Open Chronicles An Arrangement of Stardust

[Nilamani]

Nilamani's eyes watched the spark arc away and sputter out. It reminded them a little of the spark they had seen emit from Pomrick Bloomsfield in the paddock. The one that had made Nilamani truly want to keep an eye on him. Not that much had come of it. Aside from a bit of nice friendship.

Yet, Nilamani took an almost immediate dislike to the constant buzz coming off Maester Vaezhasar Drakspae . It was irritating, noisy even. Nilamani's polite smile grew a bit strained.

They had very little intention of taking the combat class. They weren't particularly opposed to violence per say....or opposed to perspiring...in fact it was difficult to put in to words.
They simply didn't like it.
Nor were they sure what 'less elective' might mean. was it a pre-requisite for something?
Many of the Maester's could be unsettling. This one was certainly not an exception. The way that he spoke of the course was quite different to how Maester kikwi spoke about their own course. It put a bad taste in Nilamani's mouth. Or perhaps that was more of Maester Drakspae's aura.

"I see. How good of you to concern yourself with my well being. I shall keep your warning in mind."
For Nilamani the study of creature's at the college was personal. A way of gauging what tricks might be one day turned on them. They had the feeling that whatever it was Maester Drakspae used to reign in his 'entities' it wasn't kind. The way he spoke of it perhaps they were things which weren't meant to evoke pity. Then again there were people in this room who likely regarded Nilamani as a 'not wholesome entity.'
It was all very subjective.
The Maester's way of speaking was crude, casually insulting, and almost riddle-like for Nilamani. They wondered if this was where Lysander Docatto Valestri had gotten that strange intensity from.

Disconcerted they glanced at Pomrick whose eyes seem to be attempting to escape his skull. Oh dear.
This eased their own anxiety a bit.
With a small laugh they decided perhaps they had let their own nerves color the whole thing.

 

[Pomrick Bloomsfield]

He inclined his head the breadth of a hinge. “The combat class is mandatory—board’s ruling, not mine. That means you will attend, you will perspire, and you will discover how very educational the pointy ends of things can be.” A beat. “I should add that injury builds character, but the bursar grows cranky about paperwork.”

Combat. With magic? His heart sank like a storm-wrecked ship at the mention of 'mandatory.' No escape then.

Elbion College simply kept pouring one, unwelcome surprise after another over him, like buckets of ice-cold water, waking him up to reality. A reality that Vaeshazar alluded to with ominous, loaded energy, as if the very air was charged around him. Somehow, it felt as if that very reality reluctantly made way for his presence.

Touching reality . . . what did that even mean? Didn't everyone always touch reality? But somehow, he couldn't help feel that Vaeshazar referred to something else entirely from Pomrick's own, arcane dealings with reality: Shaving stubborn nose-hair, hand-washing his own undergarments and desperately trying to curb nature's call in class, before rushing for the nearest latrine.

He thought the whole ensemble of his experience with magic had been plenty dangerous so far. Hardly daring to imagine what next level of insanity it would be sparring with bolts of lightning and balls of explosive fire, Pomrick licked suddenly drying lips.

Compared to these future dangers, he was beginning to reconcile Nilamani's new form. He spoke quietly, mostly for Nilamani- and Lysander's ears, though he couldn't avoid the attention of the looming maester:

"Think I'll . . . elect to pass the magical en-tea-tea one. What about you?"

Tea and more tea didn't sound so bad, but he couldn't lie, getting more sleep sounded even better.

Lysander Docatto Valestri
Nilamani
Vaezhasar Drakspae

 

[Lysander Docatto Valestri]

Pomrick Bloomsfield
Nilamani
Vaezhasar Drakspae


Lysander shifted, planting his feet and setting his hands at his hips. A small frown cast its shadow; his white brows drew together like two creatures meeting on a narrow branch.

“Spare me the melodramatics, Pomrick, Nilamani,” he said, and there was a clean edge to the words. “Don’t be timid for the sake of it. We came to learn wizardry, not merely safe tricks. What sort of wizard is frightened away by magic? If newness puts us to flight, what kind of sorcery do we imagine ourselves fit to practice?”

He let the breath out, and his tone gentled. “I’ll take the class,” he said. “Anyone with a measure of ambition should.”

 

[Vittoria Larrainth]

"Is that..." he squinted at the girl with the dark hair, "Quinnick?"

"Oh!" Vittoria let out a soft air of surprise. "Indeed, it is."

She had crossed paths with Dreadlord Quinnick a few months ago, or more, for Vittoria had been a suspect of an Initiate's murder, but Quinnick was quick to dismiss it. The way her magic worked, and how the woman wielded it, had intrigued Vittoria.

Proctor Krixus and an associate, one Vitt had not seen before.

"How curious, that the gala could bring in such a mixture of occupations and class here." So far, she knew herself and Kilien were the only Initiates here in attendance, invited by Anirians before they crossed the river on the ferry. They had escorted a scholar that had work here in Elbion, and no doubt would be in attendance here as a sigh of good will. "Should we mingle? Make new friends?"

The idea of Vittoria making friends was a jest in itself, for she was not only incapable of doing so, but her idea of forming relationships was not for the meek. Even greater Dreadlords were unnerved by her.

Not Kilien.

 

[Bliss]

“I suspect you enjoy teaching me far more than my dull classmates anyway."

"I wouldn't say such a thing about people with actual personality." She quipped, having taken his offered arm with an awkward hold. Not wanting to be so near to him, but alas, his nobility and upbringing was a practice she was not used to.

Instead of making a fuss about it, Bliss chose to humour him for some time before planning to ditch his side.

"Those square grey objects are called strongholds. In the case of this landscape piece, it is a fortress called Vel Castere." She knew the name. It had popped up a few times further back in her family history, for the Gradimirs were Anirian first before settling in Elbion.

 

[Henk]

Alistair and Livia didn't pretend to be ecstatic to see him again, and Henk supposed he appreciated the honesty. To Krixus, he was likely still only a few rungs above traitor. To Livia... well, from the look of her, there wasn't too much left of the girl he'd trained. She'd been hardened, her soul thickened against the steel and sorrow that awaited every Dreadlord outside the walls.

Henk closed his eyes, smiling softly as he bowed his head politely to the pair of them. "Well enough, thank you. It has been difficult being away from home again, but I know hands far more capable than mine will safeguard it." It didn't seem as though he was going to offer any specificity as to where he'd been, and he now walked between them, stepping a few feet forward before turning to face them both.

"It's beautiful, this city. Tonight's exhibitions only enhance that splendor." Henk turned his head to look across only a few of the many works on display, a peaceful look about him as his gaze lingered on each one thoughtfully, before moving onto the next. "Did you ever think, Alistair, That we'd reach a moment in which our titles brought us to sipping wine and admiring the fine arts?"

A little chuckle left him, and he shook his head.

"Forgive the question. I know some of us hold more titles than others."

Alistair was more than a Dreadlord, wasn't he? The last name of Krixus held a weight heavier than that of most. Henk didn't know the extent, or the history of the name, however; He didn't much care for politics and Anirian history.

"And you, Livia. You've sprouted since I saw you last. Word is you've been working with the Vigilite, yes? Good. Erodin is... well, I'm glad you've had his brain to pick." The last time he'd met Erodin, they'd tried to kill one another. Nevertheless, Henk held a begrudging respect for the man's ability, on and off the field.