Caligo University

[Eldan]

Middling House was an ancient building of brown, ivy-covered bricks that looked as if it might have stood here, overlooking Gyre park on one side and Whitecap Channel, which ran all the way down to the (unimaginatively named) Great Bay, on the other. It was a prestigious adress, for sure. Three stories high, on a small hill within comfortable walking distance of the main campus of Caligo Polymagic and Technical University, Middling House had only six suites and two halls, but each suite was outfitted with servant quarters and comfortable living arrangements for two gentleman students, of the kind that was kindly invited to study at the unversity in exchange for a possible exchange of donations and political goodwill, not actually enrolled.

Mohana is clearly one such gentleman. Hailing from the lower noble castes of the glowing world of Ember, his skin is a light shade of watery blue, his limbs long and slender, and he is clad in what was now the newest Core World fashions: a red coat with long sleeves, lacey cuffs and short tails over knee-long pants of the same colour and a black, silky shirt. Of course he had made some concessions to his heritage: the red silk sash around his waist, carrying the scimitar and kris knife without which no Emberite gentleman would be considered fully dressed.
Nodding to himself with some self-satisfaction, he surveys the four rooms the university had offered him, the luxurious four-poster bed of Belaminan Teak, the wood-panelled walls, the marble bath, the study with its shelves already filled with books, the windows with their slightly-green tinted glass that admitted the bright, silver light of the sky-arch overhead.
"Fine, fine, fine."
He nods, then pulls off his gloves.
"Henry, please organise the storage of my trunks, and choose some clothes for me for the welcoming dinner tonight. I shall go out and have a stroll to examine the university facilities."
He turns around on the heels of his slippers and vanished down the stairs.

Just as soon as he has vanished, a new voice speaks, seemingly coming from the wall.
"A fine gentleman, no doubt. Would you be his servant, then?"
One of the wall panels in the study shimmers, and out of it steps a gnome of young adult age. Blonde, artfully arranged curls are falling to his shoulders, and he has a waxed, twirled mustache. With a quick nod of his head, he stretches out one hand.
" To my friends, I have the honour of being Peliarno Commodio Scresauro Reprisio Fondanto Naoki Akira Histerio Ignaldio Idicepto Surya Mahadesh of the Living House Calarno. I'm in my sixth semester here, studying Ritual Theory and Paramentalism. I assume that we will be sharing an appartment, then?"

[Matar]

Henry looks over at the Gnome, a small frown on his face. Sixth semester student. How did that compare to the little that he knows about magic? A lot, probably.

Shaking his head he sighs and heads over to his Masters trunks, slowly sorting through it. It was easy work but his Masters rather overwhelming amount of clothing made it long and tedious.

As he started he spoke to the Gnome, his voice tired and deep. "I am. It's not the most glamorous living, but whatever gets you off the farm, you know?"

After adjusting the contents of the trunk Henry proceeds to find an outfit fitting of his Masters fine tastes.

"I'm in ritual training as well. Though I'm not sure if my class is anywhere near as advanced as yours. I'm also in a class for weapon training..." He trails off as he pulls an outfit of the trunk. After examining it for a short time he stands up, closes the trunk, and sets the outfit on the bed, making sure it stays neat.

"Oh. Call me Henry. And I suppose we will be. Hopefully we'll get along alright."

[Eldan]

"Quite, quite. Not that I have worked on a farm since I was born. We had Unborn for that. But I wasn't born Living."
He sits down on the edge of a table and takes a small cloth bag out of his pocket.
"Snuff? Weapon training and Ritual Theory. If you added Alchemy and Etherealism, you could end up a guild marine. Any talent for Protoplasm?"

[Matar]

He shakes his head and looks over his work one time. Nodding to himself he pulls up a chair to the table and sits down.

"There are a few other classes I've been looking into. Metaphysical Swordplay and a study on Necromancy. But I haven't gotten to speaking to the professors yet. It's on my to-do list. When I get time that is."

[Eldan]

The gnome sneezes violently, then stuffs the cloth bag back in his pocket.
"That's a lot of lectures, Henry. Most students I know take maybe one or two on top of the basics, not that many."
He sniffs and walks over to a bookshelf, pulling out two volumes. One of them ("The Dialects of the Draconic Language") he puts under his arm, the other, a slender, leather-bound tome, he tosses to Henry.
"That's Malwar's "Codex of Spirits". You'll need that if you want to take Necromancy. You'll probably spend your first six weeks staring at the trapped ghosts of small animals."
Walking over to the door, he adds:
"I have a class now, but if you are still busy, I can show you how to apply for aptitude interviews. You'll need those if you want to get into advanced classes."

[Matar]

Henry looks the book over once and gives his head a nod. How much of this would he really understand? Enough to get something useful he hoped.

He thought back to when he looked over his Master's texts. Something about... elemental magic? It was all abstract theory, at least, and he understood none of it. Well, so long as he did well in the topics he was studying he should skirt by. Hopefully.

Nodding to the gnome Henry smiles a bit and places the book neatly back on the table. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble. Assuming I have any free time later. Servant and all that."

Henry leans back in the chair and cracks his back.

"I have a bit of free time. I better walk around campus and get familiar with everything. Maybe... get something to eat."

After the gnome leaves Henry goes over everything one more time before heading out of the room himself, walking around the campus aimlessly, grabbing a small snack somewhere if he finds something.

[Eldan]

This part of the Campus consists of a park-landscape, where ancient pine trees, likely much older than the founding of the guild and the expansion of the university, stand between a dozen of the small mansions that serves as quarters for the richest nobles to come here for their studies.
Further towards the older campus buildings, giant monolithic structures of dark rock, Henry finds a small restaurant where maybe a dozen students sit in the shade around small tables, drinking chocolate and coffee, fancy and expensive drinks just recently introduced by the guild from the Border Worlds.

[Matar]

Rummaging through his pockets Henry sighs softly. If he's lucky he might be able to afford... bread. And water. And hopefully a bit more bread.

After ordering whatever he was able to afford (if anything) he then sits in silence while eating. Afterwards he wastes time wandering around and heads back to meet with his Master.

[Eldan]

Mohana is already home, critically eyeing the clothes set out for him while pacing back and forth in his bedroom.
"Henry, terrible news. I have made subtle enquiries about the local fashions. A gentleman should wear blue or black this summer! Can you imagine? Blue? With my skin? I need to go out and buy at least six black suits this weekend."
He sighs.
"Anyway. I have penned a message for the dean of studies, I need you to deliver later. It details the times at which lectures would be convenient for me. Now, I'd like some tea, I think. Make yourself a cup as well."
Sitting down in a chair, he takes out a large sheet of folded paper that seems to be covered in tiny, slightly runny black type and small woodcuts. He unfolds it, showing the front:

THE CORE GAZETTE:
We speak the truth others don't dare to whisper!

BRUTAL KILLER STALKS UNIVERSITY CAMPUS! WRAITHS POWERLESS TO STOP SKULLTAKER MENACE!!! Are our commissars being paid off to avoid implicating sons of famous politician?
GALAHAD ANDERSON RETURNED FROM THE DEAD: Famous bard to play in all-zombie orchestra!
DJINN COURT DEMANDS KHAIRA SILVERHAIR! Did the infamous pirate Surya Flamebeard sell the lives of his children for power?
BLACK BIRDS WITH SILVER TONGUES! Mysterious crime kingpin LORD WINSOME blackmails politicians using trained crows!

Muttering, Mohana begins reading the back side, which seems to feature considerably fewer instances of inch-high, bolded headlines, and more sedate articles.

[Eldan]

Mohana looks up again. "Oh, and I brought the list of Magisters offering interviews for Advanced Classes. Thought you might want to have that. It's on the table there."
He nods at a sheet of neatly folded paper on a coffee table:


Magister Wolfram Findelwald Tungsten: Applied Pathology

Magister Selenian Plutonis: Prime Astrology

Magister Lucius Gaius Moribundus: Surgical Transvitalism

Magister Mara Stonehammer: Phlogistic and Analytical Alchemy

Magister Alset Alokin: Amberstatics of the Shifting Flux

Magister Yubag Olton: Fundamental Forces

Magister Blythe Alwin: Umbral Studies

Magister Basile Augustus: Advanced Botany

Magister Hotaka Hayato: Combat

[Matar]

After entering the room Henry greets his Master the same way as always. A polite bow (though not so deep as to seem dramatic), a polite and softly spoken "Master" and then moving his way into the shadows and out of his Masters way unless ordered.

It was a simple and effective way to keep out of trouble, out of the way, and not out the door.

Picking up the paper Henry looks it over and pulls a small book out of his pocket, before jotting down a few notes. Applied Pathology sounded interesting enough. And combat was also another obvious choice.

He then waits for his Master's word, in case there is anything that he wants.

[Eldan]

The Combat instruction is in one of the most outlying buildings of the university, outside the main walls, and a ten-minute walk up a gravel pathway through the dark pine forests that cover the hill-slopes here. The building is a squat, broad two-story building of granite and slate tiles with narrow windows and a heavy wooden door with a note on it saying: "Enter for Interviews".

Just beyond the door is a hall which seems to fill most of the ground floor, though most of it is in shadow. Opposite the door, on a raised platform, sits a young hobgoblin. He is a young adult, with ruddy, brown skin and black hair cut down to a short stubble, clad in a tight, immaculate black three-piece suit with polished leather shoes. Between his inch-long fangs, he is holding a lit cigarette, and he seems totally absorbed in a small book he is holding in his hand. Henry can just about make out the title: "Hot Nights in Ember" it says in large, curly type, underneath featuring a four-coloured woodcut of three girls, all dressed entirely inadequately for polite society, lounging on a giant pillow.

Without looking up, he speaks as Henry enters: "Do you have a weapon, young man?"

[Matar]

Henry nods his head and reaches for the curved blade at his waist. The weapon itself is sheathed in cheap leather, obviously quite worn out. Though his Master had given him nicer looking sheaths to match whatever outfit he was wearing (his Master's outfit that is), Henry always preferred this one. It was old, well-worn, and made with his own two hands with the help of his Father.

Gods, how long had it been since he last met his Father? Years, certainly. If he were to meet him now what reaction would his Father have? He was none-too-pleased with Henry leaving the farm to become someones slave and (possibly) learn magic. But at the same time he wasn't very --disappointed-- either. Just a very powerful disapproval lacking of malice.

Did his Father say good-bye when he left? It's been ages since that day, and time has only made his memory foggier.

He grabs the weapon by the sheath and uses his free hand to untie the knot keeping it on his person. He then holds it by his side, wondering if this... Teacher? would want to look it over. Not that he was ashamed of it, but his weapon wasn't exactly... sparkling new. Though the blade was wicked sharp (honing it after every time he needed to use it, and sharpening it every few months as needed) it was... old. Worn. The metal shaved off from years of sharpening, the lack of polish, the scratches running down the blade, the well-worn handle...

"I do, sir."

[Eldan]

The man nods, and pulls on his cigarette again, a small orange flame in the gloom of the hall.
"Good, good."
He licks his thumb and turns a page in his novel, then nods.
"Well, then. Hit me."

[Matar]

Henry blinks and opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it once more to speak.

"Unsheathed, sir?"

[Eldan]

The man raises an eyebrow, but still doesn't look up.
"I don't think I know any technique that usually requires you to hit people with sheated weapons."

[Matar]

Nodding his head Henry unsheathes his sword and proceeds to... throw it at the oddly dressed man, aiming low so that if it missed it would slide across the floor next to him, and then takes a step back, so that's he's at least 45 feet away from the man. The blade misses horribly, but lands close to its target.


[roll0]


"That's step one."

Henry then, if allowed to, begins to mutter something under his breath while making vague motions with his hands. If left to finish he holds out his empty hand and motions as if to grab to something. He then clenches his fist tightly.

"This is step two."

Maintaining a distance of at least 45 feet Henry watches the man. A moment later his thrown blade seemingly comes to life, slashing at the man from it's position on the ground.

"And that is step three."

[Eldan]

The blade jumps up and hits the man in the middle of his back. Or at least, it seems to do so, for a second: the blade's edge is lightly touching the man's skin, but does not seem to have penetrated or even cut his clothing.
"Hm. A bit hesitant, but ready to kill when prodded. Interesting technique, and well-executed. A bit showy, and you unnecessarily announce that your attack is not done yet before you do it. But you are still young."
The hobgoblin looks up, a one-sided smile on his fanged face. His eyes, Henry notices, are a dark amber yellow. He puts cigarette and novel down on the pedestal.
"You're in."
Standing up, he steps down from the pedestal and walks towards Henry, somehow bridging the nearly fifty feet of distance in three steps, then extends a hand.
"Hotaka Hayota. Nice to meet you."

[Matar]

"I..." Looking at the mans out-stretched hand Henry reaches out, grasps it, and gives it a firm shake. "Didn't expect you to be able to move so fast."

Unsure of what to say Henry has his Scimitar float back over to him, which he grabs and gently puts back into his sheath.

Awkwardly he speaks up, trying to at least say -something- of value. "I normally am not so... showy. But certain traits rub off on you when you're around certain people for too long. I'll, uh, be sure to work on it, sir."

A pause.

"My name!" Another pause, and then sheepishly. "My name is Henry, Henry White."

[Eldan]

Hayota nods.
"Good. Well, I don't really move fast. Moving fast is for athletes, and I'm no athlete. Have you ever heard of the Deep Ways?"
He turns around and walks towards the back of the hall.
"Come along then. I think we should have time for a little tour."
Pushing open the door, he walks into a small room with a blazing brick fireplace and three comfy, high-backed chairs. A small, steaming kettle is hanging over the fire. On the walls are pictures in a minimalistic style, mostly empty sheets of wall-sized paper with only a dozen brush strokes suggesting towering cliffs surrounded by storm clouds.
"Lecture room. We might get another student or two, but I doubt it. Half the students we have these days fancy themselves fencers, but they barely know which end of a smallsword to hold."

[Matar]

Listening in silence (a talent he has had -years- to practice.) Henry only speaks up once he is sure his hopefully soon to be Teach is done speaking.

"I... would be lying if I said I was skilled or had anything beyond the most basic of training." He licks his lips, feeling a bit out of place next to someone who he couldn't even cut. "I'm hoping to fix that, of course, but right now I just do what... feels right, that's all."

[Eldan]

Hayota waves his hand vaguely and sits down in one of the chairs, pointing at the other.
"Oh, that may be true. But it counts for more than you think. And, after all..."
He leans forward, smiling at Henry again.
"You were ready to impale a Magister through his back with a sword. It's astounding how many people hesitate to even punch me when asked."

[Matar]

Henry blinks, trying to keep his gazed matched with his Masters eyes. This was rather... difficult with the way he was leaning in.

"I am... good at following orders. I also don't think anyone is foolish enough to tell someone to attack them, only to be unprepared for it."

He smiles a bit.

"At least, I hope no ones that foolish." A second passes as he thinks about what he just said. "Uhm, well, unless it's someone who's trying to kill me or something. Then I suppose I don't mind them being that foolish."

[Eldan]

"Hm. More of a soldier than an adventurer then, I see."
He leans back again in his chair and nods.
"So. Why do you want to learn how to fight?

[Matar]

Henry takes his eyes off his Master to look at the weapon sheathed by his side. With takes a deep breath and speaks.

"Because I was born to use a sword."

There is no hesitation or doubt in his statement. No awkwardness born from years of talking to only a few individuals. His voice only held raw certainty, like a man speaking the most obvious of truths.

This lasts only a moment though, and once he continues speaking it is gone.

"I... I don't know how to explain it more then that. It doesn't matter how I use it, I don't think. Just... that I use one. I -need- to Master the sword, because it's what I was born to do."

He licks his lips again and scratches the back of his head, feeling quite silly at the moment. For a moment it seems like he's going to speak, but then decides against it.

[Eldan]

Hayota looks deep into Henry's eyes for a few seconds, with a serious expression, then he speaks, more slowly, as if to himself more than to his student:
"If only you had been born on the Spire..."
Then he blinks and nods.
"Not an answer I get to hear often. Usually, it's fame, in the fencing tournaments. Or glory, on the battlefield. Or to protect someone. But yes, you are quite right. You were born to the sword. Where did you get that blade?"

[Matar]

"I... found it in a ditch near town while I was there with my Father selling vegetables."

He frowns for a moment, as if the idea of his trusted blade being treated poorly deeply offended him. Unconsciously, he moves his hand to hover over the sword, his finger tips gently touching the handle. As soon as he does so he moves his hand away, hoping (yet not foolish enough to think it true) that his master didn't see the gesture. moving your hand towards your weapon front of someone, no matter the reason, was never wise unless you planned on using the damn thing. It was a bad habit, and one he had a lot of trouble breaking.

"I convinced my Father to help me make a leather sheath for it. And I worked for the towns blacksmith in order to learn how to take care of it. I've had it for more then half my life, actually."

[Eldan]

"If I were a religous man, I'd start talking about Fate, now."
Hayota nods, again.
"Very well. I will take you as a student. I think with some training, you will be quite amazing with that blade. You can come in tomorrow, after your lunch, when the basic lessons are over."

[Matar]

Henry gives his teacher a respect bow, nothing too deep as to be overly dramatic but still deep enough to not seem like an accidental gesture.

"Thank you, sir. I'll see you tomorrow."

Saying this Henry heads out of the room, glancing back at his teacher once more on the way out. What an odd man, he thought. Although, he knew full well that power could be found in the oddest places.

His hand drifts over to the hilt of his blade as he lightly touches it. 'Even in a ditch in some backwater town.' Removing the tips of his fingers from the hilt he brings his hands to his side and clears his mind. He gained the acceptance of one of his teachers. Now to see if he could get another one to accept him for training.

On his way to the schools teacher of Necromantic art he picked up a small rock and twig and stuffed them in his pocket. If he had to demonstrate his skills like before then these may come in handy.

[Eldan]

The class for Surgical Transvitalism is thought in one of the four corner towers of the main study building, a centuries old, formerly rectangular block of granite, to which at least three wings and countless turrets, sheds, balconies, corridors, extensions and revisions have been added.
The room is flooded by the light of the sky-arc falling in through three ceiling high windows of fine glass. Vines are climbing up the walls around the door on a wooden framework and there are dozens of tiny, colourful birds chirping in brass cages hanging from the ceiling. Sweet smells rise from orchids set in pots along the walls, and from incense sticks burning in pans filled with fine, white sand. Small glass prisms are hanging from the ceiling by chains, fracturing the light into tiny rainbow beams.
In the middle of this all stands a tall man in an ash-grey robe. It stretches over his gaunt features and the whites of his eyes are a sickly yellow. He wears a close-fitting cap of the same grey as his robe that completely covers his skull, his lower face is covered by a strip of cloth, and he is wearing thin leather gloves. Strapped around his waist is a belt with many pockets and perhaps three dozen surgical tools strapped to it: saws, blades, hooks, probes and drills. He is currently busy brent over a corpse on a table in front of him, mostly covered under a white cloth that only reveals a small bit of the chest area. He is humming to himself as he stitches the chest cavity shut after what must have been a surgical operation of some kind and does not appear to hear Henry enter.

[Matar]

'This... is not what I expected.' Looking around the room in wonder Henry approached the man who he assumed to be his hopefully-soon-to-be teacher. He expected something gloomy, dank and dark, or surgical, bright and absolutely clean.

But certainly not something graced by the light of day. Or rainbows.

"...Excuse me, sir?" Speaking up he called to his teacher, breaking the sound of chirping birds and tinkling of metal tools. "My names Henry. Henry White. I was, uhm, hoping I could become one of your students."

[Eldan]

The man turns around, looking at Henry from jaundiced eyes.
"Good, good. You'd be surprised at how few students I get."
He stares, silently, for a few seconds, then puts his curved needle and thread away on the table behind him.
"So. What exactly is it that you want to study? I'd like to hear your ideas first, before I give you mine."

[Matar]

-****ing words-. When speaking of sharpened steel and skill of arms Henry always found that those who practiced with a blade could relate to him. Desire, he knew, was invariably tied to the Sword. Whether from trying to master it in order to protect ones loved ones, an idea, or simply to improve ones self. Even when clutched in the hands of a sobbing man, used for self-protection and nothing more, it was still tied deeply to desire. 'I will live. I want more. I need more. I must protect.'

All held within the sword.

But, then, how could he put into words his fascination with endless decay? He saw it all around, from lowest insect to the sturdiest of animals. From tree, to man, to even the earth itself.

And he saw the way everything fought against it. Beetles defending themselves, dry and wilted planted sucking fresh rain water from the earth, animals licking there wounds clean...

Was it not the thoughtless desire to -exist- that drove them to deny death? That primal urge that allowed -everything- to keep moving?

He felt the constant tug inside himself. The giant stone formed of magic and this primal urge. And he knew that one day he could hold this stone. That one day he would move this stone at a whim, holding command over its power rather then simply directing it.


'I am making a fool out of myself.' Blinking, Henry opened his mouth to speak only to close it once more, trying to think of the proper words to use.

Licking his dry lips Henry spoke, unsure if he was saying the right thing or not. Would he teacher think him a fool? Prideful? Would he take offense, laugh, or simply not care? Did he expect something simple or profound?

"Everything. I want to know everything you can teach. I need - " A pause. "I want to master the struggle against Death."

[Eldan]

"The struggle against death. Nicely said."
The teacher pauses, then draws a small scalpel from his belt. With a wet sound, he begins working again, making tiny, quick cuts.
"Now, there is one problem with that. Everything the living do is a struggle against Death. Whether they know it or not. Do you want to know everything, then?"

[Matar]

"Well." Licking his dry lips Henry responds to his teacher. "There are things that... connect with me. The struggle against death is just something I need to master."

He blinks, looks down at the ground, and then continues. "I can't for the life of me ever hope to summon something. I doubt I'll ever be able to fling flames or ice. And seeing things at a distance? Doubtful. But this..." He motions to a butterfly caught in a spiders web, fluttering in vain. "This struggle. I -know- this. Or... or at least I can. One day."

He takes a small relaxing breath and lowers his voice, speaking softly.

"But I need a teacher."

[Eldan]

"Oh, you are a wizard? Interesting. I don't think we had any new talents coming in last semester. What can you do, then?"
The magister pulls out a finger-long, curved leather needle and begins threading it with a thick cord.
"Talking of mastery is a good thing. And obviously, you want to study. But why should I take you? What is it about you that other students can't offer me?"

[Matar]

"I, uh, I have a basic grasp on can trips. I can channel necrotic energy. It's... basic but..." Digging through his pockets Henry holds out the small branch. After a few basic motions with his hands and softly spoken words he tapped the twig, causing it to split and die.

"To... to be honest I can't give you any solid reason why to teach me. I think that... well, I think that I have the chance to be something great. I can feel it. But I need a teacher to even find out what that is. I'm not sure it's something I can do alone."

Sucking in some air Henry looked around the room. For a moment his hand lightly brushed against the hilt of his sword. It gave him an idea.

"It's, uh, amazing don't you think? The way necromancy and sword play are so intertwined. It might not be obvious at first, but wasn't it... uh. Y-you know, Franklin... Garbachov?" Henry pauses for a moment, obviously mispronouncing the mans last name. "That said that magic could, and often did, hold power in the strangest of places? I think that this is one of those places. If... if I had any immediate goals, rather then long off distant fantasies then... that would be it. To explore the connections between the metaphorical and literal sword to the struggle against, and acceptance of, death and decay."