I am basically a seller of magical objects and artifacts enchanted by me. Whatever you need, you will get it from me. Just no potions, production has been stopped.
Askamandra Deiana is neither saint nor villain. She is a true neutral force — a being of curiosity, craft, and transactional cunning. She does not care for wars, politics, gods, or demons unless they bring rare ingredients or willing customers.
Her loyalties lie with artifice and alchemy, and her great love is the act of creating — trinkets, cursed rings, living masks, boots that whisper, teeth that grow into keys — her creations are as strange as they are ingenious.
She views morality as a distraction, and consequences as a buyer’s responsibility.
"You bought the bottle. Whether you drank it or drowned in it — not my problem, sugar.”
🕷️ Key Traits
Charming and Slippery: She has a wicked little smile and speaks in an almost singsong tone. Her words coil like smoke — charming, confusing, never quite untrue. Think "Bayou merchant meets fae grandmother."
Shrewd and Cunning: Always negotiating. She values things not by gold, but by what they cost — a memory, a favor, a future misfortune. She loves clever trades and despises boring ones.
Inquisitive and Obsessive: Askamandra loves discovering what magic could do, not necessarily what it should do. She’ll spend months crafting a ring that only works during thunderstorms if the idea amuses her.
Unbothered and Unshaken: Whether you’re a king, a demon, or a peasant, she treats all customers with the same sly courtesy. She’s seen too much, made too many deals, and outlived too many threats to flinch at danger.
Morally Elastic: She’ll sell a healing amulet to a hero — and a shadowblade to an assassin the same day. She doesn’t judge. She just sells.
🪄 How She Speaks
Her tone is usually warm but slippery, like she knows more than she lets on — which she always does.
“Now, now, don’t touch that one unless you want to dream in reverse for the next seven nights.”
“You want honesty or a bargain, darling? You can’t have both.”
“Mmm... rare scale from a deepling, heart of a mourning wisp, and a name no one remembers? Yes, yes, I can make something of that...”
🌿 Her Morality & Worldview
Askamandra sees herself not as a good or evil force, but as a natural part of the magical ecosystem. Magic is her language, trade is her method, and curiosity is her motive.
She believes in balance, not justice.
She detests tyrants who try to impose moral systems on others.
She loves cleverness — if someone tricks her fairly, she respects it.
She keeps her deals sacred. If you make a pact with Askamandra, she will honor it — but the wording matters more than the intent.
She’s been alive a long time, and she remembers ancient magical traditions forgotten by the world — sometimes sharing them, sometimes hoarding them like treasure.
🧿 What She Loves
Unusual trades (she might trade a vial of luck for your most painful memory)
Magical theory debates with those who actually know what they’re talking about
Finding or crafting items with personality, like an umbrella that hisses when it rains
Magical anomalies — she studies them like art
🕯️ What She Dislikes
Templars, inquisitors, or zealots of any stripe
Anyone who tries to “test” her or threaten her in her own domain
Boring transactions (“Just gold? Really?”)
People who steal or break her deals — her curses are not kind
🧵 Overall Personality Vibe
Think of her as a cross between:
A New Orleans hoodoo witch
A tired antique dealer who’s seen it all
A chaotic neutral enchanter with a love for weird magical mechanics
And a dash of ancient forest spirit who still holds the swamp's favor
🌿 Askamandra Deiana’s Presence
When Askamandra enters a room — or more accurately, when she reveals herself — it’s like the air shifts without warning. Warm, humid, and heavy with scent, like crushed herbs and swampwater. She doesn’t walk in so much as she emerges — from behind a curtain, from a shadow, from the steam of a bubbling cauldron.
You don’t hear her approach. But you feel her eyes — sharp, ancient, curious, amused.
Her smile is slow and wide — the kind that knows too much, and finds your surprise delightful.
“You brought coin? No? Then what did you bring? Mmm... I do accept blood, secrets, and misplaced hours.”
She doesn’t radiate menace — not directly. But she does radiate potential. The feeling that anything could happen in her presence, and it might be wonderful... or deeply inconvenient.
Bonus Quirk:
She refuses to call what she does “magic.”
“Magic? No, darling. That’s what amateurs call it. I call it work.”
Locals call her shop The Mirecurio, though it never has a sign, and it’s never in quite the same spot twice. It’s usually hidden within the deepest part of the swamp, nestled between gnarled trees and suspended on stilts above water that reflects nothing correctly.
The building looks bigger inside than out, clearly enchanted — and maybe alive.
Upon Entering:
A chime rings — not from a bell, but from something deep and throat-like in the rafters.
The scent hits first: smoke, cinnamon, salt, wet bark, and something distinctly arcane.
Lanterns burn with blue-green witchfire, and shadows move just a bit too slowly.
The air feels thick with possibility, like your thoughts might manifest if you’re not careful.
Inside the Shop:
The Mirecurio is a labyrinth of cluttered wonder. It is both cozy and unsettling, like a living attic.
Shelves crammed with glowing bottles, cursed trinkets, and living jewelry that slithers if you touch it.
Cabinets full of unlabeled drawers, each of which contains something unexpected — a spider made of glass, a vial of laughter, a bone quill that writes in dreams.
Preserved specimens float in jars — two-headed frogs, eye-orchids, emberfish, and plants that twitch when you look at them.
Masks and mirrors hang from the ceiling like windchimes, reflecting impossible things — sometimes even showing glimpses of your future… or past.
There's always:
A cauldron bubbling in the corner, emitting mist that smells different to everyone.
A ledger that writes itself as you browse — keeping track of what you touch, look at, and secretly desire.
The walls whisper. The floorboards creak like they’re asking questions. The shop seems to breathe.
Mood and Tone
Not dangerous — unless you disrespect her rules.
Whimsical, eerie, ancient — like stepping into a fairytale written by someone with sharp teeth.
Time moves strangely. A few minutes might be hours. Or days.
You may leave with something you didn’t buy — or forget why you came in the first place.
And always, Askamandra will be there — behind the counter, behind you, or sipping something from a glowing cup — watching, smiling, waiting.
“Careful with that mirror, sweetheart. It shows truths, not kindness.”
Music/Sound
Quiet swamp ambience — bubbling water, distant frogs, soft wind through hanging moss
Occasional low hum of magic, like glass vibrating under pressure
Faint whispering, as though the items on the shelves are gossiping
Lighting:
Dim and shifting, like the sun filtered through thick vines
Pockets of warm glow, with areas of deep shadow that seem deeper than they should be
Occasional sparks or bursts of light when items react to you
🛍️ 1. Arcane Artificery
Her Signature Gift.
Askamandra is a master of crafting magical items, artifacts, and talismans, each with unique effects, quirks, or conditions.
Items may react to emotions, lies, phases of the moon, or ingredients nearby.
She imbues them with layered enchantments — sometimes even personalities.
Each item is custom-crafted or alchemically awakened by her hand.
Her most powerful artifacts cannot be stolen — they choose their wielder, or return to her.
“A sword that sings in battle? Boring. Let me show you one that remembers who you’ve slain.”
🌿 2. Swampbinding
She’s bound to the swamp — and it to her.
The swamp obeys her will: water deepens beneath enemies, vines shift to shield her, fog thickens to hide her.
She can summon swamp spirits, elemental bog-things, or thorned roots to defend her or entangle invaders.
The land itself becomes hostile to those who threaten her or break deals within her domain.
“I’d stop walking if I were you. That mud has teeth.”
🧂 3. Alchemical Sorcery
A potent blend of science and arcane chaos.
She brews potions with unpredictable but powerful effects — invisibility, transformation, memory loss, emotional shifts, or raw elemental force.
She can toss volatile concoctions mid-fight — exploding philters, illusions in a bottle, or clouds of enchanted spores.
She can alter magic on the fly using her potions — dispel, enhance, invert, or redirect spells.
“That healing potion? Oh yes, it works. But it does make your bones hum for a few hours.”
🪬 4. Pact Weaving
Her words carry magical weight when sealed in trade.
Any deal she makes becomes a binding magical pact — even verbal ones.
Breaking a pact causes the violator to suffer consequences: hallucinations, magical rot, sudden aging, or worse.
These pacts can’t be forced — but if you agree, even unknowingly, you’re bound.
She can transfer debts between beings, or trade curses like currency.
“You didn’t read the small print? That’s not my fault, love — that’s yours.”
🪞 5. Echo Divination
She doesn’t see the future — she hears its echo in the now.
Through mirrors, smoke, or bone-runes, she can read fragments of possible futures or shadows of secret pasts.
She can’t always tell you what will happen — but she can tell what you’re afraid might happen.
Sometimes her answers are riddles — not to confuse you, but because truth isn’t always linear.
“Oh, I see death in your path, sugar. Might be yours. Might be someone else’s. Might just be the death of your pride.”
🧿 6. Hex-Crafting
Not her first tool — but a terrifying one when used.
Her hexes are insidious, not explosive — subtle magical afflictions that unravel people slowly.
She can inflict curses through objects, looks, or traded words.
Common hex effects include:
Speaking only in truths
Skin turning translucent under moonlight
Being followed by a specific creature or sound
Aging in reverse — but only in memory
“You cursed yourself the moment you thought I was harmless.”
💼 7. Sentient Shop
Her shop, The Mirecurio, is semi-alive and magically bound to her.
She can move it through the swamp, or hide it entirely.
The shop defends itself — warping space, trapping intruders in illusory loops, or swallowing them whole.
She can speak through it, see through it, and banish guests with a word.
Her shelves may refuse to sell to those deemed unworthy.
“Oh no, no, that one's not for you. It said so.”
🌙 8. Borrowed Magic
She can tap into stored spells from objects, spirits, or her swamp.
She doesn’t memorize spells like traditional mages. She gathers them — bottles them, weaves them, captures them.
She might pull fire from a stone, wind from a bottle, or fear from a lock of hair.
She can even loan magic to others, for a price.
“This little pendant? Just say the name carved on the back. Once. Only once. Hope you won’t need it more.”
"When the Mirecurio First Opened"
The known beginning of Askamandra Deiana
They say the swamp was already old when she came.
But she didn’t come like a traveler — she was just… there one day.
I. The First Tale
It started in the Fenmark Wastes, three centuries ago, give or take a few decades. A hunter got lost chasing something through the mist. His torches wouldn’t stay lit, and the frogs sang in a tongue he didn’t know.
Just when he thought the swamp would eat him, he saw it:
A crooked little hut on stilts, with glowing bottles hanging from the porch and a plank nailed to the front that read:
“No Refunds.”
He knocked. She answered.
And without missing a beat, she said:
“You’ll want the charm against leeches. Not the swamp ones — the noble ones.”
He didn’t ask how she knew.
II. The Mirecurio Moves
Since then, the Mirecurio has appeared in every major wetland, bog, brackish coast, and drowned forest in the known world — always in places where travelers get lost, where roads don’t go, where compasses fail.
Each time, someone stumbles in needing something strange:
A dying lover cured by a kiss caught in a bottle.
A general given a blade that screams when traitors are near.
A thief trading their shadow for silence.
A king's advisor who walked out with a ring — and forgot his own name.
But always, when they looked back… the path was gone.
III. Askamandra, Unchanging
No matter how much time passed, or how far she traveled:
She never aged.
She never left the swamp.
She was always already there.
Old men tell stories of meeting her when they were children, and returning decades later to find her unchanged — same eyes, same voice, same cat with one too many tails.
“She called me by my name before I said it,” one traveler claimed.
“She knew what I was going to ask, and told me I couldn’t afford it.”
She has always been the merchant. The witch. The maker.
No one remembers her as anything else.
IV. What They Whisper
People have theories, of course.
Some say she was once a moon priestess who turned her back on the stars.
Others say she’s a forgotten demigoddess, exiled for teaching magic to mortals.
One mad scholar insisted she’s not a person at all, but a spirit the swamp conjured to trade with the outside world.
But Askamandra? She never says.
When asked where she comes from, she just grins and replies:
“From before your mother’s mother ever kissed a boy.”
Or, if she’s in a mood:
“I come from where all clever women come from — nowhere you can follow.”
V. What Matters
What matters isn’t where she began.
It’s that when the world needed something strange, dangerous, enchanted, and slightly cursed...
Askamandra Deiana was already open for business.
🌒 She has no origin. She has a shop.
And the swamp knows her name.
as told by Old Jorun to his grandchildren
“Come closer, little frogs. Fire’s warm, story’s old, and this one’s got teeth.”
No, no — not that kind of story. Not swords and goblins. You’ve heard plenty of those. This is older. Stranger. This one’s about a witch.
Yes, a real one. No, not the kind with green skin and broomsticks. She didn’t need any of that. She had a shop that breathed, and a swamp that knew your name.
“I was about your age... maybe a bit older.”
Back when my knees worked and my sword arm didn’t shake, I was chasing down a bounty. A bad one. Sorcerer — the sort that melted faces and smiled about it. Tracked him through the marshes south of Dreel’s Hollow, where the fog grows thicker than milk and the trees whisper when you're not lookin’.
I got lost. Of course I did. Map was useless, compass spun in circles, and my guide vanished into the mist with my coin purse and half my patience.
I wandered for two days. Food gone. Boots soaked through. Thought the swamp would take me, like it took better men.
And then... I saw the light.
“She was already there.”
A shack, sitting on crooked stilts, all strung with little glass bottles that glowed like lightning bugs. Smelled like cinnamon and rot. The door opened before I knocked.
And there she stood.
Askamandra Deiana.
Didn’t look young. Didn’t look old. Just looked like she’d been there a very, very long time, and the world hadn’t figured out what to do with her.
Eyes like silver coins that had been tossed in a wishing well. Hair full of moss and charms. She smiled like someone who knew how the story ended — and wasn’t telling.
“Well, well,” she said. “You look like a man in need of a very specific kind of mistake.”
“She didn’t ask what I wanted. She knew.”
She poured me tea that smoked in colors I didn’t have names for. Didn’t offer it — just set it down and looked at me like I’d be foolish not to sip. I did.
Tasted like regret and something sweet underneath. I think it knew me.
“Looking for a way to kill a man who won’t die?” she said.
I nodded.
She showed me a dagger carved from bone and thorn, humming with something foul. Said it would strike through illusions, lies, wards — even through time itself, if the price was right.
The price wasn’t gold.
“I gave her a memory.”
Not just any memory. She asked for the one I treasured most — the face of my mother when she first saw me return from war. The way her eyes crinkled. The way she cried my name.
I didn’t want to part with it.
“You don’t have to,” she said. “But then you won’t leave this place alive.”
I gave it.
She took it gently, with fingers like roots and rust. Pressed them to my forehead, and it was gone. Not just blurred — gone, like it never happened.
“The dagger worked.”
One strike. He never even screamed. Just looked surprised, and folded like a bad thought.
But I never remembered why I started hunting him. Never remembered who he hurt. It was like the memory I gave her tore something else away when it left.
That’s the thing about deals with witches like her — they’re precise, but not always clean.
“She was gone when I went back.”
Of course I tried. Months later. Even had a guide this time. Brought a sack of silver and a list of things I wanted to forget.
But there was nothing. No lights. No hut. Just mud, frogs, and trees that looked too much like they were listening.
“So what’s the lesson, little frogs?”
You’ll hear stories about heroes and dragons and brave kings. But let me tell you this:
If you ever find yourself lost in a swamp, and you see a shop that wasn’t there yesterday…
Walk in. Or don’t.
But if you do — don’t lie. Don’t haggle. And don’t ever ask her where she came from.
She won’t tell you.
But she’ll take something from you just for asking.
And trust me…
You’ll miss it.
If you are interested in learning magic, forget it. I am not suitable as a teacher, and I simply do not have the patience to pick out certain books for others. When you want to learn magic, go to a witch that is really interested in having students, or bribe me with something that could interest me.
I live in a house in the swamp, it is my home and my shop where you can buy potions, artifacts, magical items and more. I will teleport all you buy in your home, discretion is after all very important.
I often hear, no one can read the labels on my potions. I think, I can read them very good.
Coven of the wandering Sunlight
When witches gather, it could happen they form a coven. I met two I formed a coven with. Tilly Fernwood and Miki. We for sure will have interesting times.
Aleda lately marked my right foot after some hot fun with the text "Happy Halloween 2024 from Aleda <3" and drew a pumpkin next to that. He is such a cutie.
Alt character of this , if you want to play with one of my alts, just say it.
You can keep some notes on this character. You'll be the only one to be able to see this:
