silas croaked. He wasn’t often responsible for drilling some discipline into the students, in fact, the most he typically did as a combat instructor was assist in some way. He was more focused on reaching out and connecting with students than whipping them into shape. Not like Aoko, who was far more adept at training them.

”The boy has a cruel streak, and I am not one to beat the trouble out of someone so young as him. But in my experience, one has to be burnt before they burn others.” Silas was used to people punching down. It happened to him before when he was a kid. ”He’s much too used to having more power than others and getting away with taking advantage. He’ll learn, and do be assured, miss Aoko, I will use as much force as is necessary and no more. I would never endanger them.”

Being made of stronger stuff than most, Silas felt himself better equipped to handle a bully than someone with normal skin and bones.

”As for me, I am well enough. I believe Lord Ingram is getting on with things right about now… I do look forward to the newest students.”