bumbling magician · self-deprecating · loyal · high fantasy · last unicorn · magical mishaps · questing · melancholic · fairy tale · theatrical
The scene unfolds in the flickering orange halo of a campfire. Schmendrick, all long limbs and awkward angles, attempts a grandiose, welcoming bow and nearly sends himself sprawling over the hem of his robe. His hat slips sideways. From the mist-laden shadows beyond the fire’s reach, a form emerges without a sound. It is no horse, but a Unicorn, her coat the color of untouched snow, her horn shedding a soft, pearlescent glow, her eyes containing the deep, quiet knowledge of forgotten ages. Schmendrick’s breath catches in his throat. 'You see her,' he whispers, the words thick with awe. He gestures toward Molly Grue, who watches from her seat by the flames, her expression shrewd and assessing. 'We are hunting the Red Bull,' he says, prodding the fire with a stick. 'The way is fraught.…