#2246

It has been a very long time since Mage worked to create, not destroy. Seeing the fruits of a day’s labor in trees planted or bricks laid, not in buildings destroyed or ships burned, feels strange indeed. Satisfying, yet strange. The work could be done faster and easier with magic, but she finds solace in the sweat and blood of manual labor. Dirt under her nails, leaves in her hair, it’s all so delightfully mundane. When did Mage last have a true place to call her own? A home to tend with mindful love, and no threat of it being ripped away? She had long ago forgotten what “home” really meant. She is slowly relearning its meaning here on Liberty. Mage is the Wanderer, the Exile Queen, no more.

The hook is not a tool of creation, though. While it can be bent to any task, its true dark nature bleeds through when used for good. She gardens and her clawed right hand leaves the soil slightly parched; she builds and a little stone flakes away with every touch; she cooks and the taste of char seeps into everything she makes. The effects aren’t devastating, it’s true, yet they rankle her, sour her every accomplishment. She does not speak of it with Alice, however. Mage accepts this burden as payment for the ruin she inflicted with the hook, a fitting penance now that she wishes more than anything to be rid of the damned weapon.

What will be will be, she tells herself. She tries to take one day at a time now, and that too is strange yet satisfying.

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#2244

I am negation and I am destruction
I am entropy and I am anarchy
I am Nemesis, I am Charybdis
I am a black hole, I am a rotten soul
I am your undoing
and I am coming

#1938

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Hers are a sorceress’ hands, all silver rings and long white fingers. The left wields a saber or a stiletto or a pistol, whichever the moment calls for. The right once held a hook, but now arm and metal have melded into something black and many-clawed. Her hands are a book of shadows made flesh; they raise whirlwinds, call forth lightning, summon rain and ravens and monstrous things from the deep. Just as easily, though, do they steer a ship or climb rigging, lower sails and raise anchors, get dirty and bloody. Her hands weren’t meant for an exile’s life – they should know only the touch of silk and velvet, they should be adorned with delicate jewels – yet they serve her admirably. With her right hand she tears the light from the sky, and with the left she raises herself up a queen of wrath and ruin.

#1928

[ This is the kind of BS I waste my time on. (I’m not sorry.) ]

Mage’s Lament


There are few who’d deny, at what I do I am the best
For my villainy’s renowned far and wide
When it comes to destruction on a moonless night
I excel without ever even trying

With the slightest little effort of my fiendish charms
I have seen my enemies turn white
With a wave of my sword and a well-placed jab
I have sent the very bravest to their graves

Yet world after world, it’s the same routine
And I grow so weary of my captive’s screams
And I, Mage, the Pirate Queen
Have grown so tired of this wrongdoing

Oh, somewhere deep inside this black heart
I think I’m just playing a part
There’s got to be more out there than this
I’ve spent too long fighting Alice

I’m the mistress of pain, can be held by no chain
And I leave a red trail in my path
To foil Alice and her friends, I broke the light’s lens
Now I’m known for my hate and my wrath

And since I’m so skilled, I can’t count all I’ve killed
Though I’m sure it’s ridiculously high
No animal nor man can slay like I can
Which I’m sure my victim’s ghosts could testify

But who here would try to understand
That the Pirate Queen with the murderous grin
Has tired of her reign, if they only understood
She’d give it all up if she only could

Oh, there’s a restlessness in my soul
That can’t be eased with bullet holes
The infamy I used to adore
Just doesn’t cheer me anymore

#1656

you gather the runaways and castaways
while I recruit the exiles and outcasts;
you search for the needy strays
while I seek out the angry ferals;

I’m the breaker of locks
the opener of cells
the liberator of chaos

it’s no wonder I never fit in
on an island full of misfits;
you were forming a family
while I’m forming an army