- Messages
- 66
- Character Biography
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Open to students of Elbion College.
The grand Hall of Nullification enveloped the throng of students imperiously, its gilded marble floor and arcane glass enough to make any novice develop an increasing sense of inferiority. Its dome loomed so far above, any spirited youngster would have to crane their neck well backwards to see it. Its vaulted ceiling and oppressively tall alcoves seemed to tower over them all with the same glacial arrogance and starkness of distant mountains in the Spine.
Standing admist this cold grandeur, a robed figure leaned against his staff, both hands clutched around its withered wood. His bald head gleamed like a polished pebble in the light of lanterns and enchanted glass, his robes and cloak forming a long trail behind him. He alone seemed to belong to this environment, awaiting the milling students with all the restrained patience of an incoming avalanche. His baleful glare skewered any chattering air-heads, and his veined hands crunched wood with soft cracks - either from the popping of his own knuckles or its bark, who could say - soon rendering the hall silent. A second staff stood in perfect, vertical alignment beside him, with no apparent support, seemingly made from some silverite material, a crystal ball of snow-white glow crowning its top, bedecked with runes glinting like ice caught in moonlight.
Pomrick shifted amongst the other students. This was not a mandatory class, so every soul here was a volunteer. Well, almost everyone, except for him. For the teacher of today's session was none other than his own master: Maester Krellos Thunderbeard. Upon his bidding, Pomrick had arrived. And he knew what it meant to disobey his master, unlike some of these other students.
"Salutations," the maester said, practically chewing and spitting out each syllable of that singular word, the room echoing his voice like distant thunder. His tone and demeanour seemed more reminiscent of a gaoler locking them all up and throwing away the key. "You have all made it to this extra-curricular class on countering the hostile invocations of malevolent magi." He allowed those words to sink in, taking note of which faces appeared the most confused. Unsurprisingly, his own student's jaw remained as slack as ever, eyes drifting about like snowflakes. Particularly to him, Krellos specified: "Combat class."
The grand Hall of Nullification enveloped the throng of students imperiously, its gilded marble floor and arcane glass enough to make any novice develop an increasing sense of inferiority. Its dome loomed so far above, any spirited youngster would have to crane their neck well backwards to see it. Its vaulted ceiling and oppressively tall alcoves seemed to tower over them all with the same glacial arrogance and starkness of distant mountains in the Spine.
Standing admist this cold grandeur, a robed figure leaned against his staff, both hands clutched around its withered wood. His bald head gleamed like a polished pebble in the light of lanterns and enchanted glass, his robes and cloak forming a long trail behind him. He alone seemed to belong to this environment, awaiting the milling students with all the restrained patience of an incoming avalanche. His baleful glare skewered any chattering air-heads, and his veined hands crunched wood with soft cracks - either from the popping of his own knuckles or its bark, who could say - soon rendering the hall silent. A second staff stood in perfect, vertical alignment beside him, with no apparent support, seemingly made from some silverite material, a crystal ball of snow-white glow crowning its top, bedecked with runes glinting like ice caught in moonlight.
Pomrick shifted amongst the other students. This was not a mandatory class, so every soul here was a volunteer. Well, almost everyone, except for him. For the teacher of today's session was none other than his own master: Maester Krellos Thunderbeard. Upon his bidding, Pomrick had arrived. And he knew what it meant to disobey his master, unlike some of these other students.
"Salutations," the maester said, practically chewing and spitting out each syllable of that singular word, the room echoing his voice like distant thunder. His tone and demeanour seemed more reminiscent of a gaoler locking them all up and throwing away the key. "You have all made it to this extra-curricular class on countering the hostile invocations of malevolent magi." He allowed those words to sink in, taking note of which faces appeared the most confused. Unsurprisingly, his own student's jaw remained as slack as ever, eyes drifting about like snowflakes. Particularly to him, Krellos specified: "Combat class."
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