The Stronger Pip

I also have been playing wizard101 for the past 8 years. And if you know anything about autism- which, by the look of this ask, you clearly do not- you’d know that we are not “childish” in the slightest. Our brains simply function so much differently than someone who is not autistic, and a lot of times that can be beneficial for us! In fact, the reason for all my achievements is probably because i’m autistic! A lot of autistic people have the abilities to develop “special interests” in certain subjects, and can obtain a grand about of knowledge within those subjects. In my education, those subjects for me included, Literature, Art, Film, Technology and History. Because i am autistic, i was able to excel in these fields very well. 

I also have a special interest in wizard101. Because of how much passion of have for this game, artists and employee’s from KI follow me and have interacted with me & my content- i also was fortunate enough to physically meet one of the former social media managers.

Me: 

More positivity and floor crying memes

Dragons aren’t just creatures cast by those with fire in their heart and on the tips of their fingers.

You see- this is a secret passed down generation by generation.

A chosen one, a human wizard from each of the schools of magic. They aren’t truly human. They are both wizard and dragon, one in the same. 

There are those of storm, their wings beating and causing all sorts of disasters and mischief. Purple, glittering scales with lightning streaking across their wings, thunder booming every time they land. Their human form seems easily distracted, and they hoard unfinished projects and art. The most powerful storm wizard of each generation is this. They mentor and teach the newest dragon how to create cyclones, how to summon hurricanes. Lightning crackling from their dangerous breath, and when angered, their human form shows dangerous yellow eyes.

Those of ice, they live to be contrary. They nest in the middle of tundras, their breath freezing everything in their path. Their scales glitter in the weak sunlight, icy white and pale blue. All sharp, jagged edges physically in dragon form and socially in human. They’re breath will always come out in a white cloud in either form, but in human, their eyes will flash a deep sapphire. Their elder will show them how to cause a blizzard, how to freeze their prey with a glare. Their dragon hoard will have pretty stones, diamonds a plenty, all hiding in their nest.

Fire dragons are simple creatures. They don’t hide, and are the only dragon-wizards known of. They have scales of ruby red, glinting orange in the proper light. Their breath is fire, their heat unparalleled. They need no mentor, just pure instinct. They collect warm things, blankets and furs and everything. Their human form will enchant their hoard to protect it from their own flames, and from the lava they nest near. In human form, they sometimes breathe fire. It is quite the party trick, that’s for sure.

Death dragon-wizards are strange. They are easy to spot, but that is only when the naturally reclusive death mage shows themselves. They always have twisted horns of bone, polished white and embedded in their skulls. Their scales are like chips of obsidian, their lithe bodies needing no wings. They nest in caverns that lie deep in the world, collecting the bones of enemies and prey alike. Their breath will blacken and wilt any living thing in their path. Mentors teach the ways of crafting poisons and other clever traps, always prepared to protect their home.

Beings of myth who posses both forms have sunshine yellow scales, cheery and lovely. They nest in the sunlight, where they gather warmth in a dozing haze. When approached, they simply breath out a cloud of blue smoke, the effects hallucinatory for the human mind. The one dragon head becomes many, the world doubling, tripling, until they are defeated for their trespass. Their elder will teach them the best libraries to raid, the best patches to sun in. Myth dragons collect history, in scrolls and books and everything else. In human form, they can aptly be called a book wyrm.

Those of life are maybe the most dangerous. They are hunted for their scales, which power healing spells. Luckily, they can shed some and turn into their human form, able to power their own spells. Their scale patterns make it easy to be camouflaged in the dappled sunlight of the forests they nest in. Their bite is poison, leaving wounds the same vibrant green of their eyes. When angry, their human form tends to bare far too many sharp teeth that drip green, only to return to normal just before you’ll notice. Mentors show the best forests, which healers can be trusted, and how to not accidentally poison oneself with their own fangs.

Balance dragons are rare. Humans almost never study balance, until recently. Now, they are taught the ways of the balance dragon by the kroks of the desert world. They protect pyramids, their coppery, amber scales glinting dangerously in the sunlight. They hide under sand dunes, their eyes resembling a snakes in the lack of visible eyelids. The sight of them breaching the sand, standing tall and deadly, all sharp scales and sharper teeth, is enough to kill the trespasser alone, even with their deadly jaws following soon after. They have claws of gold, and collect small trinkets and toys that are made to help focus. Patches of their scales show on the pressure points of their human form when they grow too anxious. 

These dragons are powerful, and deserve respect.

Try to hunt them, if you dare. 

Dragons aren’t just creatures cast by those with fire in their heart and on the tips of their fingers.

You see- this is a secret passed down generation by generation.

A chosen one, a human wizard from each of the schools of magic. They aren’t truly human. They are both wizard and dragon, one in the same. 

There are those of storm, their wings beating and causing all sorts of disasters and mischief. Purple, glittering scales with lightning streaking across their wings, thunder booming every time they land. Their human form seems easily distracted, and they hoard unfinished projects and art. The most powerful storm wizard of each generation is this. They mentor and teach the newest dragon how to create cyclones, how to summon hurricanes. Lightning crackling from their dangerous breath, and when angered, their human form shows dangerous yellow eyes.

Those of ice, they live to be contrary. They nest in the middle of tundras, their breath freezing everything in their path. Their scales glitter in the weak sunlight, icy white and pale blue. All sharp, jagged edges physically in dragon form and socially in human. They’re breath will always come out in a white cloud in either form, but in human, their eyes will flash a deep sapphire. Their elder will show them how to cause a blizzard, how to freeze their prey with a glare. Their dragon hoard will have pretty stones, diamonds a plenty, all hiding in their nest.

Fire dragons are simple creatures. They don’t hide, and are the only dragon-wizards known of. They have scales of ruby red, glinting orange in the proper light. Their breath is fire, their heat unparalleled. They need no mentor, just pure instinct. They collect warm things, blankets and furs and everything. Their human form will enchant their hoard to protect it from their own flames, and from the lava they nest near. In human form, they sometimes breathe fire. It is quite the party trick, that’s for sure.

Death dragon-wizards are strange. They are easy to spot, but that is only when the naturally reclusive death mage shows themselves. They always have twisted horns of bone, polished white and embedded in their skulls. Their scales are like chips of obsidian, their lithe bodies needing no wings. They nest in caverns that lie deep in the world, collecting the bones of enemies and prey alike. Their breath will blacken and wilt any living thing in their path. Mentors teach the ways of crafting poisons and other clever traps, always prepared to protect their home.

Beings of myth who posses both forms have sunshine yellow scales, cheery and lovely. They nest in the sunlight, where they gather warmth in a dozing haze. When approached, they simply breath out a cloud of blue smoke, the effects hallucinatory for the human mind. The one dragon head becomes many, the world doubling, tripling, until they are defeated for their trespass. Their elder will teach them the best libraries to raid, the best patches to sun in. Myth dragons collect history, in scrolls and books and everything else. In human form, they can aptly be called a book wyrm.

Those of life are maybe the most dangerous. They are hunted for their scales, which power healing spells. Luckily, they can shed some and turn into their human form, able to power their own spells. Their scale patterns make it easy to be camouflaged in the dappled sunlight of the forests they nest in. Their bite is poison, leaving wounds the same vibrant green of their eyes. When angry, their human form tends to bare far too many sharp teeth that drip green, only to return to normal just before you’ll notice. Mentors show the best forests, which healers can be trusted, and how to not accidentally poison oneself with their own fangs.

Balance dragons are rare. Humans almost never study balance, until recently. Now, they are taught the ways of the balance dragon by the kroks of the desert world. They protect pyramids, their coppery, amber scales glinting dangerously in the sunlight. They hide under sand dunes, their eyes resembling a snakes in the lack of visible eyelids. The sight of them breaching the sand, standing tall and deadly, all sharp scales and sharper teeth, is enough to kill the trespasser alone, even with their deadly jaws following soon after. They have claws of gold, and collect small trinkets and toys that are made to help focus. Patches of their scales show on the pressure points of their human form when they grow too anxious. 

These dragons are powerful, and deserve respect.

Try to hunt them, if you dare. 

“I’m sorry Morganthe, this is your permanent end.”

Sometimes… Sometimes you can’t cast a spell. Or a lot of spells. Or none at all. 

Sure we all fizzle, but this is… different. Wrong. No matter what amount of pips you hoard, what blades and traps and what-have-you that you’ve already accessorized yourself with, you cannot cast this spell.

It’s that kind of impossibility. The kind that leads to frustration and desperation and tears.

You see, it’s all about intent. That’s how people cast spells outside of battle, you know? Young, excitable wizards holding their parent’s first starter decks tend to have firecats or bloodbats or whatever is simplest following them around for weeks. (The troll that may or may not be stuffed in one of Professor Drake’s broom closets in his classroom can also attest to this.)

So, why can’t the card form into the creature? Why can’t that energy blast defeat the enemy? You don’t want it too.

Okay, maybe you do want to, or you think you do. 

But in the midst of an argument with a fellow wizard, a friend, and it comes to blows, will that phoenix really cast? Will your cards ever leave your hand as it does in the heat of battle? No.

You won’t forgive yourself if you do cast these spells. Your magic is so deeply branded into your heart, mind, and soul that it can disobey orders you truly don’t want to be obeyed.

To be able to cast Judgement, the wizard must truly believe that their opponent deserves it. Deserves to be judged purely by magic, that damage and true fairness shall be carried out by this spell.

To be able to cast the healing, soothing spells, a wizard must want to save an ally, a friend in arms. It is so, so telling when a magic user shows their distrust, or their true colors, when their healing fails to come to them. 

It could be the war drums, the frantic beats of magical music that is so deeply embedded in these worlds that it haunts your nightmares. It could be the pained sounds of those you’ve sworn to protect. Deep rage, or the same level of sorrow could make your spell more powerful than you’ve ever imagined.  

But it could be the doubt, the distrust and true feelings. It could be what makes your steps so heavy for one so seemingly young and carefree that makes your spell weak. Useless.

The intent must be there, or you could be defeated, and leave nothing behind but a deck full of spells that your hands shall never cast again. The cards will scatter just as your blood does, knowledge and memories of those happier times when your first thundersnake couldn’t be dispelled for a week, when you shielded your friends, all gone. The light will leave your eyes and the magic will flee from your soul. 

Spread eagle, disfigured from hateful spells in your death. 

Sometimes… Sometimes you can’t cast a spell. Or a lot of spells. Or none at all. 

Sure we all fizzle, but this is… different. Wrong. No matter what amount of pips you hoard, what blades and traps and what-have-you that you’ve already accessorized yourself with, you cannot cast this spell.

It’s that kind of impossibility. The kind that leads to frustration and desperation and tears.

You see, it’s all about intent. That’s how people cast spells outside of battle, you know? Young, excitable wizards holding their parent’s first starter desks tend to have firecats or bloodbats or whatever is simplest following them around for weeks. (The troll that may or may not be stuffed in one of Professor Drake’s broom closets in his classroom can also attest to this.)

So, why can’t the card form into the creature? Why can’t that energy blast defeat the enemy? You don’t want it too.

Okay, maybe you do want to, or you think you do. 

But in the midst of an argument with a fellow wizard, a friend, and it comes to blows, will that phoenix really cast? Will your cards ever leave your hand as it does in the heat of battle? No.

You won’t forgive yourself if you do cast these spells. Your magic is so deeply branded into your heart, mind, and soul that it can disobey orders you truly don’t want to be obeyed.

To be able to cast Judgement, the wizard must truly believe that their opponent deserves it. Deserves to be judged purely by magic, that damage and true fairness shall be carried out by this spell.

To be able to cast the healing, soothing spells, a wizard must want to save an ally, a friend in arms. It is so, so telling when a magic user shows their distrust, or their true colors, when their healing fails to come to them. 

It could be the war drums, the frantic beats of magical music that is so deeply embedded in these worlds that it haunts your nightmares. It could be the pained sounds of those you’ve sworn to protect. Deep rage, or the same level of sorrow could make your spell more powerful than you’ve ever imagined.  

But it could be the doubt, the distrust and true feelings. It could be what makes your steps so heavy for one so seemingly young and carefree that makes your spell weak. Useless.

The intent must be there, or you could be defeated, and leave nothing behind but a deck full of spells that your hands shall never cast again. The cards will scatter just as your blood does, knowledge and memories of those happier times when your first thundersnake couldn’t be dispelled for a week, when you shielded your friends, all gone. The light will leave your eyes and the magic will flee from your soul. 

Spread eagle, disfigured from hateful spells in your death.