ceremonial armor

standard armor

Leia is a determined and hard-working woman. She strives for excellence in whatever she does. She is competitive, and is constantly measuring herself against the bar set by her parents' achievements. She's friendly enough, but tends to be blunt in her words, which can be off-putting to others. With friends she relaxes a little, letting her guard down. She is immensely loyal to those who have her trust, and does what she can to support them. She has a strong moral compass, but she is also pragmatic, willing to do the dirty work when she believes it is required. She is level-headed, keeping her cool even in stressful situations. Failure and helplessness scare her, but her greatest fear is being forced somehow to harm those she cares about.

Leia is originally from a town east and a little north of the capital. Her mother Raia is a renowned sorceress and expert on the lost ruins, her father James a knight commander that served the crown. Leia discovered her magic powers at a very young age, and immediately her mother started training her. Leia is not her mother's equal in talent, but through extensive study she's learned a great deal. When she was seven, she and her mother relocated to the capital of Olenta, so that young Leia could start on her goal of becoming a knight commander. Under her father, she studied swordplay, as well as tactics, strategy, and logistics. Here also she had to devote herself to training, which she did with a will. After a few years under her father, she became squire to a knight commander named Agimund, who also had some wizardry background. At fifteen she took the test to become a knight, and passed with flying colors. Such was her skill that at sixteen she was granted a rune by the previous king.

When the king died less than a year later, Leia was devastated. She'd meant to pledge her life to the rightful king, and now there was none! Still, she continued her training in the hopes that one day the rightful heir would be found and take the throne. She devoted herself to her trade, so much so that she never really had time for a significant other. She's had a few flings, but that's pretty much it. Even after achieving her goal of knight commander at twenty-four, she's never really looked for love.

Leia was thirty when there came an attack on the Lord Steward Geraint. She was there for the attack, and even defeated one of the conspirator knight commanders. She was the first to suggest Kalowick become a knight commander himself, recognizing his loyalty and prowess in battle.

Kalowick is a true believer. To commit to an oath is to stake your entire being upon the truth of your words, so when it comes to both his faith in the Alveria royal line, and his dedication to the Old Ways, there is no room for doubt. He is a man characterized by loyalty and conviction, and struggles to imagine what he would not do for the Bloodline.

He is thoughtful and witty, happy to trade banter but also open to reach others on a deeper level. Everyone is different, and so to a degree he does treat everybody differently, but respect is a constant he tries to adhere to. He truly does not believe that his station makes him any more valuable than the average commoner. After all, the dirt takes us all in the end.

Kalowick, thankfully, has not yet been put into a situation where his dedication to the Bloodline has come into contradiction with his egalitarian nature. Though it is true that he prefers to spend his time out in the field, rather than within Olenta itself. He makes the necessary appearances and occasional patrol, but if anything awakens Kalowick's wild side, its the presence of the power-hungry. Cities are full of people like that. More than once Kalowick has eyed the steward with suspicion from afar, even if their record is clean and their intents seemingly honest. You can never be too careful.

He carries himself with grace and poise, moving with fluidity as his solitary eye surveys the spaces around him. In his solitary moments, he will quietly sing the Old Songs in the druidic tongue as he perches atop a rock, rests beneath a tree, or strolls open fields and quiet city streets. The Old Way is not just a path to power, or a mantra to dictate harmony with nature. It is Kalowick's culture, and its practices live on in him even as the tides of time erode it. When he is old, and withered, and given all he can to the kingdom, the last thing he will have to offer is the wisdom and tradition of the ancient druids. It is a duty he takes upon himself with pride.

Those that respect Kalowick's Way and see the value in its continuance will find themselves in good company. Kalowick is a firm friend and a cunning ally, full of wit and wisdom. He's not beneath working with those he finds distasteful either, so long as their goals are aligned. His oath to the Bloodline supersedes any personal animosity he might feel.

Kalowick is descended from a community of druids that were welcomed into the kingdom of Alveria some two centuries past. Since this time much of the culture has faded from relevance and awareness, mostly kept alive only by small communities within the Greenwood. Kalowick grew up in one of these small settlements, which provided a large number of its able-bodied men and women to the Everbranch Border Post to become rangers of the forest. Kalowick himself was an eager student of the Old Ways.

He learned the Songs of Bark and Leaf from the Tree-Shapers, and how to use these songs to become one with the forest and bend its purpose to his own. He learned the Arts of Flower that use the bounties of the natural world to create healing remedies and balms, and he learned the Arts of Thorn that draw on nature's dangerous potential to brew poisons and paralytics. From the Hunters he was shown how to track, trap, and kill the creatures of the forest, as well as how to harvest each component of an animal so that its death holds purpose.

The Beast-Shamans taught him the dangerous Songs of Wing and Claw: communion with the animals of the world. How to summon a raven to your side and see through its eyes, how to compel a snake to sink its fangs into your chosen target, how to pacify a raging bear into compliance.

There are also the Rites of Rot and Decay, said to be capable of urging corpses to rise when bonded with the appropriate fungus, or to inflict a man with disease or sickness with words that corrupt the very air they travel through, or to command swarms of insects and baser creatures to harass and harm. These Rites Kalowick would only learn much later, and many are time consuming, dangerous processes.

Kalowick was only a boy when news of the king's death reached his settlement, and the course he would plot in life was set. He was an idealistic child, but also wise beyond his years, and as he grew from a child into adolescence he came to understand that without a strong ruler on the throne, the forest he called home would not be safe forever. And if war did come to the Greenwood, it would need someone capable of protecting it. The free time that he spent roaming the forest and playing with other children instead was dedicated to training with the rangers of Everbranch. Many of his own people were among their number, and taught him what they knew happily. By the time he was sixteen, he was a ranger in his own right.

A Knight Commander by the name of Varn Skyir took a liking to Kalowick after they fought side by side against a coven of rogue sorcerers that attacked their ranger unit while out on patrol. Kalowick unleashed the teachings bestowed upon him with ferocity to aid his brethren in quickly dispatching the spellcasters. His talent relative to his age and the conviction with which he fought and wielded his own power caught Varn's attention. Later, when he asked Kalowick if he'd ever killed before, Kalowick said no, but that it was easier than he thought it would be. Varn asked him why that was, and his answer was simple.

"I've discovered that traitors enrage me."

Varn, who was not a regular at the Everbranch Border Post, departed later that week. And Kalowick, after saying his goodbyes to his village and his fellow rangers, went with him. The pair traveled across Alveria together, ending disputes, hunting criminals, and slaying monsters. From the choppy waters of the Azure Expanse to the frigid heights of the Ironspine Mountains, Varn exposed Kalowick to the wonders and dangers beyond the boundaries of his forest home. Varn the Far-Traveled was already known through the lands, but as years went by, stories of his druidic apprentice, Kalowick of Green Paths, also began to circulate. The pair had a strong friendship founded on respect and trust, and Varn, a battle-mage that drew upon the power of the gods themselves to do battle, was able to offer unique perspective and guidance to Kalowick on his own spiritual journey.

During a visit to Olenta, Kalowick, now twenty, uncovered a dangerous plot. He had been immersed in the senses of a crow as it flew across the city, and chanced to spy a strange thing indeed. In a secluded corner within the gardens surrounding the Radiant Citadel, Varn stood among a mixed group of individuals. Several wore the finery and signet rings of nobles, while two others were armed and armored, each bearing, just like Varn, a lesser rune. Flying closer, he overheard talk of the kingdom's weakness and the need to restore it. The line was dead, their oaths were meaningless, and the steward did not have the strength to protect Alveria from its rivals.

Kalowick cut connection with the crow, and raced to warn the steward. His face was familiar enough that he was allowed entry, but as he sped into the throne room, what he found was a blood bath. Knights dead at the feet of Varn and his co-conspirators, and the steward guarded on either flank by loyal knight commanders. Kalowick saw Varn turn to him, and he saw him speak, saw him beckon for Kalowick to join him. But he could not hear him. His ears ringing, his face splitting into a snarl even as tears stung his eyes, Kalowick charged. This broke the tension for the others, and soon the throne room was erupted into battle.

Varn should have defeated Kalowick that day. He was more experienced. He was stronger, quite possibly smarter, and nearly as fast. Kalowick once witnessed him burn a hole through a wyvern's skull with a prayer and a single ray of sunlight.

Yet, Varn died that day, his fellow conspirators along with him, and in the coming weeks Kalowick's testimony sent no less than six nobles and a plethora of criminals serving them to the gallows. But how? It's simple.

Kalowick's will was stronger. He had faith in himself, in Alveria, and in the Old Ways. Varn had lost his way. Lost his faith. The moment he committed down the path to treachery, Kalowick would later muse, he sealed his own fate. Their clash, however, was not without cost. His right eye and the surrounding flesh is ruined, not burnt, but withered. Varn struck out at him with cold, necrotic fire that left the wound cracked and gray, almost petrified. Even now, if he were to remove the patch, one could see dark energy pulsing from the spiderwebbing cracks that run across the stone-like skin.

Kalowick accepts this toll. His dagger found its way to Varn's heart all the same.

Not long after, the Knight Commanders of Olenta discovered Kalowick's ability to bear a lesser rune, a fact they uncovered through correspondence that Varn also knew and was concealing. In light of his heroism and sacrifice, they instated the one-eyed druid into their ranks.

Since then, Kalowick has garnered something of a reputation for rooting out corruption in the towns and cities of the kingdom. That is, when he isn't continuing the work set before him by Varn. He was Kalowick's mentor still, even if he lost his way. There will always be more monsters to kill. Now, Kalowick understands both forms that they come in. A final lesson for the apprentice that surpassed his master.

Lady Ame's quarters was always cluttered, filled to the brim with textbooks and strangely shaped alembics. Though she was always slow to catch up to her responsibilities to keep her room tidy, Ame's questing into the world of alchemy was the most earnest of all. This much, Ame's attendant Frej knew. It was, after all, she who had to clean up the various messes Ame left behind in her messy pursuits. But what Frej did not anticipate was a torrent of silver smoke as she opened the door, the boxes of supplies stacked up in the middle of the room as a makeshift desk, and the piercingly sharp scent of spice.

And in the centre, legs sprawled out and slumped over the desk, head craned back like a forgotten doll, was the Champion-Apparent, dead. The 'dead' awoke with a start, eyes half open and narrow as Ame arrested notice of her surroundings. "Hmm? Hmm! Who's there?"

Frej realized she had held her breath and sighed out with fresh irritation. "You scared me half to death, Lady Ame! How many times did I tell you not to -"

"Frej, oh good." Ame cut her off cheerily, then groped her servant's face closed to her's. "Quick, look - my lips. Are they blue?"

"M'lady?" Frej said, bewildered despite herself.

"Blue? Purple? Don't tell me black. I'll have to remake the entire process if they're black."

Frej pushed Ame away firmly but with a little more force than she intended. She growled, tempering an urge to storm off with reminders of her alliegences. "They're *fine*, Lady Ame. Healthy, unlike whatever mess you've been making here."

"Pink? Good. Quill. Ufft, open the windows too. And careful not to go above the workbench. I think the fumes rise." With a clumsy clatter Ame started to gather what was apparently the result of whatever she was attempting. A collection of vials filled half-way with base gray paste, still steaming somewhat from its precipitous experiment.

"As you say - but you must explain yourself. What were you doing this time?"

"Uhh, salves. Quill? Yep, that one. Inhalation of resulting fumes is detrimental but the salve should be fine otherwise..." Ame stuck her tongue out in contemplation, checked the grey paste in her hand once again, before raising her gaze to meet Frej's icy stare from the windowsill. Ame smiled, but it was unclear if she had a shred of apology laced within it. "I'm already aware of what you're going to say."

"That's because we've gone over this conversation many times before, Lady Ame. And what you're doing is even more unacceptable with the Conferral Ceremony in just a few suns."

Ame blinked innocently. "The Ceremony?"

Frej palmed her face. "Oh, stars."

Some memory dawned on Ame's face and worked its way into a knowing smile. It would not last, however, as Ame sunk her attention back down to the glass jars she was balancing in her hand. "Three scoops should be enough for a leg, right?" She asked no-one as she whisked the vials into a box and balanced it in her hand.

"Lady Ame, you must come outside. You've been cooped up here for heaven knows how long and you've neglected even your most basic duties."

"Stop nagging me. I AM going outside. Here, hold this for me." Ame shoved the box of vials into Frej's relunctant arms, and led the both of them outside the Valken quarters with hastened pace.

Frej considered her options, whether to truly put her foot down on this delinquent Champion or just like the rest of the times, allow Ame to run off scot free. Lady Ame had shown very little interest in most things except for her sole passion in alchemy, and even then it was rare to see Ame so peppy. Especially not after Ame had been bestowed by / cursed by the Champion's title. Perhaps it would be best to choose neither and simply treat the walk toward wherever Ame was leading them to an uncomfortable silence.

It was Ame who broke the silence between the two, apparently unaware or uncaring of Frej's attempts to ice the tone between them. "Frej, can I tell you a story?"

"After this, you get changed into your ceremony robes."

"Alright. You know about healing magic? Healing magic now is relatively abundant and easily distributed, but it's actually a complex spell that has been refined over centuries. A major component is to answer the question, 'how do we stop the process from being painful?' Rapid regeneration of flesh including pain lines would be absolutely agonizing, so an enormous amount of research went into numbing the experience of pain and trying to suppress it during and after the healing process. It's still a fair bit limited, and a major component of its limitations is times when you'd need the patient to be awake and aware of the sensations to diagnose the process of the treatment, rather than blanket knocking their sense of pain out.

That's where alchemy comes in. The golden egg, you see, would be to find a salve that can allow people to still 'sense' pain but not 'acknowledge' it as pain. Sort of detach the feeling from the 'feeling'. But for hundreds of years, whilst healing magic advanced, medical alchemy floundered in finding this miracle cure.

You see, the biggest issue with the foremost methods in alchemy was mold. You're supposed to store flasks in dry and cool areas to avoid mold, but there is this one strain of mold that loves that kind of environment. This mold's property was to not necessarily disrupt any alchemical reaction, but sort of slow the entire thing down when it was in the vicinity. It was particularly bad in trying to cultivate living substances and this mold would basically halt all processes altogether.
Ryliehr Jenson was one of the foremost researchers, but he had a nasty habit of never actually sealing the processes properly. He was so bad, in fact, that his entire cabinet was effectively overgrown with this kind of mold and he was kind of useless in his field of research.

But you see, it was this very mold that disrupted these alchemical processes that was the key to solving the puzzle! Reasoning was, if mold could stifle reactions in a tube, why not stifle pain reactions in a human? It was only because Jenson had cultivated so much mold in his cabinet that he saw the cross-effects of mold upon alchemical reactions, and it was only because he had been pondering upon it for so long that the retarding effects of mold was applied to the human body. Jenson started out as nearing the end of his career as a disgraced and disorganized jetsam to being the patron of modern medicinal alchemy."

Frej raised her eyebrow. "...has your neglect of your responsibilities discovered any miracle molds?"

"No, I'm not done yet. Jenson got all the accolades and credit or the practice, but you know who I think was the real key to all this? Jenson's maid. The maid was ordered several times to kick out Jenson and clear out all the weird stuff he was growing in his cabinet. If for a single moment, the maid faltered in her faith in Jenson's unconventional methods, if for single time she said, "yes, mold is bad and I don't trust Jenson", then so much of what we can accomplish for injuries today would not be possible. Jenson may have his name in the history books, but it was only through the grace of his supporters that he even managed to avoid a terrible fate.

People often fixate on the single, most straightforward solution to what is 'supposed to happen'. It's only rational. When people create hypotheses about the world and it works, then there should be no reason to simply abandon the approach and start from scratch. But some people have to be out there, testing out new theories. Wandering out into the night and feeling around, blind if they have to. And the onlookers - they have a choice. They can simply curb all other paths and simply pull people back into the light, or have faith in those who walk into the dark."

"Patience is a virtue, but faith is not. It can be blind. Fatal." Frej sighed, but she knew that once again, Ame had run off beyond Frej's reach. "Still, I understand what you wish to convey, Lady Ame."

"Maybe! Jenson may very well have simply bunked on his discovery, after all. But we know if his maid didn't give him a chance in the first place, we kill that possibility entirely. Ah, we're already here." The pair stopped before a small steeple. Frej could hear muffled crying from beyond the wooden door.

"This is the infirmary. Not the royal one..." Frej connected the dots between Ame's story, the building before them, and the little vials full of grey paste. "Lady Ame, you have been busy."

"Oh you're not too wrong neither. I'll go get changed, just tell the Knight Commanders I'll be late."

Caiman seems to posses an.. oddly fluctuating sense of impersonalness. While he has shown evident loyalty and a large measure of investment in his kingdom and nation, he is, in most circumstances, seemingly very-well emotionally regulated. A neutral, dutiful aura is likely one which even the most Caiman-familiar Knight Commanders have rarely seen him deviate from. It is a feature, among several, that made, or make, him a notable knight - for keeping a cool head at all times is not always an easy task, even for some veterans.

In sooth, this is not to say that Caiman is emotionless, for this is clearly untrue. His impassive visage is not a cold or dry one - he is simply.. not very expressive, in general. In fact, there have been times when Caiman has shown emotions. When his father, Knight Commander Ritter Black, passed, Caiman was one of many men to shed a tear, or several, at his funeral. Further still, he can respond to lesser encouragements as well - Knight Commander Lerkley Polk, a long-time friend of his father, has been known to cause Caiman to crack a small smile, on occasion.

Regardless of the circumstances, Caiman is known as a knight that is utmost emotionally reliable - whether he finds himself stepping through the gore and viscera of a massacre, or blade-to-throat midst his own mortal peril, his level-headedness is something to be sure of.

Aside from how he reacts to the things around him, Caiman has a solid moral compass. Beside his loyalty to his kingdom and the straight-faced comradery he shares with his fellow Knight Commanders, he is one to uphold good and help where he can, even if he has to do a little bad to accomplish his goals. When it comes to how he treats his enemies, enemies of his nation, or ne'er-do-wells in general - he performs unyieldingly, yet humanely. He has, however, been known to handle particularly heinous malefactors with treatment a touch harsher than the norm.

It'd be truthful to say Caiman was raised to be a knight. Born to be a knight, as his late father would say. Knight Commander Ritter Black was a man who valued honor, virtue, and above all else, family. Even moreso the family that was young Caiman Black, when the birth of the boy caused his wife's passing. It was from his youngest age that Ritter entered Caiman onto the path that would lead him to become a knight - as he wished nothing more than for his son to see the life of luxury and honor that he had made for himself.

The duo resided in the capital of Alveria, Olenta, where Ritter Black served in his duties to the crown as a Knight Commander. As such, it was often that young Caiman found himself cared after by only the best of sitters until an age where he would become a squire, and would be taken under the wing of his father full-time. In truth, his upbringing was rather regular for a boy on the path of knighthood. He developed pretty regularly in his training when it came to the matters of heraldry, chivalry, courtly affairs, etc., but there was a particular shift when it came to the young Caiman's affinity for matters of warfare.

His father spotted in him an irregularly sharp aptitude for swordsmanship, marksmanship, horsemanship, and all other manner of depths of combaterie. Whether it was due to a particular interest in these practices or an exceptionally keen natural inclination, the young squire picked up on techniques very naturally and effectively, and often digested manuals much faster than his father and tutors anticipated. By the time the young lad was approaching the age around which he would start transitioning to knighthood, his progress was well past what any of them would deem acceptable. So much so that his father, who was one of the most trusted Knight-Commanders to the Lord Steward, entered him into knighthood a touch early.

It was from there that Caiman Black quickly made a name for himself ahead of his peers. In his role as a knight, he displayed an unshakeable grip on his usefulness to his kingdom and his ability to improve himself as the highest class of soldier. Even from a place of parity, it was often that Caiman found even accomplished knights seeking his counsel in matters of warfare or swordsmanship, or even seeking rapport with him due to his growing reputation.

All-in-all, Caiman's adult life was just what his father had hoped for him, and much more. It was this pacifying thought that made his father's passing a touch more digestible for Caiman. Ritter Black could, at least, die proud of his son.

The death being some two years ago, it was not terribly long before Caiman Black took his father's place as a Knight Commander - though a rather young one. But, it was in his father's wishes to the Lord Steward and the fellow Commanders to welcome Caiman into that fold - a realm in which he has not disappointed.

Astlo earned the title of Eminent Archmage Supreme after averting a catastrophic magical disaster. His unparalleled expertise in the arcane arts allowed him to neutralize a rogue spell that threatened to engulf the kingdom in hellfire. This extraordinary feat showcased his profound knowledge and skill, solidifying his reputation as a foremost authority in magic.

The title of Grand Wizard of the Mystic Realms was bestowed upon Astlo following his groundbreaking discoveries in ancient magics and otherworldly realms. His extensive research and daring explorations significantly advanced the kingdom's understanding of interdimensional magic, earning him this prestigious recognition.

Astlo became the Supreme Custodian of the Arcane Lore due to his tireless efforts in preserving ancient magical knowledge. He dedicated countless hours to safeguarding invaluable wisdom, ensuring that the kingdom's mystical heritage was meticulously documented and protected. His dedication to this cause earned him immense respect and this distinguished title.

Astlo's leadership and profound understanding of celestial phenomena led to his appointment as an Elder Sage of the Celestial Conclave. Along with several like-minded peers, he formed the Celestial Conclave to explore celestial events and offer guidance on mystical matters. His contributions and insights were instrumental in the Conclave's success, earning him this revered title.

Astlo's natural propensity to guide newcomers and his dedication to teaching earned him the titles of Mentor and Professor. His mentorship has left a lasting impact on countless students, many of whom view him as a father figure or a wise grandfather. His unassuming grace and profound wisdom make him an irreplaceable mentor and teacher.

Astlo has witnessed the passage of time in all its intricacies, leading him to grow indifferent to the mundane aspects of daily life. However, this detachment does not equate to impatience; on the contrary, he finds profound joy in life's prolonged, quiet moments, paying attention to details that others often overlook.
Though he would never openly admit it, Astlo possesses an innate propensity to become a guiding figure for newcomers. It's not a mantle he seeks, but one that seems to find him. Whenever fresh faces enter the arcane community, they are inexplicably drawn to Astlo, sensing a wellspring of knowledge and a comforting presence. With an unassuming grace, he takes these fledglings under his wing, providing wisdom and support as naturally as breathing.
Astlo’s mentorship is marked by patience and a deep understanding of individual potential. He sees not just the raw abilities but the hidden talents within each person, nurturing these strengths with gentle encouragement and insightful guidance. He may appear frail and unthreatening to the untrained eye, but those who know him recognize the quiet power and depth of experience he holds.
In essence, Astlo is a pillar within the arcane community, a figure who embodies the bridge between ancient wisdom and new beginnings. His presence offers a sanctuary for those who seek knowledge and understanding, making him an irreplaceable mentor and guardian of the mystical arts.

Astlo's origins remain an enigma, even to himself. His parents moved to the capital when he was just an infant, perhaps seeking a better life for their son. They never spoke of their past, always insisting it was "best left in the past." Despite this, Astlo's parents were well off and afforded him the finest education available. From a young age, it was clear that Astlo possessed an extraordinary affinity for the arcane, leading to his early admission into the esteemed Wizarding Academy.

At the Academy, Astlo's abilities flourished. He was a prodigy, effortlessly learning spells and arcane theories. His natural talent and dedication to the scholarly pursuit of Wizard magic shaped him into a formidable wizard. His insatiable thirst for knowledge drove him to explore the deepest recesses of magical lore, seeking wisdom beyond the confines of the Academy.

Though Astlo was among the rare few capable of bearing a rune, he chose to forgo this honor. Instead, he believed that his true strength lay in mastering the arcane arts. This unconventional choice earned him immense respect within the magical community, underscoring his commitment to knowledge and understanding over power. He often thinks on whether he made the right choice, choosing scholarly pursuits over what could be seen as divine providence.

Throughout the years, Astlo became a cornerstone of the kingdom’s intellectual and mystical realms. His presence provided a sanctuary for those seeking guidance and wisdom. Although he never sought the role, he naturally became a guardian and mentor for newcomers, drawn to him by his comforting aura and profound insights. With unassuming grace, he took these fledglings under his wing, nurturing their potential with gentle encouragement and patient guidance.

In his twilight years, Astlo remains a guardian of ancient knowledge, ensuring that the mystical arts continue to flourish and guiding new generations as they embark on their own magical journeys. His legacy is one of wisdom, patience, and an unwavering dedication to the pursuit of knowledge.

Had Astlo chosen to accept his rune, he would have been granted the Rune of Temporal Perception. This rune alters Astlo's perception of time, allowing him to experience the flow of time at different rates. Key abilities include:

• Temporal Slowdown: Astlo can slow down his perception of time, enabling him to think, analyze, and process complex matters that would normally require a lengthy amount of time in mere moments. This heightened temporal awareness grants him unparalleled strategic and analytical abilities.
• Temporal Acceleration: Astlo can also speed up his perception of time, allowing him to pass time more quickly during periods of waiting or inactivity. This ability helps him endure long journeys or tedious tasks without becoming impatient.
• Temporal Echoes: Astlo can leave behind temporal echoes of himself, creating afterimages that confuse enemies and provide him with a tactical advantage. These echoes can also serve as decoys or distractions during combat.
• Temporal Memory: Astlo can recall events and details with perfect clarity by revisiting his past experiences in slowed-down time. This ability enhances his memory and provides him with detailed recollections of important information.
• Temporal Anchor: Astlo can 'save' his current state and return to it when he wills. This ability allows him to create a temporal anchor point, effectively saving a moment in time. While his physical and mental state do not revert, he can instantly teleport back to his saved location.

This powerful rune would significantly enhance Astlo's abilities, making him a master of forethought, planning, and strategic execution.

Combat Spells: Astlo's extensive knowledge of magic allows him to wield a wide array of combat spells with precision and versatility. He can seamlessly transition between offensive and defensive techniques as the situation demands. His spells can range from powerful blasts of energy to intricate barriers, providing both devastating attacks and robust defenses.

Adaptive Tactics: In combat, Astlo's approach is highly adaptable. He can quickly assess the situation and modify his strategy to counteract his opponents' strengths and exploit their weaknesses. His extensive magical repertoire allows him to craft and deploy spells on the fly, tailoring his approach to the specific challenges he faces.

Supportive Spells: Astlo can use his magic to support his allies in battle, enhancing their abilities, healing their wounds, and providing critical protection. His supportive spells ensure that his companions can fight at their best, making him an invaluable asset to any team.

Resourcefulness: Astlo's resourcefulness in combat is unmatched. He can use his environment to his advantage, turning seemingly mundane objects into powerful tools or weapons. His creative use of magic allows him to outmaneuver and outthink his opponents, making him a formidable opponent in any confrontation.

Strategic Thinking: Astlo’s vast experience and knowledge make him a brilliant strategist, capable of quickly assessing situations and devising effective plans in both combat and complex magical projects.

Inspirational Presence: His wisdom and calm demeanor inspire confidence in those around him. Astlo’s ability to remain composed under pressure reassures his allies, making him a natural leader in times of crisis.

Mentorship: Astlo’s role as a mentor extends beyond teaching; he nurtures the growth of those under his guidance, fostering a sense of loyalty and respect. His mentorship has cultivated many successful magisters and scholars.

Alchemy: Adept Alteration: Master Conjuration: Expert Destruction: Expert Enchantment: Master Illusion: Master