vox nox

OZ from PROMISE OF WIZARD

Incredibly scary, so absolutely terrifying, quite literally a monster.

Okay, no, he's definitely done some questionable things throughout his 2000+ years of living, but it's a Wizard eat Wizard world out there.

Oz is considered to be the strongest Wizard in his world, to the point where people typically have some healthy fear of him or want to take his place.

Becoming less of an isolated person as he continues interacting with the bright eyed and busy tailed baby Wizards, but still barely makes any expression at all and comes across as really cold and unemotional.

Has an adoptive son named Arthur who does not seem to be here and he will be very distraught about this fact.

Seriously the last time Arthur was taken away from him, this dad made a multi-year blizzard around his keep so people wouldn't come see him because he didn't know how to deal with heartbreak.

FESTIVALS WERE FOREIGN TO HER, like some distant memory that was only to be read in the books worn to time itself. bustling masses were, despite the length of her stay here, something she can’t help but find an alluring awe for even now. were only the umbral knight here to bear witness, too, before thoughts as these dissipate swiftly they began. instead, she gleans through the various stands. treats that smell tantalizing, drizzled in toppings she has never laid eyes upon; drinks that hide beneath something like foam, causing brilliant, blue eyes to stare in curiosity on how one was supposed to partake. each sight was as fascinating as it was exhilarating, something yet to be experienced, and—

oh.

fingers are careful, nigh uncertain if it was truly alright, as she takes the cup he offers in a kindness. whatever liquid is filled in it, she has never had the pleasure of it, let alone the knowledge of a marshmallow or what an extra constitutes. and when he doesn’t move to take back the treat that was designated to him prior, she allows herself to indulge in the sweet up of cocoa… at a small price of how it burns her tongue without warning. only the sound of glass shattering follows thereafter, her grip coming loose as the sensation startles her.

only as it all settles does she realize what has happened, an immediate urge to scramble to bring out the flower-pressed notepad. and, without hesitation, she scribbles shaky words swiftly (a moment passes where she nearly drops her pen, a crease of her brow in doing so) before being held up for the stranger to read.

「 I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to. 」

hopefully he would understand, the expression she gives strewn with silent apology—

The child is as quiet as he normally he, but she does take the proffered cup of cocoa with extra marshmallows - which seem to add extra value. It was a kindness, of course, but he wouldn’t necessarily view it as anything extraordinary. To be honest, she elicited a parental response in him - she didn’t look like Arthur, but her hair and eye color evoked enough of a memory to make him remember that Arthur was not here.

It was selfish - seeking that feeling that fatherhood had given his black hole of a heart. An ichorous blackness of an empty and hollow man, and being separated once more did nothing to keep him feel fellow that same hollow feeling. Barely a thing bothered him - because he barely felt a thing lately.

But he does feel surprise when she suddenly drops the mug, seeming shocked for a moment when the cocoa was drank and she pulls out a notebook. The entire exchange made him tilt his head to the side in curiosity until he realized the girl was mute.

Shaking his head at her note, he responded: “It happens,” and knelt down to pick up the glass from the ground before the girl hurt himself. Looking at her again - his own expression having betrayed very little the entire time, he speaks once more: “Is it alright if I talk, or should I write?” She may be deaf, and he’d prefer to make it easier for her if she wasn’t only mute.

Picking up the glass, he turns back to the owner.

Oh, great.

Amongst every other miniscule annoyance here, Oz is like the tipping of an iceburg. Spirale is already tiresome merely for existing and pulling Owen unwillingly into its grasp, but seeing Oz of all wizards makes Owen instantly grimace. It’s not that status matters here at all, but a change in details does not erase the amount of disdain Owen still harbours. It’s both personal and not; Owen himself is still someone who is often infamous for his own strength and reputation. But. Of course. Oz surpasses that. Regardless on whether they’re both at an equal footing and circumstance now, Owen can hardly believe this little outing is going to last forever. 

At first, Owen sneers. Typical. And then, there’s that smile, one that is mocking. Spiteful. His lips thin and taught. His eyes say something different. “Oh? Are you saying that because you’re powerless here? No longer the wizard to be feared. I wonder what worth you hold. Maybe now there’s none at all.” He speaks with an uneasy grace. Underneath his words, flowers still bloom, but the petals are undoubtedly poisonous to the touch.

“Master Oz. Here anyone is nothing more than some insignificant pest. A fly twitching miserably whilst taking its last breath. No one’s here to care.” Whether this is geared towards Oz specifically is vague, but Owen still smiles regardless. They’re both in the same position. Truthfully speaking, this is advantageous for Owen. But he knows that, even without their magic, so-to-speak, he wouldn’t go racing into a brawl with Oz. No. Owen wants to stay clear of them. 

Behind Owen’s smile was irritation. 

“You’re powerless here, too.” Owen’s smile elicited no reaction from him other than a potentially vague look of irritation. However, was it irritation at Owen, or was it irritation at their situation? More than likely the latter, since were Owen to act out, he would have very little recourse. A shrug, and a tilt of his head. “If I am worth nothing, then I suppose anyone who has been ranked below me is less than.”

There wasn’t a fire in those scarlet eyes, but there was kindling that still had a spark despite being deadened by the ash atop it. In truth, being here - no answers, seeing the others trickle in and out, without any abilities of his own, no way to escape here, and very little answers regarding this place.

And yet a fire burned - anger, something he did his damnest not to feel burning up within him. Evoking the image of a child gone mad with power.

Not dissimilar to the Northern Wizards who sought his head.

“If I am a fly twitching miserable, then what does that make you?”

“Perhaps consider that my situation is yours, and your situation mine.” He wasn’t happy to see Owen, either, but at least Owen wasn’t left to run rampant in their own world, without the others to keep him in check.

No, Owen was irritated at their situation the same as he was. At least, he could only imagine so.

But he didn’t quite care.

Night had fallen, and he couldn't even fly away if he wanted to. Whatever dubious truce had been formed would certainly not carry over, but...

He didn't quite care at this moment in time. There was no Northern Country and there was no 'strongest Wizard'. In fact, there were many magic users here that neither relied on Wizardry nor Technology. They simply were. They were kings, or mages, or whatever they decided to call themselves.

And he was far too old to worry about learning all of that.

Not that Owen cared as much about prestige or position as much as he simply...Didn't care. Or cared too much.

At this point, Oz didn't really care.

"So you're here too." Were his first words to his fellow Wizard, followed by, "I assume you haven't gotten into trouble. I can hardly be bothered to keep you all in line." Nor could he. Night had fallen, and even what scant ability that remained was useless.

Or, perhaps, it struck him as odd to attend such festivities. Almost pointless, and yet a place that deigned to keep so many captive also was a place that threw a festival where all were welcome. There were no fees, no grandstanding. It simply was, and so despite his curiosity he was made aware of how odd it was when a jolly-faced stranger placed a warm cup in his hand, and told him that Oz had been given extra marshmallows with a wink.

He hadn't drank from it, simply looking at the provided beverage in a silent attempt to process the events that had just transpired. Quietly, at least, until he saw a shock of white hair, and a girl who looked slightly younger than Arthur standing in the cold.

Her bright blue eyes struck that cord in him that fatherhood had unearthed, despite his denial, and he found himself holding the cocoa out to her. She was small, and the weather had taken a turn for the cold. While it did not bother him remotely, he knew it wasn't that way for most.

"It's cold." He said quietly. She had been at the stand, and the employee who had given him the hot cocoa looked on in awe (and disappointment) as Oz gave away his free drink. "He says it has extra marshmallows, which I believe means it is worth more."

“Anything is possible with the right attitude, I suppose.”

Or the wrong one.

“I came into the conversation when I heard people can use this era’s technology to form relationships. Instead of war machines, they use it for dating and other frivolous things. It’s interesting.”

“And now it seems the topic of dating is in the air again.”

“Oh.”

✧ “Does a change in location make the title less genuine? I suppose if you maintain a narrow perspective…” Though it really was a self-proclaimed title in the end. He was not the Oberon as much as was a king of fairies. It actually meant very little in the face of his true identity.

“And why do you perceive magic wielders as inherently dangerous? You must have some experience with magic yourself to hone in on my abilities.” Gods forbid this man ever interacted with his niece.

“I suppose it depends on the title.” Thinking of himself first and foremost, being the Most Powerful Wizard matters little when he’s lost most of his powers.

“Magic itself is not inherently dangerous, nor are those who wield it, but as someone who has killed his share of Wizards, and being a Wizard myself, I find myself wary with thousands of years of knowledge.” ‘His abilities’, yes, with or without the presence of a familiar it was fairly obvious.

✧ “A wizard? Interesting that you might make that assumption!” Oberon’s smirk did not leave him. Raising his right arm, the moth returned to his side and utilized the new perch. “I only know a bit of magic! Self-taught, in fact.”

“But as a fairy some things are more inherent to me than others. Insects simply adore the Fairy King.”

Red eyes observe the other, who did not stop smiling. Of course not - he seemed the type. But he also didn’t seem to be wholly dishonest.

✧ “Interesting, is it not?” It was just a circle, of course. The real prank was the small dog-sized, brown moth that landed on his shoulder as he looked.

“My friend certainly agrees!”

“Not particularly-” He did look briefly surprised (as surprised as a twitch of the brows could look) when he saw the giant moth. And then, well,

“A Wizard, then. And one with his abilities back.” If there had been any amusement on his face, which there hadn’t been, it was replaced with, well...