Private Tales Secrets the Staff Holds

[Alistair Wren]

The halls of the Elbion college encircled Alistair's head, their arched hallways birthing the light from the enormous windows. Standing before a door, he breathed in, apprehensively clutching Professor Sparhawk's staff to his chest. He was clean-shaven for the first time in days and wore a set of canary yellow robes, his cheeks with some new colour to them. Despite having cleaned himself up, he was on edge, withdrawn and struggling in his studies. The massive doors opened to reveal a darkly woman standing by the window. Before his death, Maho had instructed Alistair to return his staff to the college, which was what he was doing today.

Swallowing a gulp, Alistair strode forward, the hems of his robes swishing across the floor as he entered the room. The doors closed behind him with a thud that reverberated throughout the hall.

A pause held the air between Alistair and Professor Ebonheart. He beheld the woman plainly, his limpid gaze gaunt and encircled with dark rings. Lips clenched shut, he looked down and held out his arms, handing the staff to Phillipa.

"Professor Sparhawk told me to give this to you before he died, I'm respecting his wish," withdrawing his hands, Alistair spoke quietly, resting his wrists against his thighs as he stood back. He breathed in, swallowed and exhaled, relaxing his shoulders, "he said that the college would know what to do with it," he said, his eyes fixed on the side of the room.

Alistair struggled to raise his eyelids. He was sleeping poorly and it showed. Visions of fire gripped him every time he went to sleep and the mere flicker of a candle was enough to cause memories of the battle to resurface. His lower eyelid twitched and he shook slightly, one of his hands shaking without his control. He breathed in, closed his eyes and grabbed it, forcing it to stay still. As he stood with his eyes closed, he listened to the chanting of the mages down the corridor, the sweet notes of their spells drifting through the halls like honey dripping from bark. Alistair listened. He breathed in and lost himself in the sound, then opened his eyes slowly, his bottom hanging open as he exhaled.

"What exactly will you do with it, Professor?" He asked, brow creased in curiosity. He reached around to scratch the back of his head, "what kinds of spells are stored on it?"

Phillipa had told Alistair that she would assist with his rehabilitation, but his desire to avenge Maho was strong. Forgiveness wasn't an option. As he looked at the staff, he lowered his hand and watched Phillipa's gestures as she handled it, intrigued by the secrets it held.

 

[Phillipa Ebonheart]

Phillipa had waited patiently for Alistair to approach with Professor Sparhawks staff. It was not a great pleasure to be receiving the item in such a way, preferring the current owner to hand it over due to retirement or just simply being finished with using it. Being able to appreciate that he had been diligent with entrusting it with Alistair however, showed a good level of trust that was rare in most cases.

The doors behind her opened, a slow turn revealing the student that had been with the late professor shortly before what she assumed was his demise. She hadn't agreed with the idea of sending the man to watch the battle, even given its proximity to Elbion. But that opinion had been unpopular, something Phillipa was not terrically used to.

She silently waited for him to hand over the staff, allowing him to make peace in his own time. He extended the item, and Phillipa took it into her gloved hands. While she trusted that Sparhawk had not done anything to trap or curse the staff, it was always precaution given that it still had to be carried here, and much could happen from even the front door of the college to the outside world.

"Yes, the staff must be put away so it cannot be misused. It would be a shame to see it put to ill intentions." She spoke quietly, her eyes giving the staff a cursory glance before looking to Alistair.

He was struggling with remnants of the battle he had witnessed very plainly upon his features. Sleep did not seem to comfort him, and flames of any kind were plainly distressing. She could vaguely remember a time when she herself was so fresh to the sight of battle. A large scale battle she had not participated in yet, but death and killing were two things she was intimately familiar with.

Even now he shook at the memories, and she could do little for him in the most immediate sense. It took time coming to terms with death and the responsibility of that action, or even the passive inaction when one was unable to stop it. Survivors guilt, blaming one's self for the perceived wrong of surviving a situation tore people apart that deserved better. A struggle to work through even with someone that understood what it felt like.

"It will be put away, catalogued and studied until it's potential is fully discovered. After that, should anyone desire to, they can submit a request to temporarily obtain the staff for use. As with all things in the public section of the colleges vault." Phillipa informed him. The vault had two sections to it. On the public side, a plethora of magical devices of varied purpose that professors and students alike had created and decided to donate to the college when they were finished. Some things were contractually bound before their creation to be given to the college upon completion or when their creator left the campus.

The private section however was only available to the department of Acquisitions. A number of items of questionable purpose and malignant intent resided there, quietly locked away to hopefully never see the light of day again.

"As for what is held within the staff, I cannot say without further investigation. If I recall, the professor used a particularly old incantation language that even I will have to look up." Phillipa admitted. The language he had spoken in the dueling class she had made note to look into, she had never guessed she would need to it discern his secrets however.

She turned it over, taking stock of all the nicks and gouges the staff had. It had seen battle before, a sturdy thing by the look of the weathered and worn appearance some of the cuts bore. Gloved fingers danced along the item, taking note of oddities in the staff before leaning it against the wall. Her attention shifted to Alistair now, lavender eyes unblinking as she took stock of him now.

"Have you been eating? I know sleep is hard for a time, but sleep accounts for only part of your energy." She asked solemnly.

 

[Alistair Wren]

Phillipa took the staff from Alistair and said that it would be stored away, to which he nodded. He would hate to see it fall into the wrong hands, and agreed with the decision of the college. Fumbling nervously with his fingers, he watched Phillipa handle it, his eyes moving back and forward across its' shape. He would have loved to study it, but would have to submit a request to do so. Breathing in, he sighed as he watched Phillipa leaned the staff against the wall.

"Yes, Professor," he nodded.

While he was no doubt intrigued by the spells stored with the staff, Sparhawk had been a pyromancer and now even the flicker of a candle was enough to make Alistair panic. Sparkhawk had given him his spellbook, where he had been writing his tome on pyromancy, before he died. Alistair thought he would study it to help him overcome his fear of fire, as well as learn how to counteract certain pyromantic techniques.

"It's just..." Alistair stammered. He creased his brow and raised a hand to the back of his head, then scratched it, "fire, every time I see a flame I start to panic and get visions of the battle, like I'm back there again." Feeling disappointed in himself, he looked down and rubbed his arm, like a dog that had just been hit.

"Professor Sparhawk gave me his spellbook before he died, I'm going to study it," he nodded. He thought studying pyromantic runes wouldn't be as bad, and it would ease him into facing fire again.

Slowly, Alistair withdrew long, belated breaths. His mind switched from one topic to the next, to Maho's death and all the ways he could have prevented it, to the conjuration exam he had been helping him prepare for. Alistair was failing the subject and had been struggling to pay attention since returning to the college. He inhaled, sighed and slumped his shoulders, knowing Phillipa probably knew about his slipping grades. He had taken an interest in hydromancy since returning, in particular with a view to avenging Sparhawk, but that was a matter he was quiet about.

Phillipa asked if Alistair had been eating properly, and he sighed. Eyes closed, he hung his head, now sick of the question.

"Not especially, Tristan and Cos have been trying to make me but I just don't have any appetite," he shrugged.

Reaching around, he scratched his head and looked at the ground. He was much thinner than usual and his robes were practically hanging off his lanky frame. Thumping down his hand, he swallowed to moisten his dry throat and rolled his eyes, expecting to be coddled.

"I'm failing conjuration, I think I want to drop it and start studying hydromancy," he rubbed his ark awkwardly, his eyes shifting. He shrugged and raised his hand to the back of his head, "I think the grades I alreadly have in that unit should be enough to get me into the course," he scratched his head.

 

[Phillipa Ebonheart]

He was obviously distressed by fire, even just at the mere mention of it seemed dejected and at a loss for how to move beyond it. Phillipa barely shook her head, saddened that someone had to experience it.

"Understandable reaction to a very traumatic experience. It is not something that is easily pushed aside or readily pushed aside as if some simple issue of what robe am I wearing today. Witnessing or being a part of some great even like that is going to have some effects on a person whether good or bad." She crossed her arms and stuck out a hip wearing a small frown on her face.

"It is going to take some time to recover from this. It is not something you should rush, nor blame yourself for. Everyone has regrets after the fact. It is always easy to see what could have been different when the stress and anxiety has passed Alistair. There is much in my own life I could have done differently after the fact, but I can do nothing about it now except make sure no one else has to make those kind of decisions." She sighed, not particularly excited about the path the conversation had taken. He mentioned how well, or badly for the matter, he had been eating which did not surprise her in the least.

"To be expected. So long as you are not pushing yourself to use spells that consume a lot of your energy your diminished intake should not be any sort of issue. So long as you limit it to studying and not applying that is." She spoke rather tartly, making a conscious note on the portion about keeping from using magic.

Her brow perked when he mention dropping conjuration and picking up hydromancy, making her ponder for a moment on a good addition to his studies for that art form. She tilted her head a moment, wondering if he had been interested before this incident or if the flames were a spurning factor for it.

"I would ask that you take a few supplementary courses in healing if you haven't already. Hyrdomancy and healing tend to work well when combined." She thought for a moment, remembering her associate that she favored. "Devon Thurlindle would be a good teacher in that regard. I have had his help numerous times."

 

[Alistair Wren]

As Phillipa spoke, Alistair hung his head and pouted, fiddling with the sleeve of his robes. The Professor seemed to understand his distress, and Alistair felt that he could confide in her regarding the toll witnessing Maho's death had on him. She said that pushing aside the issue was not so simple, to which Alistair nodded, his brow creased. He agreed with her, and knew that overcoming the impacts of the battle would not be easy.

Phillipa said that Alistair should not blame himself, which cause him to crease his brow. Everybody kept telling him that, but he truly felt like Maho's death was his fault. He had dragged him out of the stables. He had left him there to run. He pouted, his breathing heavy and frustrated. Curling his hands into fists, he clenched them, his nails digging into his palms.

"Everybody keeps telling me that, but it only makes sense to me that Maho's death was my fault," he shrugged, "I mean, I'm the one who left him there," he gasped, and held a hand a hand above his heart, gesturing towards himself.

Phillipa warned Alistair to only study Maho's spellbook, and not practice any of the spells. He nodded, "don't worry, I won't actually attempt to cast fire, I don't think I could." He shook his head, "I just want to study it to figure out how to counteract the pyromantic spells with hydromancy."

Alistair nodded, "yes Professor, that sounds like a good idea, I think the marks I got for my conjuration unit will be enough to get me into a hydromancy course." Tapping his chin, he thought to himself, already planning out his study for the next year in his head. The Professor's suggestion of taking a supplementary course in healing sounded like a good way to round up his degree. He would completed his conjuration unit and use the marks to get into hydromancy, then study a supplementary course in healing on the side.

Phillipa mentioned a mage who would be a good teacher for Alistair's hydromancy, as well as his supplementary course in healing, to which he nodded, "thank you for your recommendation, I would like to meet him."