Private Tales An unconventional lesson

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer

Neremyn Virvyre

Lythari
Elbion College
Messages
135
Character Biography
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Many summers ago, a single grain of sand rode the wakes of Cairou to land ashore, far North of the sprawling deserts. The Aberrasai, the Serret, even Amol-Kalit; these features consumed and gestated at the grain, forming the lazy hills of a residential and merchant based community. Elbion had beauty and charm, but the College was still that coarse and scratchy piece of debris. It stood as perpetual reminder of the abrasion that breathed life into such outward pearlescence.

Ere held no love for the Foard of Maesters or really any bureaucratic component of the college. It was selective, clearly focused on its own form of gentrification, and was greedy beyond measure. The whole ordeal spat in the face of Lord Elbion’s original intention, who had once accepted, with some glee, every color or creed that sought to practice magic. But magic had become too popular in recent years and with increased supply, the Maesters snickered in their towers and corners. Arbitrary control of demand.

“Sorry, can’t let you through without credentials.” The guard stood with his arm out, covered head to toe in polished blue steel. Rippling in the sun, Ere narrowed his eyes as he looked away from his own reflection in the breast plate.

“You’re making me late for my class.” The Druid spoke dismissively, revealing a stamped coin that indicated his position as a third level Maester. If he cared enough about the process or believed any real advantage lied in ascending to fourth or fifth level, Ere would have done so years ago. But his loathsome nature would have permeated through the interview process and he wasn’t one for dishonesty.

“Of course. My apologies.” The figure pivoted on his back foot like a swinging metal door, giving the way for the instructor through the access gate.

Ere strode through silently, not giving the guard any further attention. He was a decently tall elf, though hardly towering by any scale. With broad shoulders and a narrow waist, he carried himself like a starved mesomorph and moved with a rigid, yet graceful, purpose. Strewn across his shoulders, a wolf pelt rested with an alluring posture. As if it had curled up around the elves neck and died and the Druid was simply too busy to bother removing it. The truth stood tied to that assumption, but decidedly more complicated. Familial relations and the rites of the Lythari.

He strode confidently across the cobble of the college thoroughfare, a tunic and trousers composed of form fitting green linen. Accentuated by gold embroidery at the collar, along the arms and legs, and at the cuffs, Ere had the habit of sticking out and very little care to change that. It didn’t help that for an Elf, his brown hair was clearly disheveled and his facial hair was well overgrown. Beneath his arm rested a large tome, bound in green leather and clasped with golden locks.

Across the face of the book, delicately inscribed wording indicated the subject concealed within the binding. The Shamanistic view of Wildfires, a brief respite from controlling one's temper.

Forming his hand into a visor, held at brow height, Ere inspected the Elbion skies for any sign of direction. Then his gaze shifted to a few signs held atop a square wooden post. The issue was quite obvious for any who were looking. The Instructor had forgotten the path to his class.

Liam Silvern Nerisyrre Silvern