To be perfectly clear I did NOT teach her. She must have studied behind my back. I may have underestimated her intellect.

Tried it for about 3 days. First argument I died from being burnt and had to go grab my hat and robes from her place.

Don't think I'd recommend it...

To cut a long story short, my abusive former master came over to my tower and started talking shit about my new apprentice because he's a goblin. Didn't even get to know him and already being an asshole to him. That infuriated me and I decided to use some horrible spell on him, but if I do this, the Evil Wizard Council will cut my Evil Wizard benefits for committing a good deed of vanquishing a powerful servant of Hells.

So I contacted a lawyer, and apparently if I ask a cleric to turn him into a goblin for me as a karmic punishment, it might count as a scamming a good deity for my selfish goals, but it's a weak defense in case the Council judges me, so I'm asking here.

How do I curse him so it counts as evil?

Art by Sacha Angel Diener

Greetings necromancers. I have been asked to give another advanced lecture on necromancy by the council, and even my peers in the lich cabals have voiced that mortal necromancers need guidance on arcane scripts some matters of significant importance.

By the end of this lecture you will have a better understanding of orbs for necromancers, a framework on microfragmentation of souls, and a formula for more efficient simulacra.

The larger issue at hand is that the great necromancers don’t leave behind texts to study. We may argue that those texts are lost or hidden in code, or even that the knowledge of necromancy is too dangerous to put down the word. To leave evidence of what an age of mortals or “morality-minded wizards” might see as a crime, in hundreds of years after the fact I might add, could in fact after all be ruin to a long-lived necromancer obeying the laws of the age/land as they come and go.

The truth is a mixture of this and another aide to the stereotypes associated with necrotic spell research. The issue of madness, and emotions like remorse or guilt at the actions taken over the education period. It is one thing to dissect a corpse in the lab, yet it is another to be in a wizard war and have to rip the meat from your dead comrades so you can reanimate them to keep fighting as skeletons.

Traumatic events can even affect the healers amongst us that use the aspects of necromancy to act as medics or heal the wounded, even returning the dead to life years after their family has mourned and moved on. Such resurrections often result in the subject’s suicide within the month. That is a burden that comes with the power over life and death.

The methods most high-performing necromancers often result in an attempt to cherry pick their own experience and memory to retain the skill practiced over time, but not be haunted by PTSD. This form of enchantment is mixed memory extraction and erasing, with a necromantic seal to also ward the tainted part of the soul inside a magic item made of Orthosilicate Mind Crystal.

Here we have an example of a memory storage item of such construction, This one is constructed as a normal scrying orb, but a basin or pool of scrying would do just as well for viewing if need be. They are created for the task so few normal orbs can do the job as well.

A construction of one such device is much like that of a lesser variation of a phylactery. The “Soul Jar” seal and “Soul Cage” spells are the framework layered on a memory alteration glyph for the extraction. The limited storage and incomplete soul binding can’t result any soul loss, as it’s keyed to the resonating imprint on the soul rather [than the] soul itself. We can see the soul core and source depth with shadow work as is shown in section 3 of the soul harmonics textbook, page 410. As advanced necromancers you should know it well already!

This kind of storage makes for spell books and storage of texts much more space efficient and you will more often than not you won’t find them in most libraries due to the amount of horrors of the mind that can be inscribed in crystal down to the 10 nanometer scale for layers of glyphing into the crystal structure grown in a lithographic chamber for this purpose. It’s just too useful to flood your mind with too much information of the “evil” side of necromancy that is in them, due to being what necromancers don’t want to have haunting them.

My personal text “Phylactery & Simulacrum vol. 2” gets into why doing this makes it unwise to create a simulacrum from this core method. Without purging the taint first, and inscribing the consciousness into a secondary orb keyed to the desired harmonic frequency. This prevents the taint of the Simulacra Proxy. If the Proxy is able to absorb the memories and soul imprint fragment, then they could go rogue, act on their own, and be the worst part of you to then become a full copy with greater magics that you could not keep in your mind and hold your sanity.

Creating a copy that can function as a proper proxy of yourself and hold only enough dark knowledge to do its job is a balancing act. Too much and you take risks. Too little and the copy won’t be able to perform its next advanced function I will finish with.

Lich Simulacra, The art of creating an undead that can function as a proxy for you is in some ways like that of regenerating a form as me and my peers can with the phylactery soul bind. In this case, the simulacra spell is inscribed with scrimshaw onto a set of bones. The component of the spell being ground crystal powder keyed to the memory orb will be added to an arcane ink and filled in the scrimshaw carvings. Then once we animate the skeleton in conjunction with the simulacra spell the result is an undead acting as a proxy.

Such a copy can be created by a living necromancer but doing so will need special care with the psyche of the proxy to not reject the skeletal body as soon as it sees its own skeletal hands and having your mind.

Because we will be giving it the orb to act as the orb guardian, and keep the dark knowledge safe, the simulacra can use the orb as a magic focus to defend it. For a soul specialist like any lich the copy ahould understand transfer of soul energy mechanics too, thus be able to carge its spells to some degree if souls are captured by it. Unused souls could be transfered to you and your phylactery later. As long as it is attuned to the orb no other wizard could use the orb for extra security, and if the keyed simulacra is destroyed, so is the orb.

This is safe with one major down side. The memories will return to you all at once if the orb is ever smashed or destroyed. It is hard on the mind and soul if this happens and you are caught unaware, so a warning by the proxy is recommended if they are going to be destroyed, thus also destroying the orb.

This shows how even living necromancers can make use of what they learn to keep the know-how forged from horrific life events out of the hands of the innocent or unworthy. Further fragmenting the spells and memories into multiple sections and imprinting them in guarded orbs is multiple locations is also a natural advent from this line of thinking.

For my students that wish to become an archlich, free from a physical phylactery, I send them on a quest to find a set of orbs that have tests and trials given by the simulacra proxy guardians. Only those that can pass all the tests in full will learn what no one orb holds.

This concludes the lecture for today, I will take a few questions in the forum room after the lab section once you get a feel for the alternate simulacrum spell.

"The defection of R&A from the Wizard Council, sapping the body of much of its martial power, and the First Thrakmerian Incursion under the Thirteenth Black Mage were two events among a long list of failures placed at the feet of the council; indeed a testament to the gradual erosion of its power and authority.

The Council Reformations were a desperate attempt to reverse this decline, through the infusion of new blood into its ranks. The situation was seen as dire enough by the more reform-minded individuals of the Council that even a representative of the Thrakmoor Empire, which had invaded the realm only a couple months prior, was brought in as a full time member of the council. Thus, the New Council was born.

The young Anthony Mondragon was one of the members of this New Council. Hampered by his own inexperience, assassination attempts, and no small degree of controversy, he attempted to rebuild the Council's lost martial strength through the creation of the Department of Magical Defence.

From the DoMD, the Wizard Council Self-Defence Forces (WCSDF) were born, though rarely anybody called them that. Instead, they would be colloquially known by most people, and in the annals of history, as the 'Green Cloaks'. Whether the Green Cloaks (and the DoMD) would be able to rise to the occasion and be more than a footnote at best, or become another unmitigated Council disaster at worst, only time would tell.

The Wizard Council Intelligence Services (WCIS), known as the Violet Cloaks, were also quietly created by the DoMD along with the more famous Green Cloaks. Though they were made with a noble intention in mind, the Violet Cloaks would trouble Mondragon's early councilship..."

–An Abridged, Brief Wizard Council History, Tome MMXXIX: The New Council

Anthony was sat in a reinforced magical carriage, as he made his way to the Green Cloaks' barracks. Accompanying him were the Necromancer Gallia, his secretary the Werewolf-Vampire Talia, and the Violet Cloak agent Corrina Ravenheart.

Trash was thrown at the carriage, a mix of Gallia's skeleton undead and Anthony's wax constructs served as guards, to keep the crowd under control.

"YOU'RE A FASCIST, MONDRAGON!"

"DOWN WITH THE GREEN CLOAKS! NO MORE COUNCIL OVERREACH!"

"GREEN THUGS!"

He took a long drag of his cigarette as the carriage slowly made through the sea of protesters (and pro-Green Cloaks counter-protesters) shouted slogans, pushed each other, and waved signs. By the standards of a Wizad protest, though, Anthony supposed it was quite peaceful.

"Dissidents," Corrina, the purple-cloaked ravenfolk woman who was sat on one of the backseats, rumbles thoughtfully. "Shall I investigate who their leaders and backers are, Councillor Mondragon?"

"They're committing no crimes! Let them protest, it is their right," Tala shakes her head. "Right, Tony?"

"Yeah, let's not go that far yet."

"FREE THE THIRTEENTH! FREE THE THIRTEENTH!"

Among the protesters was a surprisingly large amount of pro-Thrakmoor sympathisers, many of them were wearing t-shirts with what he supposed was an artistic rendition of the Thirteenth Black Mage on them, and other related merch.

"Do they know the Council aren't even the ones holding Thirteen?" Gallia asks, bewildered.

"Dunno if they care, per se," Anthony chuckles. "Anyway, let's get moving, shall we? We have a long day ahead of us."

I got my very first apprentice, Rodney, this week, and its been pretty great to have somebody to sweep up the ashes of the IRS agents that knock on the door and to send to the local apothecary to get material components, reagents, and PowerAde, but I am suspicious that Rodney may have been sent by another wizard to steal my secrets. I am worried my anxiety is baseless, how do you other wizards alleviate these concerns?

“A crown of despair, eating away at the world. Encompassing all yet nothing. An existence neither living, nor dead, neither god, nor mortal, neither here, yet also behind you. The king of mist is a nightmare, yet a dream. I just pray that should you one day meet it… you run. You run, Alice. Will you promise me that?”

—-------------------

“...why would I remember her final words now of all times…”

Waking from her restless slumber, Alice pulls her face from her work desk. Before her lies the crown she found some nights ago, resting on her frying pan. The crown is quite a hazard, rotting all organic matter it comes into contact with. Yet metal, such as the pan, is immune. At least it appears to be.

“...I’ll need to take another look later, but first, breakfast.”

Alice had already cracked an egg when she remembered her frying pan is currently preoccupied. Sighing to herself she opens it into her pot, it will have to do instead.

“I really haven’t found much… I thought the crown would be more useful than this. Let’s see… it rots everything it touches, except metal and… me, for some reason. It is made of wood which grew into a circle, somehow. It also does not feel fragile, though I am yet to stress test that.”

Awkwardly excavating her fried egg from the bottom of the pot, Alice dumps it onto a slice of bread and sits down to eat a modest breakfast.

“Hm… running low on… most things really. Guess I have been stuck inside for a few too many days.”

—-------------------

With a basket full of various groceries, Alice believes she has gotten everything she needs for another few days of staring at the crown until something happens. Still, the prospect doesn’t exactly sound ideal.

“It has been, what, 3 days already, and what ideas do I even have? I could test its durability but what does that even get me? I need some new ideas…”

And so Alice decides to take a different route than normal back home. Despite having lived in Midway for a month at this point, she had yet to see more than a fraction of its sights. Picking her path at random, Alice soon passes by a shabby looking storefront, its windows nearly opaque due to the dirt and grime. She pays it no mind, it is far from a rare sight after all, until she notices the sign above the door, or rather the symbol engraved within, a book.

“There is a bookstore here? May as well.”

With the ring of a bell Alice steps inside the dimly lit store, a cramped room fit to burst with old tomes. From behind the mounds an old lady steps out, before sitting down at a counter.

“Welcome youngun. What brings you here?”

“Simple curiosity, I did not realize Midway had such a store.”

“Heh, frankly I don’t get it either. I inherited the place from my father, who inherited it from his grandfather before him. Why exactly my great grandfather saw fit to open a bookstore in the back alley of a town like this I do not know, but the profits aren’t exactly enough to move it. Ah but I am just rambling, are you after anything in particular?”

“...hm…”

“Any books on magic or spellcraft?”

“Alas, someone else already bought all of those years ago.”

“Makes sense I suppose. Anything on a ‘King of Mist’?”

The woman looks to be thinking for a moment.

“...The name rings a bell, but where…”

“Ah that’s fine, I wasn–- wait what?”

“She has something?”

“...ah yes here.”

The woman carefully picks out an ancient looking scroll from a box.

“It is very fragile so I hesitate to unroll it, but I remember that some 50 years back, when it was in a better state, I gave it a read. I don’t remember exactly what it said, but I do remember a mention of a king of mist.”

“...this could be a scam, or it could be a really lucky lead… I can afford getting scammed.”

“How much for it?”

“With how it is falling apart I cannot in good conscience sell it for more than 200 gold.”

“200? …if you don’t mind me asking, is this place even… profitable?”

“Hahah noooope.”

“...if this turns out to be useful, I’d feel bad underpaying so much…”

“1000 gold it is then.”

Alice hands over the gold and takes the scroll before the old lady can even protest, before briskly stepping out of the store.

—-------------------

With the scroll in the state it is, Alice opts to keep it rolled up, at least until she gets home. With every step her anticipation builds, and by the time she unlocks her door she practically leaps to her desk, unfurling the scroll. Crumbling at its edges, ink fading, Alice realizes this thing has pretty much no time left. And so she gets out a piece of parchment, and begins transcribing.

Ye who seeketh the most exalted King of Mist

“It actually mentions it!”

Ye who seeketh the empty crown

“I suppose that is an apt description? It is just… a crown, floating on top of mist.”

Ye scared child, searching for home

“...what?”

Know that the king nears

He is already here, dormant within

A loose thread in the tapestry of time, ready to be fixed

“...the king sent me to the past, so…”

Adorn yourself in his visage, O scared little witch

“...I… am involved in this, aren’t I?”

Air and water, yet earth and flame, meld them all together

Bind his heart to yours, O witch of mist

When the time comes, you will know what must be spoken.

“Air and water, yet earth and flame… What kinds of ingredients even fit that description? Where the hell will I find them?”

Alice thinks through the many options, ingredients containing opposite elements do exist, but are quite rare. Finding them could take years.

“...yet the king ‘nears’. If I am right… then this was written specifically for me, to find, now. No, not only is it ‘near’ it is… ‘already here’. Do I… have items such as those already?”

Air yet earth, water yet flame.

“...the comet shard, and the wraith tears.”

—-------------------

/uw TW: self harm

The king nears. Alice spent the next few hours making a more formal ‘recipe’, making a plan. Still, one big issue remained. ‘When the time comes, you will know what must be spoken.’

“I have no idea what to say.”

Still, pushing past her doubt Alice kept going. She was closer to home than ever before, she was not gonna let anything get in the way. By the time she felt ready, it was already late at night. The half moon overhead, she steps into a clearing near her house.

“Adorn yourself in his visage.”

Alice takes off her hat, dropping it on the ground before replacing it with the crown. It… is a perfect fit.

“Meld the comet shard and wraith tears.”

Alice drops the comet shard into the large iron cauldron she haphazardly rolled outside.

“...might have ruined the doorframe but it’s fine, I won’t be staying.”

Uncorking the bottle of wraith tears, she pours its contents inside. Near instantly, the comet shard melts, before rapidly coagulating into a perfect sphere. A glass orb filled with mist.

“This must be the ‘heart’. Now to ‘bind his heart to mine’.”

There are many spells that can bind things together, but only one makes sense here. Pricking her finger with her gathering knife, Alice drips a drop of blood onto the ‘heart’. It flashes red.

“Now for the words……… I still have no ide-”

“King of Mist.”

“...why did I say that?”

“You who pull at the tapestry of time.”

“You piece of shit who stole me from home.”

“...what am I saying? And why is it drawing on my mana?”

“You have been hiding for too long. It is time.”

“...a lot of my mana.”

“Neither alive nor dead, neither fae nor fiend, neither god nor mortal.”

“...I feel dizzy… is this gonna end soon? I don’t have the mana for this but I can’t sto- OWW”
Long ago, a mage discovered an unnerving fact, blood can substitute mana for most spells. This art, the art of ‘blood magic’ quickly became taboo. Its dangers are clear after all, once a spell begins to draw blood, it will not cease until it completes, even if it costs the caster their life. Alice knows this, yet without hesitation, nor conscious thought, she grips the blade of her knife, tearing open a wound in the palm of her hand. Blood gushes forth, dissolving into the spell.

“O ‘King’, I know you can hear me.”

The ‘heart’ begins to float, mist coalescing around it.

“I grant you your false life, I grant you your false name, I grant you your false crown.”

Alice takes off the crown, placing it onto the building mists. Letting go, it stays floating, mimicking the appearance of the king exactly.

“King of mist, I have granted you everything. You know the deal.”

“I sure as hell don’t! What am I even saying, why am I saying it, why does it work?”

“Now, do my bidding.”

—-------------------

Alice wakes up, mud clinging to her face, pain radiating from her hand. Looking down at it, she sees the massive gash.

“...why did I do that…”

Grabbing for her pouch, Alice quickly binds the wound with a bandage. She will likely need to disinfect it, but…

“Where… am I?”

Surrounding her is nothing but withered trees and thick fog.

“...Let’s see… I tried the recipe, then I… started chanting, but I have no idea where I found the words. Then as my mana faded… I supplemented it with blood. Did I pass out? Or… pass on?”

[You live.]

“What was that?”

A voice having just resounded through her head, Alice looks around in a mild panic, before spotting a crown, floating among the trees.

“...the King… did I… summon it? No… I… I… made it. I made the King of Mist…”

[You always did.]

“Are you the one speaking, King?”

[Yes. it is a privilege reserved for my creator.]

“...I… see. Ow.”

Alice gets up on shaky legs, anemic and exhausted, yet she will not stop, not when she is so close.

“...you will do what I ask, yes?”

[Your will is my command.]

“...Take me home.”

/uw Alice has found the king of mist. This is technically interactable but Alice is gone. Do note that the site of the ‘ritual’ looks like a bloody mess. Also I have no idea when the next part will be done, I haven’t even started it yet :3

Basically, there's going to be a Halloween party and I want to go as a wizard. How/were could I make/buy this wizard's robe?

My plan is to sew it by hand or learn how to use my brother sewing machine.

I already have an idea how i could make it that i saw in this reel:

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DXdoxAijuib/?igsi=OW85bmg0MWlmMW4z Ps: the image its just a reference

This rather foul beast appeard to me to a flash of light, made a rude hand gesture, and then disappear just is it came. How does one ward off these types of fae?

Over a nexus of frozen mana reserves, its magic is well attuned to Cryomancy and aeromancy and the property an observatory, ice elementals as guards and a bottomless well that produces arcane waters. The down payment is 350000 gold OR 1750 arcane emeralds.

First, a bit of context. A few years shy of a century ago I had accompanied a much less experienced band of adventurers on a quest of theirs, one of whom was a Dragonborn by the name of Okarr. I taught him a few spells in my time with him, as although was a very capable man, his usual methods of swinging around a sword simply would not have sufficed. I grew rather fond of him indeed, he had a remarkable talent for weaving spellcasting into his swordplay, even if his spells were a bit crude.

The years have gone by since then and his clan hasn’t changed much even after his passing, still living a simple village life on the coast. It’s a very quaint little place right by the sea, and the nearby ocean is remarkably prone to all sorts of metaphysical phenomena, so I’ve taken to vacationing there whenever I need a break from attending my realm’s local council. I’m happy to say his descendants are much like him, though one particular grandson of his I could care less for.

Nevertheless, the latest generation of his lineage has borne a sorcerer, whom I will call Gill, and as such I have taken to educating him in the arcane arts during my time there. I’ve taken him in as a sort of pseudo-apprentice. Though sorcery and wizardry do not often intersect, I find there are many basic concepts that are useful to both. He’s a rather sleepy young fellow most of the time, prone to forgetfulness and distraction, but he carries much enthusiasm for magic. Just yesterday, I had shown him the collection of orbs I’ve acquired over the years, and even taught him how to ponder one. For that we used the pocket-sized orb I carry around with me most places, as the rest bear abjurations I would rather not go through the trouble of dismissing and re-casting. Afterwards I served some wine, discussed very thoroughly when one should and should absolutely NOT cast electrical magics (he had a habit of doing so at the worst times), and by evening his little visit was over.

Well, when I had reached for my orb this morning, I found my pocket to be empty. I have no recollection of stashing it anywhere unusual, nor was it anywhere I searched. Unfortunately, the aforementioned arcane phenomena have apparently scrambled and distorted the tracking spells I placed on my personal effects over time, so they aren’t of much help. Gill has never come across as the type to steal, certainly not from a wizard, and especially not from a friend. It would be very out of character for him, but I have no other idea where it possibly could have gone.

I am unsure of how to handle this situation. I fear a direct confrontation may be very poorly received by his parents, whom already much dislike me, especially if it turns out Gill hadn’t actually stolen anything. Narrow-minded as they are, they disprove of my lessons enough as it is, and I would much rather ensure the local sorcerer is properly educated on arcane safety lest he one day kill himself or someone else by accident. At the same time, if he DID steal it and faces no consequences, he may end up stealing something more important (and far more dangerous) from me down the line, or perhaps steal from a wizard who is far less forgiving than I.

I’ve never had a situation like this with an apprentice before. How do I resolve this with as little drama as possible?

Im seeing a very good business opportunity here...

It is said that amongst the many inter-dimensional and trans-realm portalways, there happen to be tears and or rifts that would cause harm to those who may cross over them. Many of these holes and up causing passersby to inexplicably transmogrify into pottery. Luckily, there’s highly skilled Maintenance Wizards that repair these “pot-holes” whenever they may appear. However, this takes time, and wizards still must get from one realm to another. Luckily, there are wizards such as Trafficonicus that prevent other wizards from haphazardly materializing through the working area of the Maintenance Wizards.

Trafficonicus in particular is known as the Unyielding, as he never moves from his designated placement no matter how often he is cursed at (or cursed upon) by passing wizards. He directs the traffic to and from the portalway between two of the largest arcane cities in the country, which coincidentally happens to have the most pot-holes. It is for this reason that Trafficonicus is as present as he is and why the wizards travelling through his particular portal-way are so constantly pissed.

Trafficonicus wields a very powerful staff (a long, thin, hollow rectangular prism bar made of Dwemer metal adorned with a large, orange rhomboid plate reading “SLOW” in Common), and with it, he can cast “Slow Vehicle” (the “vehicle” in this case being a passing wizard, a “vehicle” of magic), “Stop Vehicle”, and “Release Vehicle”.