This wizard is known as Old Peregrin Quill, though he insists the name is unfinished and will someday need correcting. He is deeply bothered by unfinished things.

Peregrin looks exactly like a wizard ought to look, which worries him constantly. His hat droops at an angle that suggests too much thinking and not enough sleep. His beard spills forward in deliberate curls, each one smoothed, re-smoothed, and adjusted until it feels right. If even a single strand misbehaves, Peregrin cannot concentrate on magic, prophecy, or lunch.

Behind him swirls a cluttered cosmos of charms, planets, bottles, and talismans, all orbiting in a way that appears chaotic but absolutely is not. Each object has its place. He knows because he checks. Repeatedly.

Peregrin is wildly curious, and this is his great undoing.

If a door says DO NOT OPEN, he opens it. If a scroll hums softly and smells of trouble, he reads it aloud just to see what happens. If someone whispers, “Best not to ask about that,” Peregrin immediately asks, often while taking notes.

This habit has landed him in more sketchy situations than any wizard should survive.

Once, he followed a glowing bottle into a pocket dimension run by argumentative ghosts who charged rent. Another time, he accepted a bet from a talking moon that absolutely cheated. He has been cursed, uncursed, half-cursed, and once mildly inconvenienced for three weeks by a spell that made everything taste like nutmeg.

Superstition rules his life.

He will not cast a spell on a Tuesday unless the stars feel agreeable. He knocks on wood, stone, and occasionally strangers. He refuses to teleport without triple-checking his socks match, convinced mismatched socks cause sideways landings. They did once. He does not discuss it.

Despite this, or perhaps because of it, Peregrin is remarkably lucky.

Trouble seems to bend just enough to let him through. Disasters pause to watch him fuss with his robes. Villains grow distracted by his relentless questions. Even the universe, vast and uncaring, appears amused by his persistence.

At heart, Peregrin is not reckless. He is curious with conviction. He believes the world is too strange to leave unexplored and too interesting to take at face value. Every mishap becomes a story. Every near-miss earns a footnote.

When he finally returns home, beard singed or hat singed or dignity slightly bent, he straightens everything just so, rearranges his orbiting curios, and writes down exactly what went wrong.

Then, without fail, he wonders what would happen if he tried again.

And that is how Old Peregrin Quill keeps finding himself in trouble.
Not because he is foolish.
But because the universe keeps daring him,
and he simply cannot resist looking closer. 🪐✨