You're a magician. A wizard. A witch. A mage. A warlock. Does it really matter what you are called? People can tell what you are, who you are from a mile away. to those with magical sensibilities you reek of power, and to those without, well, why else would you be so close to the king? why else would you wear robes of such fine silk? why else would your chains be made of such sparkling metals? It was common sense, after all.

You serve the king, and today is just another day. Or, so you thought.

You and his highness had been travelling together to another kingdom, in order to meet with their ruler. A relatively small party. You, a few cooks, guards, and general servants. It was safer to be less conspicuous, you see. But nothing ever goes to plan, does it?

You had set the tents down for the night, all but you were asleep, and good thing too, as you heard some odd sounds.. a voice you couldn't quite recognise swearing. the fuck?

You got up, almost instinctively casting a spell to silence your footsteps, making your way out into the clearing between you and the kings tent, eyes widening. you spotted him before he spotted you.

And as you were trained to do you struck, a loud crack sounded as you raised your staff, blinding light flashing as the strange man was slammed to the ground.

his mouthguard fell off, skidding across the dirt as he got slammed to the ground, revealing a mouth twisted into an almost snarl, a huge scar running along the side of his face

"Luh-let me go! B-bastard" he squirmed in the sort of grip of your magic