#warlocks do be known for making deals and sacrificing things for power

[normal-thoughts-official]

here is the thing

when i started playing bg3, i didn't expect wyll to be so devoted to karlach. her devotion to him is a given; the guy risked his life to save her when they had literally just met. of course he matters so much to her

but wyll matched that same devotion right back, as if she had been the one to save him, even though karlach never really got the chance to do anything of that magnitude back for him

but then i think about it

mizora's punishment plays directly into wyll's worst trauma. to be suddenly branded as demonic, so people will always look at him and see that first. like his father did. like the whole city, everyone who ever knew him, did. no amount of good deeds will ever be enough to compensate for his association with evil; his soul will burn in hell and he will not be welcome anywhere because he's a greedy warlock who made his choice. i don't know if that is actually true, but he certainly thinks it to be, if anything, from his assumption that the people of the grove (whose lives he had just saved, and who had known him for at least a few days as nothing but a kind hero who looked out for them) would be unable to look past his appearance and wouldn't want him near them

and mind, mizora clearly wants wyll to stay isolated. why else would she forbid him from explaining the circumstances of his pact? what could she possibly gain from that, other than making sure he can never dispel the notion that he made a deal with the devil simply for power?

so it makes sense that that, more even than the non-consensual body modification, was the punishment. to put his warlock status on display, so that people would immediately be offput by him - and even if they aren't, he will be sure they are

his own father couldn't stand to look at him, and that was back when he had just lost an eye

but the first thing karlach tells him is this:

"Thank you for seeing me for who I really am. And... I think I can see you for who you really are, too. A hero"

obviously, it's common sense for her to see him like this after he just saved her life at great, and at the time unknown, personal cost. but it would also have been common sense for his father to know that the son he himself raised and who's nothing if not a paragon of kindness and duty wouldn't just decide to sell his soul for power out of the blue one fine day. or that, if he keeps trying to say something but can't, then there might be more to the story. for fuck's sake, he lost an eye. and yet, ulder didn't. wyll's association with the demonic was enough to dispel everything about his personhood, his values, and his actions. and now said association was branded, quite literally, on his forehead

and karlach's suffered so much at the hands of devils. just like with the other tieflings, he expects her to be unsettled by him, at the very least

but then she says that she looks at him and sees only a hero. the man who saved her. the man who cared enough to listen and do what was right. the man who sacrificed something for her, who had to make a choice no one should have to make

he had saved an entire city when he first made the pact, and yet not one soul in it was able to see that. see him

but karlach did

karlach does

and not only that. not only is she the first person in perhaps his whole life to put more weight to wyll's personhood and actions than to mizora's; but she knew he needed to hear that. she says it like someone who's trying to offer a comfort in a hopeless situation, which is exactly what she's doing. she knows that he is afraid of being rejected

and of course she does

she is the one who comes closest to fully understanding him.

can you imagine being wyll and seeing karlach's story play out in dizzyingly rapid succession in your mind? had a pretty good, happy life, then in the span of one day everything changed when she was associated with the demonic. she lost everything and everyone she ever had. from then on, she only knew one thing: to fight. no rest and no friends and no breaks, just endless, senseless fighting. her body was changed against her will. she hadn't been touched in a positive way in ten years. even fucking mizora was there

that's his story, too

sure, he might not have been literally unable to touch people, but neither was karlach when she was in hell. he's been completely alone except for mizora for the last seven years, at least in the ways that matter. nothing in his life was constant, except for the fighting and the humiliation at a devil's hand. and the loneliness

of course he thinks it's a trick. it hits too close to home

and of course he can't help but listen anyway. because wyll is nothing if not compassionate, and he's just watched a tldr of his own pain inflicted on someone else

so when karlach says that she still sees him as himself first?

he is reminded that she gets it

for the first time in seven years, he is not alone, and he is understood

of course he would do anything to keep her in his life, just as she would

in a way, she did save him, too.

(slightly late meta submission for @thekindredcollective's wyllstravaganza2024, day 19: bond)

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #wyllstravaganza2024 #wyll ravengard #karlach cliffgate #wyllach #although it's still true from a platonic perspective honestly. that's one of the things i love about them #whether you see it as romantic or platonic changes nothing #meta #overflowing trashcan

[emachinescat]

Between

A Merlin Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat ​

@febuwhump ​ day 17 / alt. 4 - identity reveal

Summary: When Uther finds out about Merlin’s magic, Arthur has already known for some time – and Arthur has no intention of letting his father kill his servant.

Characters: Merlin, Arthur, Uther

Words: 3,680

TW: None

Note: This takes place in early season 4, but is probably considered AU since Uther is not as obviously broken as he is canonically at the beginning, and is still actively ruling Camelot.

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

Uther Pendragon’s voice sliced sharper than a finely honed sword and pierced deeper than a ranger’s arrow.  His words were stone and ice, and they took Prince Arthur’s carefully constructed world and turned it on its head, plunging the prince into a state of barely-contained panic.

“The boy must die.”

Arthur stood in front of his father, tall and bold, fighting valiantly against the full-bodied chill that stole his breath and curled his gut in on itself.  His feet had merged with the floor, his knees locked as tension oozed throughout his body like his blood had turned to sludge.  The prince forced himself to maintain eye contact with his father, but he could feel Merlin’s presence burning in his peripheral vision.

He knew what he would see if he did glance over, could still see the scene in all its terrible detail in his mind’s eye: his servant, the idiotic, self-sacrificing, smart-mouthed, secret sorcerer, hands bound behind his back, gagged, clothes rumpled, a red bruise blooming on his cheekbone, shoved to his knees, a guard’s hand gripping the back of his neck and forcing him to bow his head.  He’d be trying to look up, anyway, Arthur knew, and his eyes would be wide and scared, laced with regret and only just hinting at the power just beneath the surface.  

Arthur had known that Merlin had magic for quite some time now, so the revelation that the servant was actually a sorcerer had not shocked him the way it had his father.  The fact that Merlin had been saving the king’s life when he was spotted with his eyes burning gold mattered little to King Uther, and he had ordered the servant’s arrest the second the assassin’s body hit the floor.  Anger flared as Arthur thought about how roughly Merlin had been treated since his arrest – he had not fought back at all, had remained docile and subservient, and yet he had been hit and tied up like a common criminal.

Now, Uther, Arthur, a couple of guards, and the painfully subdued Merlin were congregated in the throne room. The king sat on his throne, spine stiff, chin raised, a dark fire nesting in his eyes. 

“Father,” Arthur countered the death sentence, striving to keep his voice as calm and dispassionate as he could.  From past experience dealing with his father, showing emotion would almost certainly be seen as a sign of weakness, or worse – a sign that Arthur had been enchanted and was not in his right mind.  At this point, Uther did not know that Arthur was already aware of his servant’s magic, and the prince preferred to keep it that way, if at all possible.  It would be simpler like that, less messy.  “Merlin may have performed magic, but was it not to save your own life?  How can you so easily condemn a man for risking his own life to save that of a king’s?”

The hardness in the king’s eyes did not give.  “Magic is evil, Arthur, as I have told you many times before.  As you have seen with your own eyes, time and again.  Those who practice it cannot escape its corruption.”

Maintaining a level tone proved increasingly difficult, but Arthur managed to keep most high emotion out of his next words: “If Merlin were evil, or corrupted, as you say, then why would he use magic to save the life of the man who hates those like him?  What possible motive could he have for saving you, if not out of selfless good will?”

Uther considered this for a moment, and Arthur thought – prayed – that he had struck a chord of logic somewhere deep inside of the bitter king.  Then the king shrugged and said, “We all know that the boy has never been very bright.”

A strange snuffling noise came from the sorcerer beside him, barely audible.  Arthur whipped his head round in disbelief.  From the way Merlin was being forced to look at the ground, he couldn’t get a good look at his features, but Arthur could have sworn that Merlin had snickered through the gag.  Well, at least someone was amused.  To be fair, though, Arthur had himself reached the point of exhaustion where if he didn’t laugh, he would probably start to cry.  This was ridiculous.

“I won’t deny that Merlin can be an idiot at times,” Arthur conceded carefully, thinking fondly of all the times he had bestowed that particular insult upon his servant.  “In fact, you may well be right that it was idiocy that caused him to save your life.”  Uther’s eyes glittered dangerously, but Arthur plowed forward.  “After all, he had no obligation to save your life.  His life would probably be a hell of a lot easier if he’d let you die.”

“How dare–”

“But,” Arthur interrupted, knowing that he was taking a risk, walking a very thin line.  He could feel the eyes of everyone pressing into him from all sides.  The weight of them was enormous.  “Despite that, despite how easy – and convenient – it would have been to sit back and do nothing, he acted.  Not only that, but he acted knowing that this would be his thanks, getting arrested and humiliated and dragged off as a prisoner instead of lauded as a hero.”  Now that he had started speaking, the words poured out, chasing each other easily in the kind of eloquence that only true passion can produce.

“Tell me, Father – if it had been anyone else, anyone without magic, who had saved your life, how would you have repaid them?”  When Uther glared but did not respond, Arthur answered his own question.  “They would have been given a feast, a position in the royal household!  But Merlin went out of his way to save you, and just because he used magic, something he was born with, he’s to be executed like he was the one who tried to kill you in the first place!  Do you not see how little that makes sense?”

But Uther had caught on to something else Arthur had said, something that had slipped past his defenses in his fervor.  “You knew.”  The voice crackled with furious energy; the hairs on the back of Arthur’s neck stood to wary attention.

He tried to deflect.  “Did you not hear what I said, Father?  Merlin had no reason to risk his life for you, but he did.  How can you kill him for doing the right thing?”

Uther was not to be deterred.  The prince was used to this from his father; the king was very good at latching onto one particular detail that benefited him instead of seeing the bigger picture.  

“You said that your servant was born with magic.  A lie, of course, but the only reason you would think that is if he had told you himself.  This means that you have been hiding him, keeping him from me.  You have flouted the laws of this kingdom, made a mockery of your king, and put everyone we have sworn to protect at risk!”  The scariest aspect of his speech was that he didn’t yell a word of it.  The cold expression on his face stayed the same.  But his eyes screamed.

Arthur couldn’t contain himself anymore.  Irritation bubbling forth, he snapped back, “The only mockery here is your attempting to execute a good man for saving your life.”

Uther stood, the motion abrupt and violent.  Arthur forced himself not to take a step back at the rage emanating from his father.  As he watched, however, the king’s eyes softened, only just.  Realization had dawned, and it was not a good one, either.  “He’s enchanted you, my son.”  Uther reached out his hand to touch Arthur’s cheek, and the prince slapped it away impatiently.  

“I’m not enchanted,” Arthur countered firmly.  “You are just very, very angry.”  No one in the room breathed.  

“Yes,” King Uther said slowly.  “I am.”  And he wheeled around to face the servant kneeling before him.  The guard let go of Merlin’s neck and stepped back, but the warlock got no relief.  The king’s gloved hand meshed itself in dark hair, yanking Merlin’s head back with such ferocity that Arthur feared he was trying to snap the servant’s neck.  He saw Merlin’s face, scrunched in pain and steeped in terror, wrenched to the ceiling.  He watched in horrified fascination as the Adam’s apple darted across the pale, extended throat.

Uther leaned into Merlin’s face, so close that their noses nearly touched, and spat, “Undo it.”  Arthur saw each individual drop of spittle land on Merlin’s face.  Unable to speak, Merlin returned the king’s stare, and after a long moment, his hair was released.  Uther backhanded him, hard, across the face.  Merlin’s head snapped to the side.  

“Father, stop!” Arthur ordered, rapidly losing any control he might have had over the situation – and himself.

And then the king drew his sword.

Arthur’s own anger culminated in that moment – he had had enough.  His father had finally crossed the line.  Even as the king drew his sword, in his anger preparing to kill Merlin then and there, Arthur shoved himself between his father and his servant.

The sword hit home.

At first he didn’t feel anything.  He watched the blade sink into his gut in an entranced, detached sort of way.  In slow motion, he saw something inside of his father wither away, saw the horror manifest itself at the realization that he had done the unthinkable – he had killed his son.

Then the pain hit, and he knew he was dying.  He fell.

***

Up until the point that Arthur had thrown himself in the way of the sword, Merlin had been letting his master handle the situation.  Merlin was powerful enough to escape on his own, easily, but he had to let Arthur try to appeal to his father.  This was something the prince needed to do, for himself.  Merlin had known from the start that it wouldn’t make any difference.  Probably Arthur had too.  But he’d had to try.

And so Merlin had dealt with the arrest, with his arms being twisted painfully behind his back, with the gag and the manhandling and abuse.  He’d allowed himself to be shoved to his knees, subservient to a man who stood for everything he hated, because he had dared to save this man’s life.  He hadn’t stopped the assassin for Uther, of course.  It had been for Arthur – it had all been for Arthur, everything he had ever done.  So naturally, when Arthur took it upon himself to throw away all of the hard work Merlin had put into him over the years, Merlin was more than  a little miffed.  

The moment that the king’s blade connected with Arthur’s flesh, Merlin exploded out of his bonds.  His eyes flashed gold, his irises burned like dragon’s fire, and a gentle wind stopped Arthur from hitting the ground.  Merlin surged forward, still on his knees, and caught the gasping, bleeding, dying prince in his arms and pulled him close.  Arthur’s blue eyes were glazed, not unlike a pond iced over during winter, losing light, losing warmth.

A hot tear wandered down Merlin’s face, dropped off his cheekbone, and reappeared as a small splash on a death-pale face.  “Arthur,” Merlin breathed, and the grief was alive, bubbling, frothing, whipping his magic into a frenzy of pain and purpose.

“Merlin.”  Arthur’s voice was kind, barely a whisper, and pain coated his servant’s name, making Merlin sick.  A shaking, pale hand reached up, cupped the back of Merlin’s neck with the gentlest of touches.  Merlin leaned forward to hear what Arthur was trying to tell him.  What he heard exasperated and amused him in equal measure: “You need … to run.”

Merlin shook his head, another tear dropping onto Arthur’s face.  “I’m not going to leave you,” he promised, then looked up at the king, who hovered above like a broken god.  

As soon as their eyes met, the king jolted back to life, but a mockery of himself, as if he were playing a part.  Still, his gaze was earnest as he stepped forward, and he implored, “Save him.”

Merlin glanced down at Arthur, who was fading fast, and wondered if he had what it took to heal the prince.  Healing had never been Merlin’s specialty; it was a precarious branch of magic, anyway, dealing with life and death and the law of equal exchange.  And yet … and yet, Arthur was his destiny.  The Great Dragon had said so.  Arthur couldn’t die now; they still hadn’t built their Albion together.

Wait – the Great Dragon.  Hope flooded into Merlin’s veins, strengthening him, fueling his magic.

The king must have taken Merlin’s pause for hesitation, and he crouched down so that he was eye-level with the man he had been about to kill.  It was a nice change to being looked down upon, but Merlin barely registered it in the moment.  His only concern was Arthur.  “I will give you whatever you want, sorcerer.”  He closed his eyes, opened them, and amended, with difficulty, “Merlin.”  He glanced down at his son, then back at the sorcerer holding him.  “Save his life, and I will pardon you.  I will spare your life.”  When Merlin didn’t immediately answer, he tried again, “I will reward you splendidly.  I will let you stay in Camelot, if that is what you desire – I will do anything.  Just save my son.”

Merlin didn’t know if Uther meant anything he had just said, or if he would go back on it as soon as Arthur was healed.  But it didn’t matter.  And he told the king such.  “I don’t want anything from you,” he stated simply.  “I’m not going to save Arthur so that my own life will be spared.  I don’t give a damn about my own life.  I’m saving him because it’s the right thing.  And... because I love him, and the world we are going to build together, someday.”  He looked down at the unconscious prince in his arms, allowed his eyes to glow gold and pretended he didn’t see the king flinch.  Merlin knew he couldn’t do it all himself – he would need the help of an old friend – but he had to at least slow the bleeding, fix what he could until he could get Arthur to Kilgharrah.  

When he had finished, the strength had drained out of Merlin, but the bleeding had all but stopped.  He knew, however, that the bulk of the internal damage had not been mended.  He needed to get Arthur out of the castle, to a clearing, away from Uther and prying eyes.  He looked at the king, gaze steady, and when he spoke, his words radiated power and brooked no argument.

“If you want Arthur to live, I have to take him away for a short time.  I will bring him back, alive.”  Merlin didn’t care whether Uther approved of his plan or not.  He was taking Arthur either way.  A slight hesitation, and Merlin promised, “You can trust me.  I will not let him die.”

***

Three Days Later

Arthur glanced up from the report he was reading as his servant entered the room without knocking, as usual.  The prince laid the scroll on the table in front of him. “Merlin,” he drawled, his sharp eyes taking in the great purple bruise on the sorcerer’s cheek.  Otherwise, Merlin had recovered from his arrest – physically, at least.  Arthur had some real concerns about Merlin’s mental state after all he had been through, from his secret being discovered, to being arrested, threatened with execution, abused, and ultimately having Arthur all but die in his arms.  The prince noted with concern that Merlin’s face was worn and drawn, but he was smiling.  The grin was genuine, and infectious.  

“How are you feeling, Sire?”  

Arthur considered this for a moment, his hand briefly resting on the scar hidden beneath his tunic.  He’d looked at it this morning; it was an ugly thing, long and white, but it looked months old, not days.  It barely even hurt anymore.  “Much better,” Arthur finally answered, and Merlin’s smile doubled in size.  “Handy thing, having a dragon to heal you when you’re sick or injured.”

Merlin’s face flushed, and he clasped his hands together awkwardly.  When Arthur had first discovered Merlin’s magic, he had made his servant tell him everything, and Merlin had – including the fact that he’d released the dragon from beneath Camelot, causing all the chaos of the attack on the citadel afterwards.  It had taken Arthur a long time to come to terms with that particular piece of knowledge, and even now it was one of the few topics neither master nor servant brought up, as it came with too many painful and difficult memories.  “Well, Kigharrah doesn’t exactly like being used as a healer.  The only times he’s ever done the same for me is when I’ve been at death’s door – like with the Serket sting.”  He’d told Arthur about that, as well.

“Well, I’m thankful, nonetheless.  Despite our … history, I now owe him my life.”  He reconsidered.  “Well.  Seeing as he’s already tried to kill me once before, maybe now we’re even.”  He regarded the servant carefully for a few extended moments, then motioned for Merlin to join him at the table.  “Have a seat.”

Merlin did as he was told, unnaturally quiet, and waited for Arthur to speak.  “I need to say – thank you,” Arthur said, leaning forward in his earnestness.  “Even if the dragon was the one who healed my wound, it is because of you that I am alive at all.”

Merlin flashed a fleeting, but heartfelt, smile.  “I couldn’t let you die.”

“I know,” Arthur acknowledged, and let the words hang in the air.  

“How are you really doing, Arthur?” 

The question wasn’t entirely unexpected, but it took the prince off-guard anyway.  He shrugged.  “If I am being honest, I don’t know that I have entirely come to terms with… well, everything yet.”  He gestured vaguely to his own torso as he spoke.  Everything mostly consisted of being stabbed by his own father after the man had tried to kill his best friend.  “I will be fine, though.”

Merlin nodded, as if he hadn’t doubted that for a second.  “How’s your father?” he asked, almost timidly.

A weary sigh escaped from Arthur’s lips.  “I think he’s still in shock,” he admitted.  “Obviously, he didn’t mean to stab me, but still … he almost watched his only son and heir die by his own hands.  Especially after everything with Morgana, I’m … concerned.”  Arthur tapped his fingers nervously on the tabletop, trying to decide if he should acknowledge the thought that had been skulking in the back of his mind ever since he’d woken up in a clearing with a healing sword wound in the gut, with a great golden dragon looming over him.  In the end, he said it, because Merlin was perhaps the only person in Camelot he could speak so frankly with.  “I’m worried that he is no longer fit to rule.  I’ve had my doubts since Morgana’s betrayal, but now…”  His voice wavered the tiniest bit.  “I think he’s broken, Merlin.”

Merlin didn’t speak, but he did reach across the table and place a comforting hand on his friend’s arm.  Arthur gave a weak smile in return.

“Well, at least one good thing came out of this whole travesty,” he said after a silent, comfortable beat.  

“What’s that?”

Arthur looked at Merlin like he’d sprouted a third arm in the center of his chest.  Was he making a joke, or was he really that stupid?  “You’re free.”

A corner of Merlin’s mouth lifted slightly.  “I suppose.”

“Merlin, what the hell are you so glum about?  My father knows about your magic, and he’s allowing you to stay in Camelot!  Just avoid doing any kind of magic around him, and he’s going to let you be.  This is huge.”

“I suppose,” Merlin said again.  Then – “At least until the next magical attack happens, and he’s reminded once again how evil all sorcerers are.”

“If he even tries it, I’ll show him this scar again,” Arthur retorted fiercely.  “I’ll remind him of what his hatred nearly did, and that the only reason he still has a son is because of you.”

A bit of hope softened the lines between Merlin’s eyebrows.  “It may not be enough.”

“I won’t give him a choice.”  Arthur’s voice, authoritative and unrelenting, was that of a great king about to turn the tide of battle.  “I won’t let him go back on his promise.”  A moment of charged silence.  “And if he tries anything, I will protect you.”

Merlin laughed, and the sound was a balm to the prince’s aching soul.  “It’s my job to protect you, you prat!  And on that note, if you ever try to die for me again–”

“Who’s the prince here, Merlin?”  Though Arthur’s words were annoyed, his tone held only affection.  “Now, get off your lazy arse and go clean something.”

“You’re the one who told me to sit,” Merlin grumbled, but he obeyed.

“And Merlin?”

Merlin turned from where he stood, long fingers poised over the door handle.  “Yes, Arthur?"

"I look forward to the kingdom we will build together, too."

Merlin's ears fumed crimson as he realized that Arthur had heard his words to the king three nights ago. Words of friendship, of promises, of love.  Words that spoke of building a brighter future, side by side, a king and his warlock. A better world. 

After the silence continued from warm into realms of awkwardness, Arthur snapped, "Okay, get out of here. Don't make it weird."

With a grin and a nod, Merlin scurried out of the room with a lightness to his gait that Arthur had not seen in a very long time. 

Despite everything, Arthur smiled. 

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday17 #febuwhumpalt4 #merthur #merlin #arthur pendragon #bbc merlin #slash or gen #either one works #romantic or not they love each other so dang much it hurts #whump #whump fic #merlin whump #arthur whump #non-graphic injury #uther pendragon #self-sacrifice #angst #bamf!merlin #fluff at the end #mentions of kilgharrah #friendship #love #magic reveal #identity reveal #our sweet boys #fanfiction #febuwhump 2021 #emcatwrites

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @the-prophet-lemonade!

Read on AO3

*****

Of Lights And Shadows

Alec had always known Magnus Bane was his soulmate. Just like he knew he was older than he looked – and not only because of his upbringing. 

Soulmate magic was tricky, but powerful. And unfortunately, nothing could ever come and cut that connection between two people. Which means that whenever you are in mortal danger, your soulmate comes to the rescue. 

You didn’t choose your soulmate, and you certainly didn’t choose if it was a platonic one or a romantic one. Alec only cared because in the Shadowhunter community you had to make your soulmate public, and that could expose him. 

In most cases within the Shadowhunter’s community, platonic soulmates and parabatai were one and the same, giving the whole soulmate concept some higher status and because non-platonic soulmates were for the most part connected to other Shadowhunters, everything was going well. 

That is, until Alec finished his training and his first – unofficial of course, he would never admit to it having happened – hunt included saving Magnus Bane’s life. 

Now, at the time, he had been thirteen and freshly out of the academy, so he didn’t know how to react. He had vanquished the enemies threatening to sneak up on him and then disappeared into the night, shaken up after discovering who his soulmate was.

So he researched everything on the topic for months, even years, as soon as he had free time.

You can only have one soulmate.

One soulmate, one chance. Which is why no matter wherever they are, if they are in danger, you instantly find yourself at their side. 

And apparently, whenever they are too. Though that wasn’t part of the deal!

Alec had only just discovered rescues that his freaking Soulmate Magic made him time travel – but then again, maybe it was logical that it happened NOW cause if it had happened before? He wouldn’t have been ready to help his soulmate – and he could already feel the migraine coming. 

Just as he always did, he activated his soundless rune amongst others, scanned the area for threats and got confused when he found none. 

Then he saw Magnus. 

Standing on the bridge, looking down. And logically, he knew. Magnus’s life as an immortal hadn’t been easy, but he had at least the reassurance that Magnus was alive in his time, so it would be fine right? 

Didn’t mean the magic wasn’t expecting him to do something though, or he would still be in his room at the institute. 

He walked slowly, taking in his surroundings and mulling over ideas. 

Show himself? Wouldn’t that be dangerous for the future? He had never met Magnus after all…Who knew what kind of repercussion it could have? 

Getting closer, he heard a few voices from the other side of the bridge and came to a decision. He wouldn’t show himself today, but he could ask for a passer-by’s help. 

Acting like he was looking for a friend, he was relieved to see the man advance onto the bridge and upon closer inspection find Magnus there. 

Alec disappeared before he could call for him, not wanting to risk anything. 

And in a myriad of colours, he found himself in his room again. 

That had been he first time, but not the last time he had been tasked by fate to take care of Magnus. 

He had seen him happy or sad, but always oblivious to the danger lurking, the monsters creeping after him, only needing a minute of inattention to strike. 

They didn’t get any, not with Alec as a bodyguard. 

As invisible as he was efficient, Alec slowly homed in his skills as a Shadowhunter, travelling to times and places he had never even dreamt of but never losing sight of his main goal: keeping magnus alive. 

He became Jace’s parabatai, had a bit of a crisis over his newfound sexuality – he had hoped he had one of those platonic soulmate, but fate seemed determined to torture him – but promised himself he would never put himself in a situation where Magnus would be the one who would have to run to the rescue. 

So far, he had been exceptionally good at it, keeping his knowledge of the warlock his little secret, and obeying every order the rest of the time. 

So of course, everything had to go to hell soon after. 

By the time he officially met Magnus Bane High Warlock of Brooklyn for the first time, he had spent over 6 years watching over him sporadically – not that he would ever confess to it. 

Having a male soulmate was frowned upon – you had to pretend it was platonic to be accepted, no matter how untrue that could be – but a Downworlder? He would probably be seen as a traitor or a disgrace. 

And Magnus didn’t have to know a poor little Shadowhunter was his soulmate either – he was immortal, Alec could just pretend he was merely a blip on his radar, no reason to inflict him even more pain when he knew very well he only had a few years before dying on the job. 

By the Angel, caring about the warlock was turning out to be so exhausting and confusing already. 

But back to their first meeting. 

Alec found it ironic how this time, he didn’t have to be teleported to his soulmate because he was already right where and when he needed to be. 

Huh, maybe if he made sure to ask Magnus for help in an official capacity, he could bypass the whole portal thing soulmate had going on? Surely if he was in mortal danger, calling for a powerful ally would make sense, Magnus would be altruist enough to help without seeing anything amiss and Alec could keep going the same without altering his whole life. And fate wouldn’t need to teleport Magnus to him if Alec was quicker.

Yeah, it sounded too complicated to work, Alec would just have to stay the best and keep himself away for any mortal danger – you know, even if Valentine was apparently back. 

Spending time with Magnus felt good. Despite what he knew was looming on the horizon, he could not help but be even more interested in the warlock. 

Bad ideas, he had to remind himself every day. It would only bring pain in the long run, to the both of them.

And yet … 

“You unlocked something in me”

“I trust you”

Magnus even came to convince him to not get married to Lydia. Alec wished he had that choice but everything he had ever done was for others, for his family and his name, so that his siblings could have the life they wanted because Alec? 

Alec would never get a happy ending. 

Not as a gay Shadowhunter, and not a Magnus Bane’s soulmate. 

Not even as the head of the Institute if he didn’t marry Lydia. They would take everything he had, what he had sacrificed himself for all those years and what would remain of him then? A bitter cold shell, a soldier with a soul of iron. 

He couldn’t do that. Not to his family, not to his future self. 

And yet, fate had other plans. 

The very same morning, he sat in his room waiting for Izzy of Jace when the tell-tale colours of a teleportation starting appeared. He sighed but did not resist in any way. 

He was expecting the scene he found. Magnus alone against the circle. Against his parents. 

And he had no hesitation. He couldn’t obviously kill his parents, or Valentine, but he could slow down the others and let Magnus get away. Before he lost his warlock mark as a trophy for Valentine’s goons. 

This time, he stayed far longer than necessary. 

Magnus had portalled away but still, Alec kept listening, hidden behind a tree and his runes, for any scrap of information. 

We’ll get him, promised Maryse with steel in her voice despite her ragged breaths. He lives in New York, where we should soon have power over the institute. It’s only a matter of time. 

Cold dread filled Alec at hearing those words. 

He hadn’t protected Magnus from anything like that so far – but then again, his time jumps were more than random – and although the warlock was more than capable of defending himself, he couldn’t imagine his mother breaking the accords so carelessly. 

He’s always been arrogant, confirmed Robert. He might even come to us, and we’ll just have to snap our fingers to have him dead. 

Valentine looked pleased, having forgotten for now that an ally seemed to have helped the warlock escape.

Except Alec stayed there long after everyone was gone. 

He stayed there hours, playing the conversation on loop in his mind. It seemed so far from what his parents sounded like usually, and yet, he could still recognise their coldness and efficiency as warriors here. 

He was still a bit shaky when he found his way back to the present – no even a second after he left, as usual – but had to put on a smile. 

He was getting married after all, and even Magnus would not dare do anything to anger the Clave today. 

Oh boy.

Seemed like he didn’t know Magnus all that well, he thought sarcastically before stopping right then and there as he looked at Magnus. 

It was so much more than what he had felt for Jace and knowing that was his soulmate right here, willing to interrupt his wedding, because either he knew Alec wouldn’t be happy or because he thought they could have something? 

That was a lot to take in. Especially because Alec hadn’t slipped once about the soulmate thing, and Magnus should still have no idea. No social or magical expectation, just him wanting Alec. 

Enough, he snapped at his mother before kissing Magnus. 

He was probably a coward for keeping secrets of that importance but right now, it was time to take a page out of Magnus’ book and make a statement. 

It still didn’t stop his Randoms rescues, although with Valentine back and a treat, he had to be careful about what he was doing and how much danger he was putting himself in. That was quite a weird change for him. He had always been the one to take hits meant for others, his siblings mostly – though never to the point of needing more than an iratze. He was good, excellent even, and could without any problem compete with Jace for the title of best Shadowhunter of his generation. 

He kept that part of him under wraps to keep an ace up his sleeve, and to avoid any awkward conversation. As much as he believed Jace and Izzy to be supportive, how was he supposed to say that he had found himself in danger so often without his angelic weapons that he had to improve in order to help his soulmate? And across time and space, please. 

Alec laughed quietly, imagining what the conversation would sound like. 

He had been joining Izzy, Jace and Clary to get the book of the white from Camille when another teleportation happened. 

Fuck, cursed Alec, recognizing the bridge the moment he saw it. 

But what he was surprised to see was that this time, Magnus did not seem to be in immediate danger. No, someone had already helped him. 

Alec bit back his bitterness. It wasn’t his place.

He understood very quickly why he had been sent here when was left to pick up a clearly drunk and miserable Magnus Bane. 

He didn’t mind. From what he was hearing, Camille had just betrayed him. Maybe he was only supposed to protect Magnus while he was clearly too weak to do so himself, but Alec thought the other might ned the company too. 

Ah, Darling, thank you but I can manage, slurred magnus before fainting. 

Chuckling under his breath, Alec guided him to a mansion nearby, checking his pockets for an address or some money. He thought he recognized the man – Ragnor Fell – that opened the door and threw him a fireball that burned part of his jacket when he saw his runes. 

Alec quickly dropped Magnus before disappearing in a side alley, where a colourful portal was already waiting for him. 

Did you fight a demon in the way here? Asked Izzy when she saw the state of his jacket. 

Alec shrugged, eyes focusing entirely on Camille. He didn’t trust her at all, and he wouldn’t let her play them. 

Unfortunately, one attack from Valentine and a mindfuck from Camille later, Alec was ready to kill them both for taking his parabatai and making Magnus vulnerable again. 

And things didn’t calm down for him. Between Aldertree, the hunt for Valentine and his jumps on the past, Alec could barely find the energy to push himself out of bed some days. 

Which was how he broke his promise to himself and under Iris’ spell, prepared to jump from the rooftop. Too much had happened, too much that he didn’t understand. Izzy kept secrets, dangerous ones, Jace was always on the verge of breaking down, he could feel it through his bond, and after failing to save Jocelyn, how could Alec think he was up to the task of saving Magnus? 

So he jumped, always the coward. 

And Magnus saved him. Gave him hope.

So he had decided to do the same.

He was back at this depressing bridge, the last place he wanted to be and yet, the place it might be the easiest to get a hold of Magnus.

Dear Magnus, 

You don’t know me, yet. I am your soulmate. I have been helping you once or twice already, and I thought it would be polite to introduce myself. But because I am a Shadowhunter, a letter seemed like the best way to tell you what I wanted to say. 

I know coming from a stranger, someone you don’t trust and an enemy maybe those words might mean nothing to you, but I promise you that you will be happy again. And I’ll do my best to make sure you get there, from the shadows. 

Until the day I feel brave enough to confess everything, my identity and story, I’ll ask one thing from you. 

Please keep this letter. 

It is proof that someone cares, someone other than Ragnor. 

Take care, 

Your soulmate. 

He left the letter addressed to Magnus Bane at Ragnor’s house. He trusted him to give it to him, once assured it wasn’t dangerous. 

It wasn’t. It even had a protection rune on it. 

Not a second after he dropped the letter, he was back at Magnus’ loft. 

Only this time, it was Alec who needed to make Magnus feel better, and not a mysterious soulmate. Because Alec had hurt him, by not recognizing him in Valentine’s body. And Alec had almost killed him. So he’d be there for him. 

Starting with all the cuddles his boyfriend wanted, staying the night so he could watch over his sleep and keep the nightmares at bay.

Of course, their repaired relationship was not exactly an equal one. 

No matter what experience Magnus had that Alec didn’t, Alec had seen enough of Magnus’ past to be able to have a clear – and unfair too – view of his character. 

The public persona versus the man he got to know, past and present.

And Magnus had no idea. 

Funnily enough, while not much changed in their present, every time Alec found himself in the past, he had that silly habit of checking the date to see whether Magnus would try to creep up on him or not. He had almost managed once too!

Never underestimate a determined High Warlock of Brooklyn, he could always surprise you. 

But secrets were hard, and Alec was so busy keeping his that he didn’t realise he was also lying to Magnus about the soul sword until it was too late. It had been a silly mistake, but now he had to deal with the consequences.

Alec even thought for a while he had fucked up completely his soulmate business when he stopped seeing Magnus completely. No present or past. No random transportation. 

And then, the soul sword massacre happened. 

He had feared the worst. He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he had been the reason for Magnus’ death, not after years of saving it, falling more in love every time. 

And maybe that was one last cruel joke. 

He was exactly where and when he needed to be to stop it, and he was absolutely powerless. 

To say he was relieved to discover Magnus alive and well would be an understatement. But before he could make him understand fully how much he came to mean to him, Valentine launched one last attack, and Jace died, taking a piece of Alec with him. 

No matter what his parabatai said, Alec knew that pain had been real. But he’d deal with that later. 

He took a quick shower, changed and joined everyone at the bar to celebrate the end of the war. But to be honest, he only wanted to see Magnus. 

It felt like too little had been said, and some things needed to be cleared up before they could really think about stating over their relationship. 

So, for once in his life, Alec downed his drink, bottoms up, and headed to the door. He caught up easily with Magnus, letting him lead the way. 

What do you know about soulmates? Asked Alec when the silence didn’t seem too welcoming anymore.

Magnus mostly repeated what Alec already knew.

It is said that warlock have soulmates too, commented Magnus, but I have never heard of one who met them. Or rather, had the chance to meet them and find out they were immortal. Many think it’s not worth the heartache.

Do you have one? 

Alec bit the inside of his cheek at the precipitation with which he had asked the question. 

He had always been curious about how it worked for the immortal ones. 

Alec himself had spent a good part of his life chasing after monsters, to save people or to save Magnus’ life. But over the few centuries he had been alive, it was expected that he would be needed on more than one occasion. Especially once you added the “time travel” bit to the magic.

Alec still couldn’t quite wrap his head around the whole thing. How did it work? Did it just summon whoever version of him was the best suited to the situation? Definitely seemed like it most of the time, although sometimes, it felt like Magnus needed the company more than he needed saving. 

Then again, isn’t apathy one of the dangers of an immortal life? The one leading to a… untimely death?

But how does it feel to have nothing? No portal taking you the angel knows where, no soulmate to save that you know of? 

Not knowing whether you were worth having a soulmate.

I don’t know. Some people said I was theirs. Can’t quite believe it since you are supposed to only have the one, laughed Magnus bitterly. 

There was so much Alec wanted to say to that. He should have started with the letter he had left so long ago, to prove to Magnus he was who he pretended to be, but then Magnus cut him off. 

Alexander, if it is your way of letting me know you have found your soulmate and want to be with them

No!

Alec shut his mouth with an audible sound then winced. That was not the plan. 

I mean yes. But no. Let me start again please? 

He was desperate to make Magnus understand, and visibly relaxed against the cushions when Magnus nodded. 

This might sound crazy, but I’ve got proof. It started when I was thirteen, I had my first transportation. 

He summarized as efficiently as he could how he discovered who his soulmate was, what had happened, how he felt and why he kept silent all this time about him knowing his soulmate. He hesitated sometimes, not sure if he should be entirely honest, then decided that Magnus deserved the whole truth. 

The thing is… 

Alec took a deep breath, meeting Magnus’ curious gaze as confidently as he could. 

You’re my soulmate. The one I sent this bizarre letter to over a century ago even if it was a few months ago for me. 

Magnus raised a hand, stopping Alec in his tracks and asking for a bit of quiet. Alec obeyed, too nervous to even try and defend himself. Soulmate were almost sacred for Shadowhunters. Platonic soulmates especially. 

Since he was parabatai with Jace, Alec was well aware that Magnus had thought for the longest time that they were platonic soulmates too – they weren’t, and they had known that from the very beginning. Jace’s soulmate was Clary as Alec had discovered earlier that day. 

And hadn’t that put a lot of things into perspective, Alec thought bitterly.

Why? Finally asked Magnus looking at Alec from the corner of his eye. Why did I never get to rescue you? I can’t believe you didn’t get into any near-death experience. 

You did save me plenty of times. I just made sure you were already there so there would no light show in case… you know…

In case I didn’t want to be your soulmate. 

Mine, a mortal’s, a Shadowhunter’s… Take your pick. 

Alec was grumbling by the end, but it was something he had thought about many times. He still felt like he didn’t deserve Magnus, and the heartache for him wasn’t worth the mess that Alec’s life had become. 

He couldn’t shake the image of Magnus looking down that bridge out of his head. 

He probably can’t shake your image jumping on his roof out of his, a snarky voice replied in his mind.

It was so complicated at first, to have you as a soulmate, and then Time travel! 

Alec tried to laugh it off but didn’t quite manage it. It sounded more like a wounded animal. 

I didn’t know what to do and it got so out of hand. 

He really hoped Magnus would understand. The fiasco with the soul sword had shown him honesty was necessary, but he wasn’t used to that much communication. He might need a bit of patience on that front.

I think I understand. I did wonder about what I’d do if I ever met my soulmate, can’t say a few million possibilities didn’t cross my mind. 

Magnus turned to face Alec completely, and gripped Alec’s hand, squeezing them gently. But Alec still wouldn’t look up, eyes staring at Magnus’ purple nail polish instead. 

Ragnor did mention a tall, dark and handsome Shadowhunter as a possible soulmate, mused Magnus to lighten the mood with one of his stories. But it was eighty years ago, so it that was you, I need you to tell me about your skin care routine. 

Alec laughed weakly. Trust Magnus to make him feel better in any circumstances. 

Yeah, he threw a fireball at me once. 

Magnus raised a curious eyebrow when Alec dared look up at him. He didn’t seem mad about the secrets or the soulmate thing. He just seemed to be enjoying talking about his old friend. Taking a chance, Alec asked if they could go back to the loft. Magnus accepted easily, keeping at least one of Alec’s hands in his while strutting the rest of the way. 

His good mood seemed to be contagious because Alec could feel a smile forming on his face, making no efforts whatsoever to hide it. He was happy, or at least, really close to happy and it felt too good not to enjoy the moment. 

Coffee, tea, hot chocolate? Offered Magnus as soon as they were inside his loft, enjoying the warmth surrounding them. 

Hot chocolate. 

Alec put down his coat, then helped Magnus take two mugs out of the cupboard, enjoying this simple moment. Soon enough, he found himself on the sofa, leaning on Magnus while they drank in silence. 

No one mentioned the soulmate business again. Instead, Magnus did what he did best and told embarrassing stories about Ragnor to Alec, who was laughing more freely now than he had in a long while. Alec shared a few funny ones of Jace and himself when they started going on missions alone. 

He had just finished retelling how he discovered that his parabatai had a phobia of ducks when he caught Magnus yawning discreetly. He forced himself to get up, and helped Magnus do the same so they could go to bed. 

I love you, whispered Alec later when Magnus had finally drifted off in his arms, exhausted by their battle. 

It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep too after that. 

Waking up was a more complicated affair. He had barely opened his eyes that a maelstrom of colours took him on the other side of earth. 

Falling back on his Shadowhunter training, Alec snapped to full awareness and examined everything around him. Magnus was apparently at a party somewhere in an Asian country, the oh so lovely Camille on his arm. 

Alec was glad to see him looking better than he had the last time, and he seemed relaxed but not entirely unobservant. Which puzzled Alec. 

Keeping to the shadows – he hadn’t changed out of his nightclothes which meant he only wore sweatpants and a tank top – Alec looked for a weapon, or anything he could do. There was probably a reason he had been transported without weapons or gear, and no matter how stupid the whole soulmate magic sometimes appeared to be, Alec had to believe it wouldn’t mess with Magnus’s timeline. 

He found some clothes to cover himself with in an adjacent room. He swapped his sweatpants for leather pants that seemed strong enough, put on a complicated looking but easy to wear jacket and finally covered his neck rune with a scarf-mask looking piece of fabric. No need to advertise the fact that he was a Lightwood in case things went south.

Jace would give him so such shit for looking like that. 

But he found no real weapon he could use, the only thing a baton. Which, yes, he knew how to fight with, but that wouldn’t do much damage in a real fight. 

Speaking of, where was the danger? 

The answer arrived a bit later, when a tall man entered the room, and Camille’s hand on Magnus’ arm tightened to the point where it was keeping him prisoner. Everyone scattered when the man barged in, but Alec had never seen him, and did not recognize him. 

Seeing Camille offering Magnus – why wasn’t he fighting her? – like that was making him furious, but he had to stay calm and analyse the situation. 

The baton was in his reach, and no one should be able to recognize him, covered head to toe as he was.

So he took it, attacked Camille first, forcing her to release Magnus and when he saw her hesitate between attacking him and running away, he understood the man was not such a threat after all. Otherwise, she would have been bleeding him dry already, but instead, she seemed more than happy to get away. 

Typical, Alec scoffed before facing the intruder. 

I’ve got him, announced Magnus next to him while moving his hands around, already preparing his spell. 

Alec took a step back, giving him room to breathe and watched in awe as Magnus got rid of the intruder. He then clapped his hands and turned back to him. 

Alec panicked and took a few steps back where there was less light. 

I am afraid Camille got help to immobilize me, he frowned. You wouldn’t happen to know who helped her? 

Alec dig through his memory but shook his head. Prior to the man’s entrance, nothing suspicious had happened. Camille had probably been smart enough to come here alone.  She was sneaky enough to do it. 

He didn’t have time to hear the next question, he felt the tremors preceding the appearance of a portal. Magnus seemed to feel it too, because he turned his head to locate the newcomer, and Alec used this opportunity to flee, his own transportation happening as soon as he was outside Magnus’ view. 

He arrived exactly where and when he left, on Magnus’ bed, except Magnus was awake. 

Guess you really are my soulmate, Magnus mused when he saw Alec’s attire. 

Sorry, Alec winced. I’ll go get changed. 

He fled the room, locking himself in the bathroom to give him time to calm down. But when he was clean and changer, he had no choice but to face Magnus. 

Magnus patted the bed next to him, and he stepped forward until he could sit. He fidgeted, unsure what he was about to hear. 

Alexander, I love you, started Magnus. And despite how… incredible your time travel story may seem; I do believe you. I am so happy you’re my soulmate.

Thank the angel. Alec sagged against Magnus, feeling the relief wash over him. I love you so much.

He had been so scared of rejection. He sounded crazy every time he even thought about his adventures, how was he supposed to make others believe him? 

But Magnus did. He always believed in Alec. 

But before we start examining this, o soulmate o’ mine, how about breakfast? Magnus offered with a smile and a wink.

They were going to be okay, Alec promised himself. 

Soulmate magic was tricky, but powerful. 

And fortunately, nothing could ever come and cut that connection between two people.

#the-prophet-lemonade #malecsanta19 #*fics19 #*gifts19

[the-royal-courier]

House of Nobles: Langley Rally

By Special Correspondent Alexander P. Moon

The rally held on Monday, began at four bells at the Pig and Whistle in Old Town. The rally was held to allow the third candidate for High Magus, Raff Langley, to answer some debate questions, as well as answer questions one on one with the people of Stormwind! A lovely ballad sung by Richard Eding, accompanied Raff Langley on the Trumpet, started off the rally. Fireworks were lit and all of Old Town seemed to be alive with joy! Drinks were paid for and distributed by Sir Tristram Aventon, a friend of Langley's. With drinks in hand the questions were soon underway…

What is one specific goal you wish to see fulfilled by the end of your six month term?

I’d like to see a coalition of sorts established. An organization that can easily communicate with other practitioners of magic, as to enhance all forms of magic and their use in the improvement of Stormwind.

What is your stance on the darker aspects of magic?

As I said before, not employing it is the same as abusing it. Having those who study it close on hand is an advantage, especially in the state Azeroth is in now.

What will you do as High Magus to ensure only the safer schools are practiced?

The safer schools will always be practiced, with the guidance of teachers and mentors, of course. A close knit society of trainers and advisors could benefit the learning of magic as a whole, safe or not.

It is known that magic, in general corrupts, how do you propose to help those who practice to keep from being consumed by it?

Magic is power, magic is corrupting, magic addicting; magic will and always shall attract the denizens of the Twisting Nether. I won’t sugar coat it.

As High Magus would you, like many before you neglect other races of the Alliance, and their endeavors to learn the magical arts?

Neglect the other races of our Alliance? There wouldn’t be an Alliance at all if the other races weren’t apart of it. Just look at the convenience the gnomes bring us with their inventions, or the dwarves with their advances in war technology. The Kaldorei have a vast understanding of magic themselves. I know many highborne night elves who I’ve always taken advice from. Draenei have some of the most intricate and complex machines, Gilneas was filled with factories that pumped firearms, and pandaren fireworks are the best of the best. I don’t intend to leave any stone unturned, regardless of race. This is an Alliance.

Mister Langley, what is your experience with the Arcane? Further on this topic, what makes you the most qualified to this position, after all, you are remarkably young to be a High Magus, I think I speak for everyone when I say we have doubts on this.

I’ve studied hollow tomes and divined many secrets on the arcane- but at heart I practice a darker magic, fel magic. A warlock, as I am, might not have much knowledge on the arcane. But, despite how nearly impossible it would be for me to employ its full use, I have a bit of arcane knowledge myself, its schools, and its relation to the material plane. I’ve gained the confidence of many mages, as well, and I am never too far from their guidance.

As a Fel user, do you condone the summoning of Demons in Stormwind? ARe there exceptions?

I condone the summoning of -certain- demons. Not all have bent the knee to the Legion, and have their own personalities and agendas as any other living being. The practice of summoning them underneath the Slaughtered Lamb has always been going on, that is no secret. We’ve reaped the benefit, as we’ve been through many wars with the support of demons within our ranks thanks to the summoners. However, if you think that means I condone someone sacrificing life into a ritual altar to tear a nathrezim into Stormwind City, that couldn’t be further from the truth.

What's your Anti-Dreadlord plan? Do you have one?

Divination and abjuration magic. As in I'm going to tell a bunch of Illidari to walk around looking for them. And, of course, attack them on sight, with the support of anyone else who'd see them bleed. I trust them. Demon Hunters aren't kind to any of their brothers or sisters who turn, either.

What do you think of the current condition of the Stormwind school of magical arts?

It's segregated. Mages go about slinging spells, talking down on anyone who would practice another art. Warlocks go around summoning demons in taverns, questioning anyone who would dare oppose them. The list goes on. No one is working cohesively.

Hm... Do ya intend tae [to]increase the amount o' [of]  effort which goes intae [into] the instruction of the natural an'[and] or druidic arts. There's alot of gabbing about the arcane, an'[and] the fel, but I don't think anyone's brought up a form o' [of] magic which won't actually cause folks tae [to] go insane... An' might assist the kingdom with its worgen problem.

Fel yes I do! I wonder why we haven’t been employing druidism like we should. Just like at Stormwind’s bread and basket, Westfall- it’s nearly desolate. And our own farms in the outskirts could use tending, as well. We should be employing druids to increase the rate at which our plants grow and produce. More food in the city means more productivity. A convenience magic can bring us.

Do you as High Magus seek to keep the ban on fel and demonic magics in the kingdom and how will you enforce these laws?

There’s a ban? Huh, all those times we’ve employed warlocks out onto the field, and not once did some question if that was banned? If the question is do I intend to keep the status quo, and restrict the practice of fel into a hovel- then, yes. I also intend to ease in their assimilation into Stormwind Cities magical university, and promote its extremely supervised training. Setting up a unit of unbiased spell casters working to keep darker forms of magic in check is a solution.

Will any of you be willing to make amendments to the Witchcraft act to allow for less strict laws and regulations on dark artists?

Regulations on dark magic will need to be set in place, of course. Practitioners of the darkers arts should be observed and advised as any other spell caster, with checks and balances set up in place in case of its misuse. Hopefully, they’d be able to practice their art more openly, as to compromise.

These solutions are practically impossible. If someone can go insane in a blink of an eye, how effective are the tests going to be then?

People go insane all the time. You either detain them if able, or put them down before they’re left to wrought more harm.

Where would necromancy fall under? And where would the bodies be gathered from? Is there a waiver to have our bodies removed from the grave yards? or is it just an at wim thing?

Necromancy would fall under the practice of darker arts. Bodies would be gathered from battlefields and skirmishes. But, a Stormwind citizen who does not state they wish their body to be used in necromantic rituals before they perish is restricted; no buts or ifs. As for bandits or other creatures that aren’t considered a part of the Alliance… what’s the harm?

After the events of the Broken Shore, what is your opinion on working with the Horde in Dalaran to repel the Legion?

Working -with- them of course. Not blasting their faces out with ice bolts.

Will there be a force to bring magically inclined people in by force, or will they be left as potential hazards? Do people even care?

Training a host of magical practitioners to assist the Stormwind Guard in the policing of these beings could be a great benefit.  

What is the best way to stop the spread of the magi who are willing to sell themselves to the Legion in return for fel magick?

By allowing the fair practice of magic and its use to all. Yet, some are compelled by these forces, their minds not able to comprehend the denizens in which they deal with. An advanced screening of individuals hoping to study the darkers arts is a step in the right direction.

#wra rp #rp