In this AU Queen Administrator never left Danny Hebert, but at her moment of greatest despair, Taylor had something better, or worse, depending on who you ask. Her spark ignited and she Planeswalked to the realm of Arcavios, where she managed to learn a little magic and get enrolled in Strixhaven, only for her to get forcefully planeswalked to Ravnica and getting an expedited membership of the Gatewatch during the War of the Spark.
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Jeskai Inspiration (Worm AU / Magic the gathering) [Planeswalker Taylor]
- Thread starter Kokusho
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User Total Kokusho 1 Threadmarks Reader mode
Charmed 1.1
New
Kokusho
Getting out there.
- Joined
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- Likes received
- 181
Winslow High had many hallways, but none like the one where the cursed locker laid. Everyone avoided that place since, six months before, a horrible prank turned into a news story, a scandal, and a whispered warning passed from upperclassmen to freshmen.
Six months had passed since Taylor Hebert vanished into the twisted metal of her locker and never came back out.
The floor had been re-tiled, the walls repainted a soft blue that someone on the board must have thought looked cheerful. It didn't help. The hallway felt wrong in a way that had nothing to do with paint. Everyone who passed through it knew why, though no one ever said it out loud.
The locker stood untouched. Cleaned, yes. Repaired, no. The dent on the lower left corner was still there, faint but present, like a scar someone never bothered to cover up. Students had to walk that hall to get to the computer lab, and the overflow lockers for gym, and the temporary classrooms down the ramp. So they did. Quickly.
A group of freshmen passed by, whispering nervously. One of them clutched her books to her chest like they were talismans and muttered a prayer under her breath. Another nudged his friend, pointing without making eye contact, then quickened his pace like he might be next.
A football player with earphones in slowed for half a second as if sensing something wrong beneath the music, glanced at the locker out of the corner of his eye, and then pressed forward, face tight.
The janitor pushing a mop bucket turned the corner, caught sight of the locker, and stopped. He muttered something under his breath, a mix of habit and warding, then wheeled around and left without touching a thing.
Emma Barnes turned the corner, posture perfect as always. Her friends followed close behind, keeping their eyes down.
"Let's go," she said. Her voice cracked just a little.
She saw it. Of course she did. The locker. The scar. The silence wrapped around it like a noose that never quite snapped. Her spine stiffened, but her pace remained steady.
Behind her, her friends chattered, each of them casting occasional glances at Emma to see if she was reacting.
"She probably just ran away. Total loser move," Madison said, glancing toward the locker with a theatrical shiver.
"Her dad was here again last week," another girl added. "Tried to talk to the principal like it was going to change something. Didn't he already lose that lawsuit?"
"Yeah. I saw him," a third chimed in, voice full of exaggerated disgust. "He smelled like a trashcan. I swear there were flies buzzing around his head. It was disgusting."
Their giggles faltered as they noticed Emma had gone quiet.
She was still staring at the locker.
Her friends followed her gaze, unease prickling at their spines. The chatter died completely.
Emma didn't look at them. Her jaw clenched, and she gave her head a short, precise shake.
"Losers don't deserve to be remembered," she said, more to the locker than to anyone else.
The locker began to hum.
Emma had just passed it, her friends trailing behind with unsure steps. She didn't look back, but her shoulders were rigid, her jaw clenched tight. Madison opened her mouth to say something else, but stopped mid-breath.
"Do you hear that?" one of the girls whispered.
They all turned.
A quiet vibration filled the air, so faint it felt like the building itself was holding its breath. The floor beneath their feet trembled slightly, as though something deep in the foundations had stirred. A few of the older kids further down the hallway slowed, glancing over their shoulders.
"It's the locker," said one of them, barely above a whisper.
Emma stopped walking. Her eyes were wide now, locked onto the metal door they had all learned to pretend didn't exist.
The hum was barely audible. Just a subtle vibration in the air, like someone plucking a piano string from inside a steel box. The sound wasn't heard so much as felt. Lights overhead flickered once, then steadied.
"No way," Madison said, stepping closer behind her. "That's just a—"
The hum sharpened, rising an octave. Overhead, the lights flickered once, twice. Somewhere nearby, a phone shorted out with a chirping buzz.
And then the locker door began to glow.
Red, then white, then blue. Not paint. Not graffiti. Sigils, drawn in the air by invisible hands, rippling across the metal like reflections on water.
The hum turned into a whine.
And then the locker exploded.
The door launched outward with a crack of displaced air and a flare of energy. Emma saw it all happen in terrifying clarity.
It hit a student square in the chest—a skinhead with Empire 88 tattoos curling up his neck. He was mid-step, sneering, and then he was airborne. He slammed into the lockers opposite and dropped in a heap, unmoving.
Emma's breath caught in her throat. The sound of the impact echoed like a gunshot. Her friends screamed. Madison stumbled back and dropped her phone.
All around her, students shouted and scattered. Someone hit the ground hard. Someone else bolted toward the stairwell. But Emma didn't move.
She stared at the locker as the smoke and dust rolled out from it like breath from a dragon. The air shimmered with heat and sparks, and her heart pounded so loudly she thought it might drown out everything else.
She was afraid. Deeply, horribly afraid. But underneath it, a darker, colder awe crept in. Whatever had just stepped out of that locker, it wasn't a ghost.
It was something worse.
Or better.
From the dust and silence, Taylor Hebert stepped forward.
She was taller than most remembered. Her armor shimmered like molten glass over layered cloth, runes glowing faintly along the edges. Her hair was longer, the ends frayed. Her right hand rested on the hilt of a slender blade strapped to her back, etched with twin elemental sigils.
Emma stared, frozen in place. Her knees felt weak, and her fingers twitched involuntarily. She couldn't look away. It was Taylor. It had to be. But not the Taylor she remembered, the weakling who would break at the first sign of trouble, who had laid under her heel for nearly two years. This Taylor looked like a warrior stepped out of a storybook nightmare, glimmering with power, bathed in smoke and spell-light.
Emma's throat went dry. The temperature in the hallway seemed to drop, or maybe it was just her blood turning cold. Her mind scrambled for explanations.
Cape. Villain. Returned from the dead. Here for revenge.
She took a half-step back, heart hammering in her chest. Her hands trembled at her sides, and the hallway felt suddenly too small. She wanted to vanish, to melt into the floor or run until the pounding in her head stopped. She opened her mouth, thinking a snide comment would fall out automatically, but her tongue was dry and heavy. No words came. Only the growing certainty that whatever had returned wasn't there to forgive.
People took out their phones and began filming and taking pictures as Taylor's eyes passed over her and didn't even stop. Emma noticed. She saw the glowing screens surrounding them, dozens of students capturing Taylor's face from every angle, and her breath caught for a new reason.
Secret identities were a big deal. Sophia never shut up about it. Capes wore masks, helmets, armor that blurred their features. They protected their names like gold. Only two kinds of people walked around without hiding who they were, heroes from New Wave, and the kind of monsters who didn't plan on sticking around after they made their point.
Taylor didn't look like New Wave material. Not with that sword and that rugged look.
She looked like someone who had decided she didn't need to hide.
And that terrified Emma more than anything else.
The word 'murderhobo' came to mind.
Taylor looked around the hallway, face tight with distaste. Her lips moved.
"Of course. Of course it had to be the locker." Taylor's voice was quiet, almost thoughtful, like she wasn't really speaking to anyone. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a scroll, unfurling it with care. A slender quill hovered up beside her, suspended in a soft glow, and began scribbling across the parchment, lines of complex symbols and what looked like arcane geometry spiraling into tight formations.
"Got to take notes on the leylines here," she murmured, more to the quill than to the people around her. "This whole place is bent. Need to find a better anchor point next time."
A dozen students stared, phones trembling in their hands. Some whispered. Some backed away. No one spoke to her.
Principal Blackwell stormed down the hallway, her heels clicking sharply against the tile, each step louder than the last. Her face was set in a scowl, lips tight with frustration. Behind her, a gym teacher tried to keep up, and a nervous assistant Gladly attempted to look brave two steps behind. Blackwell had expected another gang scuffle, maybe one of the Empire kids going after some ABB tagger again. Typical Winlsow nonsense.
She was already rehearsing the speech she'd give about zero tolerance, about expulsions and liability forms.
But then she rounded the corner and stopped short. The tiles were scorched, and smoke hung in the air like mist. Lockers near the center of the hallway had been dented inward, one of them completely folded in. Glowing sparks still drifted lazily through the air like dying fireflies. And there, sprawled against the opposite wall, was a student with a shaved head and gang tattoos. Unconscious. Possibly worse.
That was alarming. Very much so. But what truly made the blood drain from Blackwell's face was the open locker.
The Locker.
It had never been opened. Not since that day.
And now it stood wide, bent slightly from the force of the blast, the hinges glowing faintly as if still hot. From its shadow, a girl had stepped forward, dressed in what looked like armor forged from glass and light.
Blackwell blinked, her mind scrambling for logic and finding none.
And the girl standing in the middle of it all, armored and radiant and unreal.
Blackwell stopped in her tracks. Her mouth opened, then closed. Her fingers twitched at her sides.
She swallowed once and forced her voice into something that resembled control.
"What was that explosion? Who did it?"
She saw Taylor and stopped cold.
Her brain didn't register it at first. Just another girl in elaborate cosplay or maybe a rogue parahuman making a spectacle. But then recognition clawed its way through the shock.
Blackwell had been pestered for months by a man with sunken eyes and a voice like a rasping engine. Danny Hebert had brought her photo every time. Shoved it across her desk again and again. Demanded someone look, someone care.
She'd brushed it off. Told herself it was grief, not evidence.
But now, staring at the armored figure in front of her, she realized she didn't need the photo.
The face had engraved itself in her mind long ago.
"You?"
Taylor didn't answer. She was listening to something distant, eyes flicking toward nothing. Her fingers twitched.
A Greg Veder stepped forward from the crowd.
He looked like he wanted to melt into the wall, but something in his chest pushed him forward anyway. Greg had known Taylor. Not well. Not deeply. But they had talked a few times, awkward exchanges in homeroom and after classes. She'd helped him once with a project about Eidolon, in return, he kept walking when Sophia punched her that one time.
And then she was gone. Just... gone.
Now she was back. And she looked like someone out of a fantasy novel. A terrifying one.
Greg's voice was barely more than a whisper.
"Taylor? Are you... are you okay?"
Taylor blinked. Her attention returned.
She studied the boy for a moment, then turned her gaze down the hallway. She looked back.
"No," she said. "I'm back in Bet."
Before anyone could speak, a shadow dropped from above.
A black-and-purple figure dropped from the second floor balcony, sleek and armored, a crossbow already aimed. The bolt loosed mid-fall, streaking across the space toward Taylor. It passed through her shoulder harmlessly, scattering like smoke. The attacker landed in a crouch, nearly silent, shadows clinging unnaturally to her form.
Some students gasped, recognizing the silhouette.
A Ward. One who did not normally show up at schools.
But no one said her name aloud.
Taylor moved. Not fast. Not sudden. Just perfectly timed. She stepped aside, her fingers brushing glowing runes in the air. The boots on her feet shimmered with pale blue light, lifting her smoothly into the air without effort or hesitation. She rose above the crowd, calm and balanced, as if the ground had simply become optional.
Another bolt came. She spun, dodged, and raised a hand.
"Arrest," she said.
Chains of golden light sprang from the glyph, wrapping around Shadow Stalker mid-leap. The cape dropped to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, body twitching as the spell pinned her in place.
Gasps rippled through the students.
Taylor landed gently. The light on her boots faded. She looked at them all.
"I didn't come to fight," she said. "But I will defend myself."
She looked down at the downed hero, one boot lightly tapping the tile beside the girl's mask. Then, with a faint smirk, Taylor gave her a gentle poke with the tip of her scabbard, just enough to be annoying. The pinned girl's body twitched slightly in response, her fists clenched tight beneath the glowing chains. Even through the full mask, it was obvious she was seething.
"Can anyone on this Plane show me the way to this moron's leader? I probably need to register with the PRT or something." She groaned. "Jace is going to kill me if the Gatewatch is declared a villain organization in Bet."
----
Authors notes:
I will be cycling through this, "Heir of ash and flames", and "Summer Chronicles". With this focusing on shorter chapters than either of those.
Taylor has just survived the War of the Spark and is a bit twitchy, being on a former Gatewatch mission to Bet to investigate Parahuman powers and their possible connection to the Blind Entities.
Six months had passed since Taylor Hebert vanished into the twisted metal of her locker and never came back out.
The floor had been re-tiled, the walls repainted a soft blue that someone on the board must have thought looked cheerful. It didn't help. The hallway felt wrong in a way that had nothing to do with paint. Everyone who passed through it knew why, though no one ever said it out loud.
The locker stood untouched. Cleaned, yes. Repaired, no. The dent on the lower left corner was still there, faint but present, like a scar someone never bothered to cover up. Students had to walk that hall to get to the computer lab, and the overflow lockers for gym, and the temporary classrooms down the ramp. So they did. Quickly.
A group of freshmen passed by, whispering nervously. One of them clutched her books to her chest like they were talismans and muttered a prayer under her breath. Another nudged his friend, pointing without making eye contact, then quickened his pace like he might be next.
A football player with earphones in slowed for half a second as if sensing something wrong beneath the music, glanced at the locker out of the corner of his eye, and then pressed forward, face tight.
The janitor pushing a mop bucket turned the corner, caught sight of the locker, and stopped. He muttered something under his breath, a mix of habit and warding, then wheeled around and left without touching a thing.
Emma Barnes turned the corner, posture perfect as always. Her friends followed close behind, keeping their eyes down.
"Let's go," she said. Her voice cracked just a little.
She saw it. Of course she did. The locker. The scar. The silence wrapped around it like a noose that never quite snapped. Her spine stiffened, but her pace remained steady.
Behind her, her friends chattered, each of them casting occasional glances at Emma to see if she was reacting.
"She probably just ran away. Total loser move," Madison said, glancing toward the locker with a theatrical shiver.
"Her dad was here again last week," another girl added. "Tried to talk to the principal like it was going to change something. Didn't he already lose that lawsuit?"
"Yeah. I saw him," a third chimed in, voice full of exaggerated disgust. "He smelled like a trashcan. I swear there were flies buzzing around his head. It was disgusting."
Their giggles faltered as they noticed Emma had gone quiet.
She was still staring at the locker.
Her friends followed her gaze, unease prickling at their spines. The chatter died completely.
Emma didn't look at them. Her jaw clenched, and she gave her head a short, precise shake.
"Losers don't deserve to be remembered," she said, more to the locker than to anyone else.
The locker began to hum.
Emma had just passed it, her friends trailing behind with unsure steps. She didn't look back, but her shoulders were rigid, her jaw clenched tight. Madison opened her mouth to say something else, but stopped mid-breath.
"Do you hear that?" one of the girls whispered.
They all turned.
A quiet vibration filled the air, so faint it felt like the building itself was holding its breath. The floor beneath their feet trembled slightly, as though something deep in the foundations had stirred. A few of the older kids further down the hallway slowed, glancing over their shoulders.
"It's the locker," said one of them, barely above a whisper.
Emma stopped walking. Her eyes were wide now, locked onto the metal door they had all learned to pretend didn't exist.
The hum was barely audible. Just a subtle vibration in the air, like someone plucking a piano string from inside a steel box. The sound wasn't heard so much as felt. Lights overhead flickered once, then steadied.
"No way," Madison said, stepping closer behind her. "That's just a—"
The hum sharpened, rising an octave. Overhead, the lights flickered once, twice. Somewhere nearby, a phone shorted out with a chirping buzz.
And then the locker door began to glow.
Red, then white, then blue. Not paint. Not graffiti. Sigils, drawn in the air by invisible hands, rippling across the metal like reflections on water.
The hum turned into a whine.
And then the locker exploded.
The door launched outward with a crack of displaced air and a flare of energy. Emma saw it all happen in terrifying clarity.
It hit a student square in the chest—a skinhead with Empire 88 tattoos curling up his neck. He was mid-step, sneering, and then he was airborne. He slammed into the lockers opposite and dropped in a heap, unmoving.
Emma's breath caught in her throat. The sound of the impact echoed like a gunshot. Her friends screamed. Madison stumbled back and dropped her phone.
All around her, students shouted and scattered. Someone hit the ground hard. Someone else bolted toward the stairwell. But Emma didn't move.
She stared at the locker as the smoke and dust rolled out from it like breath from a dragon. The air shimmered with heat and sparks, and her heart pounded so loudly she thought it might drown out everything else.
She was afraid. Deeply, horribly afraid. But underneath it, a darker, colder awe crept in. Whatever had just stepped out of that locker, it wasn't a ghost.
It was something worse.
Or better.
From the dust and silence, Taylor Hebert stepped forward.
She was taller than most remembered. Her armor shimmered like molten glass over layered cloth, runes glowing faintly along the edges. Her hair was longer, the ends frayed. Her right hand rested on the hilt of a slender blade strapped to her back, etched with twin elemental sigils.
Emma stared, frozen in place. Her knees felt weak, and her fingers twitched involuntarily. She couldn't look away. It was Taylor. It had to be. But not the Taylor she remembered, the weakling who would break at the first sign of trouble, who had laid under her heel for nearly two years. This Taylor looked like a warrior stepped out of a storybook nightmare, glimmering with power, bathed in smoke and spell-light.
Emma's throat went dry. The temperature in the hallway seemed to drop, or maybe it was just her blood turning cold. Her mind scrambled for explanations.
Cape. Villain. Returned from the dead. Here for revenge.
She took a half-step back, heart hammering in her chest. Her hands trembled at her sides, and the hallway felt suddenly too small. She wanted to vanish, to melt into the floor or run until the pounding in her head stopped. She opened her mouth, thinking a snide comment would fall out automatically, but her tongue was dry and heavy. No words came. Only the growing certainty that whatever had returned wasn't there to forgive.
People took out their phones and began filming and taking pictures as Taylor's eyes passed over her and didn't even stop. Emma noticed. She saw the glowing screens surrounding them, dozens of students capturing Taylor's face from every angle, and her breath caught for a new reason.
Secret identities were a big deal. Sophia never shut up about it. Capes wore masks, helmets, armor that blurred their features. They protected their names like gold. Only two kinds of people walked around without hiding who they were, heroes from New Wave, and the kind of monsters who didn't plan on sticking around after they made their point.
Taylor didn't look like New Wave material. Not with that sword and that rugged look.
She looked like someone who had decided she didn't need to hide.
And that terrified Emma more than anything else.
The word 'murderhobo' came to mind.
Taylor looked around the hallway, face tight with distaste. Her lips moved.
"Of course. Of course it had to be the locker." Taylor's voice was quiet, almost thoughtful, like she wasn't really speaking to anyone. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a scroll, unfurling it with care. A slender quill hovered up beside her, suspended in a soft glow, and began scribbling across the parchment, lines of complex symbols and what looked like arcane geometry spiraling into tight formations.
"Got to take notes on the leylines here," she murmured, more to the quill than to the people around her. "This whole place is bent. Need to find a better anchor point next time."
A dozen students stared, phones trembling in their hands. Some whispered. Some backed away. No one spoke to her.
Principal Blackwell stormed down the hallway, her heels clicking sharply against the tile, each step louder than the last. Her face was set in a scowl, lips tight with frustration. Behind her, a gym teacher tried to keep up, and a nervous assistant Gladly attempted to look brave two steps behind. Blackwell had expected another gang scuffle, maybe one of the Empire kids going after some ABB tagger again. Typical Winlsow nonsense.
She was already rehearsing the speech she'd give about zero tolerance, about expulsions and liability forms.
But then she rounded the corner and stopped short. The tiles were scorched, and smoke hung in the air like mist. Lockers near the center of the hallway had been dented inward, one of them completely folded in. Glowing sparks still drifted lazily through the air like dying fireflies. And there, sprawled against the opposite wall, was a student with a shaved head and gang tattoos. Unconscious. Possibly worse.
That was alarming. Very much so. But what truly made the blood drain from Blackwell's face was the open locker.
The Locker.
It had never been opened. Not since that day.
And now it stood wide, bent slightly from the force of the blast, the hinges glowing faintly as if still hot. From its shadow, a girl had stepped forward, dressed in what looked like armor forged from glass and light.
Blackwell blinked, her mind scrambling for logic and finding none.
And the girl standing in the middle of it all, armored and radiant and unreal.
Blackwell stopped in her tracks. Her mouth opened, then closed. Her fingers twitched at her sides.
She swallowed once and forced her voice into something that resembled control.
"What was that explosion? Who did it?"
She saw Taylor and stopped cold.
Her brain didn't register it at first. Just another girl in elaborate cosplay or maybe a rogue parahuman making a spectacle. But then recognition clawed its way through the shock.
Blackwell had been pestered for months by a man with sunken eyes and a voice like a rasping engine. Danny Hebert had brought her photo every time. Shoved it across her desk again and again. Demanded someone look, someone care.
She'd brushed it off. Told herself it was grief, not evidence.
But now, staring at the armored figure in front of her, she realized she didn't need the photo.
The face had engraved itself in her mind long ago.
"You?"
Taylor didn't answer. She was listening to something distant, eyes flicking toward nothing. Her fingers twitched.
A Greg Veder stepped forward from the crowd.
He looked like he wanted to melt into the wall, but something in his chest pushed him forward anyway. Greg had known Taylor. Not well. Not deeply. But they had talked a few times, awkward exchanges in homeroom and after classes. She'd helped him once with a project about Eidolon, in return, he kept walking when Sophia punched her that one time.
And then she was gone. Just... gone.
Now she was back. And she looked like someone out of a fantasy novel. A terrifying one.
Greg's voice was barely more than a whisper.
"Taylor? Are you... are you okay?"
Taylor blinked. Her attention returned.
She studied the boy for a moment, then turned her gaze down the hallway. She looked back.
"No," she said. "I'm back in Bet."
Before anyone could speak, a shadow dropped from above.
A black-and-purple figure dropped from the second floor balcony, sleek and armored, a crossbow already aimed. The bolt loosed mid-fall, streaking across the space toward Taylor. It passed through her shoulder harmlessly, scattering like smoke. The attacker landed in a crouch, nearly silent, shadows clinging unnaturally to her form.
Some students gasped, recognizing the silhouette.
A Ward. One who did not normally show up at schools.
But no one said her name aloud.
Taylor moved. Not fast. Not sudden. Just perfectly timed. She stepped aside, her fingers brushing glowing runes in the air. The boots on her feet shimmered with pale blue light, lifting her smoothly into the air without effort or hesitation. She rose above the crowd, calm and balanced, as if the ground had simply become optional.
Another bolt came. She spun, dodged, and raised a hand.
"Arrest," she said.
Chains of golden light sprang from the glyph, wrapping around Shadow Stalker mid-leap. The cape dropped to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, body twitching as the spell pinned her in place.
Gasps rippled through the students.
Taylor landed gently. The light on her boots faded. She looked at them all.
"I didn't come to fight," she said. "But I will defend myself."
She looked down at the downed hero, one boot lightly tapping the tile beside the girl's mask. Then, with a faint smirk, Taylor gave her a gentle poke with the tip of her scabbard, just enough to be annoying. The pinned girl's body twitched slightly in response, her fists clenched tight beneath the glowing chains. Even through the full mask, it was obvious she was seething.
"Can anyone on this Plane show me the way to this moron's leader? I probably need to register with the PRT or something." She groaned. "Jace is going to kill me if the Gatewatch is declared a villain organization in Bet."
----
Authors notes:
I will be cycling through this, "Heir of ash and flames", and "Summer Chronicles". With this focusing on shorter chapters than either of those.
Taylor has just survived the War of the Spark and is a bit twitchy, being on a former Gatewatch mission to Bet to investigate Parahuman powers and their possible connection to the Blind Entities.
phos
Getting sticky.
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- Dec 11, 2022
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- 530
I have to say that I've been waiting for this crossover for a long time, I'll just ask that she doesn't do something stupid like go back to school or something like that, she's a planeswalker, she doesn't have to give any real satisfaction to the guardian of youth or anything like that, especially considering that she just got out of the war of the spark
TooLazyToLogin
Maybe we can just do nothing today?
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That is one hell of a way to re-introduce yourself to the world. Looking forward to seeing where this goes.
phos
Getting sticky.
- Joined
- Dec 11, 2022
- Messages
- 50
- Likes received
- 530
phos
Getting sticky.
- Joined
- Dec 11, 2022
- Messages
- 50
- Likes received
- 530
I did miss this, lol
Kokusho
Getting out there.
- Joined
- Jun 11, 2025
- Messages
- 18
- Likes received
- 181
She effectively spent three years in Prismari College, so she considers herself an adult and educated enough. I'm going with Bet being time dilated because Bolas. So six months in Bet were 3 years in Arcavios and then War of the Spark happened and Bet was synced back to the rest of the planes.
She'd rather be somewhere else, but she's on a mission for the Gatewatch to investigate the source of Parahuman Powers and if they have anything to do with the Blind Entities. Also, she needs to let her dad know that she's alive.
She has access only to white, blue, and red spells. Leaning more on Blue and Red because she attended Prismari College.
Instants/Sorceries:
- Brainstorm
- Expressive Iteration
- Shock
- Volcanic Hammer
- Electrolyze
- Memory Lapse
- Prismari Command
- Divide by Zero ( Which triggers the following Lesson spells: Environmental Sciences, Expanded Anatomy, Mercurial Transformation, Academic Probation, Elemental Summoning, Start from Scratch)
- Mana Tithe
- Ephemerate
- Sublime Epiphany
- Creative Outburst
Enchantments:
- Arrest
- Slimebind
- Circle of Flame
- Gravitational Shift
- Searing Meditation
Summons:
- Mulldrifter
- Kelpie Guide
- Dream Strix ( Also triggers Lesson spells )
- Taylor's Projection (Essentially the same as Jace's Projection but for Taylor)
- Charmed Stray
- Lightning Angel
Artifacts she owns:
- Arcane Signet
- Sword of Fire and Ice
- Winged Boots
- Robe of Stars
- Battlemage's Bracers
- Brainstorm
- Expressive Iteration
- Shock
- Volcanic Hammer
- Electrolyze
- Memory Lapse
- Prismari Command
- Divide by Zero ( Which triggers the following Lesson spells: Environmental Sciences, Expanded Anatomy, Mercurial Transformation, Academic Probation, Elemental Summoning, Start from Scratch)
- Mana Tithe
- Ephemerate
- Sublime Epiphany
- Creative Outburst
Enchantments:
- Arrest
- Slimebind
- Circle of Flame
- Gravitational Shift
- Searing Meditation
Summons:
- Mulldrifter
- Kelpie Guide
- Dream Strix ( Also triggers Lesson spells )
- Taylor's Projection (Essentially the same as Jace's Projection but for Taylor)
- Charmed Stray
- Lightning Angel
Artifacts she owns:
- Arcane Signet
- Sword of Fire and Ice
- Winged Boots
- Robe of Stars
- Battlemage's Bracers
chinlamp
I trust you know where the happy button is?
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Prismari? That's... well, it makes me worry about 'in name only, why did you choose this character for this' fic incoming, because Prismari are the theatre and art club kids. Their motto is literally 'express yourself,' which is something Taylor spent a couple years having beat out of her a fair bit. Their magic is gesture and movement based, and puts more emphasis on the spectacle of making the magic than the effect itself, all of which is... very against the Taylor we know from Worm who yes, had the QA in her head, but she still was very 'suppress extraneous movement and gestures and emotional output' throughout. It's just... not something that jives to me.
Not saying it will be that, but that's the first thing that I think when I hear 'Taylor in Prismari'.
I'd have thought Silverquill or Witherbloom, but I guess I can understand the thought process for not. Witherbloom because you're avoiding her usual powerset, so you'd avoid the Pest magic. Silverquill a no because despite the colours generally jiving with her general personality and actions in canon and the whole 'mother was an English teacher' vibe, they're very cliquey and there's literally classes on 'how to be Emma but the words actually hurt,' which she would have found out in her first year before settling on a college.
So I can see where you ended on Prismari, but... darn does it make me wonder what her major is, especially if she somehow picked up White too, since the colleges don't have much if any crossover after you pick a specialty. You dabble in generic classes in the first year then choose a focus. Considering Arrest, that implies she picked it up on Ravnica, as that's the only plane we know she's been to that has that spell in its arsenal, so White should be her least explored and mastered colour. Are you planning to showcase that and show her inexperience with it compared to two colours she's had two years of specialised training on? What did she major in anyway? Blue or Red? What part of the colour the schools explore? Basically just wondering 'how do you plan to keep her actually acting like Taylor to an extent that is recognisable'?
Because despite what some people think, people aren't 'all colours'. The colours are selected by things that are core about them. It can be anything from strong personality traits, goals, their race, the society they grew up in, etc. So Taylore being Jeskai asks the question of how she got there. Are you playing into her sense of always being right leaning the White way, is the Blue from moving past her past traumas and putting herself above emotion, or did you go the Red route for that and she got therapy and became more empathic, etc.
All of which you might just answer in the text of the story, which if you do, kudos, good job. Just expounding on the immediate thoughts the premise gives me.
God, I really do overthink this stuff. I wish I had more to say on the actual substance of the chapter itself, but one chapter of a couple thousand words that's only really showing the fic setup doesn't lend enough substance to talk about.
Not saying it will be that, but that's the first thing that I think when I hear 'Taylor in Prismari'.
I'd have thought Silverquill or Witherbloom, but I guess I can understand the thought process for not. Witherbloom because you're avoiding her usual powerset, so you'd avoid the Pest magic. Silverquill a no because despite the colours generally jiving with her general personality and actions in canon and the whole 'mother was an English teacher' vibe, they're very cliquey and there's literally classes on 'how to be Emma but the words actually hurt,' which she would have found out in her first year before settling on a college.
So I can see where you ended on Prismari, but... darn does it make me wonder what her major is, especially if she somehow picked up White too, since the colleges don't have much if any crossover after you pick a specialty. You dabble in generic classes in the first year then choose a focus. Considering Arrest, that implies she picked it up on Ravnica, as that's the only plane we know she's been to that has that spell in its arsenal, so White should be her least explored and mastered colour. Are you planning to showcase that and show her inexperience with it compared to two colours she's had two years of specialised training on? What did she major in anyway? Blue or Red? What part of the colour the schools explore? Basically just wondering 'how do you plan to keep her actually acting like Taylor to an extent that is recognisable'?
Because despite what some people think, people aren't 'all colours'. The colours are selected by things that are core about them. It can be anything from strong personality traits, goals, their race, the society they grew up in, etc. So Taylore being Jeskai asks the question of how she got there. Are you playing into her sense of always being right leaning the White way, is the Blue from moving past her past traumas and putting herself above emotion, or did you go the Red route for that and she got therapy and became more empathic, etc.
All of which you might just answer in the text of the story, which if you do, kudos, good job. Just expounding on the immediate thoughts the premise gives me.
God, I really do overthink this stuff. I wish I had more to say on the actual substance of the chapter itself, but one chapter of a couple thousand words that's only really showing the fic setup doesn't lend enough substance to talk about.
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