Shield Mage
The study of runes and wards to repel the unwanted. The practitioners of this art have come to be known as Shield Mages to some. Sairuvar who specialize in this school often find employment in more civillized parts of the land, whether be it making magical locks for homes or sealing off dangerous areas, some even take their studies to more militant purposes. Though complicated by the many uses one could apply this knowledge in, the basis of abjuration remains simple at the foundation: Purity of meaning, becoming a law that cannot be broken.

As such the barriers put up are often riddled with sigils, condensed with powerful intents, that the reality within the confines of their lines utterly rejects the thing they are warded against.

However, if one were to find a loophole in it or manages to marr their meaning, the spell no longer becomes effective. Thus, intelligence and memorization is key to both casting and dispelling such magic. And so is preparedness: Rowen carries around in his grimoire, runes for warding water and metal.

Storm Calling
The ancient rituals of calling rain and bending weather have long existed even in primal times when man could barely keep warm at night. Now refined into a reliable science today, scholars have learnt to channel energies that mold wind, rain and storm to their needs. Even the very elements that make up such phenomena are not spared in their relentless pursuit of perfection.

But wise men and women in the past know, and scholars have only recently begun to realize, that nature is a force to be reckoned with and will not always bend to man's will. Instinct and willpower are key in the art of weather control, knowing when to impose and when to relent are important lessons in this form of magic. Still, this is a dangerous path to take and many reagents required to cast the more destructive spells are heavily restricted in places that know better to do so. Without them, Rowen is limited to herding clouds, calling winds and in the need of self defense; delivering a stunning shock through his grasp.

History
Perhaps the recounting of the past twenty-or-so years of his life would be trivial to Edhil ears, for they live through milleniums

And his existence is but a second to them.

But to him, it is every bit as precious, for that he makes up his time with drive and vigor unseen among the Immortals.

Rouenr Lakarii was born deep in the Reservation Camps, ever since the Edhil took in some of the Calva who sought refuge from the great war.

In his early years he was often shunned and picked on by the other children, Rouenr quickly took the role of the odd child who kept to himself, often finding himself wandering the forbidden woods and lakes, accompanied only by his own thoughts as his constant companion. Occasionally he would make a wish that they would all just disappear but alas, that never came true.

His troubles began ever since they realized that he wasn't the fastest, biggest or hairiest (euwgh!) of the lot, faR from it actually, and in a tribe that were traditionally the Hunters of the Clan. The night stalkers, the proud predators. ...The wolves. The adults took him and the troubles he faced very lightly, expecting him to deal with them in his own means. Even the younglings of the other races within the Calva, would not make friends with poor little Rouenr, for there existed subtle prejudices against the hunters amongst their own kind.

Lost and left to fend for himself, the young calva took solace in the only things he could do. Building a small treehouse where he spent most of his time, fishing when the weather was warm, and among these things, a few mysterious tricks and charms he discovered during many moonlit runaways from home.

Inspired by nature herself., Rouenr Lakarii knew that with the right thoughts, the right things and sometimes the right words, one could make miraculous things happen. A wisp of light here, a small fire he could gently caress with his hands. Things like that. They became his most closely guarded secrets, Perhaps it did occur to him once or twice that he could show everyone back home how to do it, maybe gain a bit of respect he so well deserved, But to teach those little bastards this? I think not. ...He would rue the day their insufferable pranks took on new heights because of him.

A year of so passed,, having become more cloistered as time went by. Till he finally decided to live alone. But as fate would have it not long after his hard decision,that those same runts whom were the reason behind his choice, would discover his hideout on one of their first hunts. Now at the age where they could climb trees without hurting themselves or calling for their mothers pathetically, in their immature cruelty, they decided to tear down his new home piece by piece for 'valuable treasures', WHen he returned, he came across the horrific scene,

Why couldn't they just leave him be? Why couldn't they just drown in a river somewhere? With each board unailed and felled to the forest floor, Rouenr's ire towards the calva grew. Something bad needed to happen, He had grabbed the biggest of them, a runt called Tikthap, by his hand and looked him in the eye. He knew not what he was about to do but it felt right. It felt right as he channeled ...or rather, violently foRced... raw anger straight into Tikthap's mind. Tikthap's soul.

Suddenly he heard screams around him, there was a faint odour of burning fur when they were all lifted by their tails high into the air by mossy green ropes. They were all writhing and struggling, like hogs tied before a midsummer's meal. Save Rouenr. He stood among the vines, amazed. A gleeful, wide almost smile crept upon his face, They would never---

Then he heard clapping. A slow rhythm of aged skin smacking together. Turning around, he recognized it as the edhelian merchant who often came to their village, peddling some necessities but mostly strange curios. Not very smart, he always thought but never mentioned, since hardly anyone in their tribe bartered anything with him. Yet the old fella never missed a year.

Longstrom, whose name he soon found, was his actual rescuer, much to Ruoenr's disappointment. The city-dweller was gathering herbs and rocks for medicine when he chanced upon the commotion, maybe also led by the rumor that his only customer these days had left the encampment to live in the wooded area nearby.

Then he pointed to Rouenr what he really did. To Tikthap, strapped to a tree with tears flowing in between sobs, his fur was bald and charred in many places and his skin underneath red, like he had just leapt through a burning pyre. It was a long moment of silence between them, one filled with the clashing afterthoughts of satisfaction and regret, .....

...before Longstrom laughed.

---

Many, many summers later. The young calva found himself walking hastily along a grandious hallway, shuffling past inumerable marbled doors that opened and closed rapidly as blurry figures hurried through them. And much like them, he would once in awhile trip on the hems of his robes absent-mindedly and toss his scrolls to the ground as he did so, a problem that plagued every denizen of the Tower - an instituition in Hyaryal Tol where scholars all over Inen could gather and forum their ideas.

His new home.

But no matter how bustling, it felt empty since Professor Longstrom had passed away sometime ago. Due to ripe old age, A concept Roeunr, now Rowen, could never agree with. Not when he was an edhil.

He shared a relationship with the old codger more than mentor and student. In their time together, Longstrom became more a parent to him than anyone had ever been. Even though the old man had seventeen other apprentices, all of whom would jest that he was the laziest being alive. he was still kindly to each and every one of them and they, to him.

Remembering that in his last moments, he called each of them to his bedside and spoke to them and when it was his turn, Rowen did not wait for him to speak and harshly demanded to know why he did not use his research further his lifespan. He had the resources and means to. He knew all of them would wholeheartedly help him. So Why in Lim's name did he not!?

To which Longstrom told the rudest of his students that The greatest wisdom was when one knew their end to come. The greatest courage, when one chooses how to face it.

Those words never left Rowen, the notion that the old rascal out of some insanity chose death over life, haunted him as much as they pained him.

Inevitably the days within the Tower slowly became unbearable, as each passing moment there tempted him to touch forbidden magics that lay in it's archives, magics that Longstrom made them swear never dabble in, just so he could bring his Professor back to life. Even if it was against his will! It dawned on him that this was the first time he felt both lost and loss. It was hard to express.

It was when digging through those same archives night after night, that Rowen came across the mention of an artifact called the bracelet of Lim. That it could be used to bring back the dead back. Properly. Not some shell of their former selves. For it held the power of a true diety within it.

Rowen then stood up from his seat and walked out of the ancient library, his lips parted with a crooked smile mumurring; "...You always told me to reach for my goals, no matter what...."

The Tower is a place in Hyarya Tol where those with ideas can come research and study among equal minded peers. It is not a single tower per say, but it is a conglomerate of many tall slender buildings but the tallest of all is a lone white tower that is it's namesake. The reason for it's height is the ease of conducting celestial energy, theoretically that would boost the potency of the many experiments held within.