[ When Charlie ran away from his family home, away from the high walls and libraries and colleges that came with being a highborn wizard, he didn’t think he would ever come to truly know freedom. His family’s knights dogged him at every turn, left him hungry and scared, always having to watch his back, and knowing that his mere ability to wield magic, indicated by the runic Mark curling gently over one shoulder, would mean that he would never be accepted or trusted by the rest of the world.
But sometimes fate decides to show a little mercy to a poor soul, and thanks to a misunderstanding that somehow blossomed into an uneasy partnership, Charlie found himself in the company of a sometimes-mercenary, sometimes-thief by the name of Peter Quill. Peter was rough around the edges, and his distrust of magic was obvious from the very start, but he was kind when it counted, in his own sort of way. He helped Charlie along for some reason, even now Charlie’s not quite sure what it was that made Peter want to keep him around, taught him how to get by without leaning on his magic, dodging the Maxwell family knights and a rather sizable bounty on Charlie’s head all the while.
A promise to stick together for a couple of weeks became over half a year. Charlie repaid his debt to Peter by enchanting his bow, giving him the ability to set his arrows alight with flame or imbue them with lightning with a mere thought, though it hardly seemed like enough given all that Peter had done for him.
Eventually, it became clear that the people tailing Charlie were not going to stop. Over six months down the line, and his father still tried every trick, pulled ever string he could, to forcibly bring his son back home. It wasn’t fair to Peter to have to put up with it, and as much as Charlie liked Peter- which was an awful lot. Perhaps too much, considering how fresh the wound left by Robert’s death still was, even after all this time- he couldn’t allow this to continue.
The ruse was a long time in the making, taking only slightly longer to enact than it did to convince Peter it was a good idea, but thanks to some impressive acting and some rather impressive arcane trickery (if Charlie does say so himself), they faked Charlie’s death. The knights vanished, the bounty was withdrawn, and Charlie and Peter parted ways.
As one last gesture, an attempt at repaying a debt too big to ever be repaid, Charlie left peter with a small silver whistle, telling him that if he ever needed help, no matter where he was, to just use the whistle and Charlie would be there.
The village near Charlie’s home is small and pleasant, full of smiling people and laughing children. When Charlie had stumbled upon it nearly a year and half ago now, it had been a grim, somber place, full of grieving parents, plagued by the fear that when their little ones went to bed at night, they wouldn’t rise in the morning.
Charlie knew the sickness, a high fever and a cough that would leave a child bedridden for days until quietly claiming them in their sleep. It had hit the towns around Charlie’s family home some years earlier, and the wizards had devised a cure. (It wouldn’t do, his father had said, to have it spread so far so quickly that it put the wizarding families at risk as well as the common ones. It was the only kindness Charlie ever remembered his father extending to the common townsfolk.) He was both surprised and not to find it still ravaging villages this far out.
Charlie had only been a teenager during his first encounter with the sickness, but he remembered the spellwork and the herbs involved well enough. The villagers didn’t ask just how or where he’d come by a cure, they were only glad that he had. It was as good a place to stop as any, small and nondescript, and now, extremely welcoming and willing not to ask questions.
Potions had never been Charlie’s strong suit, but he’s a decent enough apothecary after a year or so of study, and his wizardry gives him something of an edge that makes up for his proper schooling. He lives a quiet existence in a small cabin in the woods beyond the village’s borders. It’s perhaps a little lonely, but it’s the freedom he’s always wanted, and there’s nothing more he could ask for.
His thoughts wander back to Peter often. Part of him regrets not sticking together- he liked Peter, and he owed him his life. He wonders if the mercenary is doing okay for himself, if he’s keeping out of trouble well enough. He must be, considering that Charlie hasn’t heard the call of the little whistle he left him with.
And then one day he does hear it.
He’s out in the garden, tending his herbs, when the shrill sound cuts through the silence, pulling him like a physical force. Something like panic constricts his chest and he runs into the house. He’s got a back packed already, waiting in case someone should find him and he needs to make a quick getaway. He slips his cloak over his shoulders, straps a pair of daggers and a short sword to his belt, and snatches up his bag. After quickly scrawling a note to any of the villagers who may come calling, the wizard closes his eyes, focuses on the invisible force of the enchantment, lets it pull him. Then he winks out of existence, carried by the spell to wherever Peter is. ]
sliiides in here
But sometimes fate decides to show a little mercy to a poor soul, and thanks to a misunderstanding that somehow blossomed into an uneasy partnership, Charlie found himself in the company of a sometimes-mercenary, sometimes-thief by the name of Peter Quill. Peter was rough around the edges, and his distrust of magic was obvious from the very start, but he was kind when it counted, in his own sort of way. He helped Charlie along for some reason, even now Charlie’s not quite sure what it was that made Peter want to keep him around, taught him how to get by without leaning on his magic, dodging the Maxwell family knights and a rather sizable bounty on Charlie’s head all the while.
A promise to stick together for a couple of weeks became over half a year. Charlie repaid his debt to Peter by enchanting his bow, giving him the ability to set his arrows alight with flame or imbue them with lightning with a mere thought, though it hardly seemed like enough given all that Peter had done for him.
Eventually, it became clear that the people tailing Charlie were not going to stop. Over six months down the line, and his father still tried every trick, pulled ever string he could, to forcibly bring his son back home. It wasn’t fair to Peter to have to put up with it, and as much as Charlie liked Peter- which was an awful lot. Perhaps too much, considering how fresh the wound left by Robert’s death still was, even after all this time- he couldn’t allow this to continue.
The ruse was a long time in the making, taking only slightly longer to enact than it did to convince Peter it was a good idea, but thanks to some impressive acting and some rather impressive arcane trickery (if Charlie does say so himself), they faked Charlie’s death. The knights vanished, the bounty was withdrawn, and Charlie and Peter parted ways.
As one last gesture, an attempt at repaying a debt too big to ever be repaid, Charlie left peter with a small silver whistle, telling him that if he ever needed help, no matter where he was, to just use the whistle and Charlie would be there.
The village near Charlie’s home is small and pleasant, full of smiling people and laughing children. When Charlie had stumbled upon it nearly a year and half ago now, it had been a grim, somber place, full of grieving parents, plagued by the fear that when their little ones went to bed at night, they wouldn’t rise in the morning.
Charlie knew the sickness, a high fever and a cough that would leave a child bedridden for days until quietly claiming them in their sleep. It had hit the towns around Charlie’s family home some years earlier, and the wizards had devised a cure. (It wouldn’t do, his father had said, to have it spread so far so quickly that it put the wizarding families at risk as well as the common ones. It was the only kindness Charlie ever remembered his father extending to the common townsfolk.) He was both surprised and not to find it still ravaging villages this far out.
Charlie had only been a teenager during his first encounter with the sickness, but he remembered the spellwork and the herbs involved well enough. The villagers didn’t ask just how or where he’d come by a cure, they were only glad that he had. It was as good a place to stop as any, small and nondescript, and now, extremely welcoming and willing not to ask questions.
Potions had never been Charlie’s strong suit, but he’s a decent enough apothecary after a year or so of study, and his wizardry gives him something of an edge that makes up for his proper schooling. He lives a quiet existence in a small cabin in the woods beyond the village’s borders. It’s perhaps a little lonely, but it’s the freedom he’s always wanted, and there’s nothing more he could ask for.
His thoughts wander back to Peter often. Part of him regrets not sticking together- he liked Peter, and he owed him his life. He wonders if the mercenary is doing okay for himself, if he’s keeping out of trouble well enough. He must be, considering that Charlie hasn’t heard the call of the little whistle he left him with.
And then one day he does hear it.
He’s out in the garden, tending his herbs, when the shrill sound cuts through the silence, pulling him like a physical force. Something like panic constricts his chest and he runs into the house. He’s got a back packed already, waiting in case someone should find him and he needs to make a quick getaway. He slips his cloak over his shoulders, straps a pair of daggers and a short sword to his belt, and snatches up his bag. After quickly scrawling a note to any of the villagers who may come calling, the wizard closes his eyes, focuses on the invisible force of the enchantment, lets it pull him. Then he winks out of existence, carried by the spell to wherever Peter is. ]