[IC] [D&D 5e] A Thousand Roads (Homebrew)

[Akacen]

While the plot to summon Vargrimst to the Material Plane had been thwarted, it did not come without cost. Many lives had been sacrificed to stop the Infinite Destruction from coming into being. While it was true; some of these lives needed to be ended to stall such plans. Still, many innocents were caught in the crossfire.

Emerging from the depths of the subterranean temple, those who had saved the Prime Material were met with only discord and chaos. The King and Lords of Kingdom of the Eastern Reaches had been killed, the most powerful warriors throughout the Kingdom were dead, and the Highwaymen were little more than mercenaries and swords for hire. The average citizen of the Eastern Reaches was much worse off now than when this had all started.

Despite this, there was still one being who might be able to bring the disparate pieces back together; Headmistress Isshyim. Now that she had been resurrected, along with the other fallen members, the power of the Scholia Arcana was now unmatched in the small region.

Days having passed since the death of the mysterious cult leader, the unique Priestess Wynlynn Casilltenirra would find herself again amongst the living, along with the Master Ramando Brightwood. The former being brought back through the power of their Ki-Rin ally, the latter through the power of Headmaster Akacen Amastacia's will alone (for the second time).

While Akacen, Brightwood, Wynlynn, along with Captain Caelynn Erenaeth, took only enough time as was needed to fully recover, it as by this time that rumors had reached them of the pandemonium that had started to take hold throughout the Eastern Reaches. However, the four individuals still had responsibilities elsewhere. As such, they would need to make a choice as to what they would do next.

Early in the morning, the humid warmth of late summer hung in the air, almost stifling any breathing that might be attempted. Streams of sunlight pierced the high windows of the third story, the meeting hall, of the Scholia Arcana. The sandstone tower, rising nearly three hundred feet into the air, was but a pebble next to the peakless Uhl Mountains to the West. Built upon the foothills of these mountains, it was a rather secure place to still be a part of the Eastern Reaches while at the same time being mostly removed from it. The Chymal Run, fed from streams from the northern edges of the Uhl Mountains, cut wide into the countryside, making for a rather effective natural barrier from the rest of the since fallen Kingdom.

Isshyim, whose platinum hair framed her impossibly beautiful elven face, sat with Awoan stationed at her side. For all of Isshyim's beauty, Awoan was rather plain, being a wood elf to her master's sun elf. Awoan's brown hair was only a few shades darker than her skin, and while her features were clearly elvish, they were not nearly as striking as her resurrected Headmistress. Having taken the place of the late traitor, Im'lye, it would seem Awoan was now set to be designated as Isshyim's personal protector. The pair would wait for the others to meet with them to discuss what was to happen next.

Headmistress Isshyim

Awoan

As it was, Akacen would be waiting along with Isshyim and Awoan, having taken time to speak in private with the pair about matters that did not concern the other three. Akacen sat on an oversized, plush couch of emerald velvet adorned with graceful lines of metallic embroidery. The couch contrasted well with the elaborate rug of bright yellows and oranges, greens and blues which found itself as a centerpiece within the space. The remaining room, for what it was worth, was decidedly plain - the sandstone, while roughly cut, had been since smoothed by time. Still, only the windows, ten feet wide and thirty-five feet tall - spanning from floor to ceiling - broke the monotonous reddish-tan.

Akacen, for his part, didn't quite match with his surroundings. He had taken on the robes of a proper Archmage - stark white with gold and silvery thread over the chest, shoulders, and around the cuffs and hem of the bottom. While it seemed to sit heavily, once in motion it revealed its weightless nature. However, what was most odd was the black cape he wore atop - the sigils along the edges glowing a light, subtle pink in spite of the beams of light filtering unfettered through the windows. The two items decidedly clashed, but were paired regardless. The only saving grace, perhaps, was the cape matching the depthless black of the moon elf's hair. His pale, blue-tinted skin gave him a sort of shining, midnight persona - if not a sickly one - and his sharp, slight features made him seem frail. Beyond this, his thin fingers grasped a silver staff of hard geometric, yet still subtle, lines. Placed within the tall, slender cage these lines made at the top was a rather large emerald that, at the moment, hung dull in the air within the space.

Headmaster Akacen Amastascia

With Akacen's green eyes, the gold flecks would flash when they came to meet the first that would make their way up to the meeting. His hair would be tied back in an easy ponytail to keep out of his face.

[Phoenix]

The Valley

It took too long to repair the damages from the portal. The earth was black. The nearby trees were ash. Each house was scorched and either partially collapsed or completely destroyed.

Those who could fled. Those who would protected those who could not. Willow remembered hearing a voice warning her of a terrible danger. She looked up to see bulbous black clouds materializing directly above them. The other villagers were keenly aware, but her shouted command to run alerted them to act.

It was quiet. The Valley is known to be a sanctuary of peace and temperance. When the yellow light pierced the ground like lightning, even the children didn’t scream. When the fiends and devils spewed from the corrupting light, they found tough foes. Despite being a secluded village upon a holy site, the denizens were as fierce as any warrior. The time Brightwood spent training his children, his siblings, and his peers was clearly time well-spent. Though he wasn’t here for this atrocity, everyone else took up the mantle of a leader to protect their home and their families.

Quickly a losing battle, they fled into the distant forests in any direction. The clouds above spread like a swarm of flies, rapidly infecting the sky. It felt like days that they ran and hid. The smaller and quicker fiends were batted away from the children. Willow counted the heads of her many half-siblings. Their mothers as determined to protect them as she. Willow was quickly running out of breath, mentally unprepared for such a sudden disaster to strike them and threaten everything she knew. And she couldn’t stop thinking about her father. What would he do?

She tripped on an unearthed root and hit the forest floor hard. Her forehead touched the dirt from the impact, leaving a brown mark on her brow. She looked up and turned around. A bright flash shone through the forest from their village. And as quickly as the black clouds spread above them, they disappeared.

She realized the air had been filled with sulfur and soot. She surprised herself with a sneeze, learning the inside of her nose and mouth were coated with ash. She coughed. She continued coughing until she vomited black. She looked up to see others doing the same. Those that managed to cover their mouths and noses seemed unaffected. Her eldest half-brother, Duer, approached to help her up and to get her to breathe normally.

The silence didn’t cease. It was too soon for such a devastating threat to be neutralized. She thought how the light must have been Scathach, and that was why she was told to run. She looked around at the gathering children beginning to surround her. Another headcount. “Where’s Iden”

Her voice was a screeching caw cutting through the silence. A few eyes looked at her with concern. The others only watched the forest line and listened to the air, too skeptical to believe they were no longer being pursued. Willow’s head scanned the area. All were still. She began to walk through the crowd of her siblings and toward the village, newly determined to find her missing brother.

The crowd behind her was much more hesitant than she. Their footfalls were quieter and more deliberate. They flowed around the trunks and avoided the low hanging branches as if to begin to mourn with silence those who they’ve yet to learn to have lost. The ground grew black and the trees grew ashen as they continued toward their home. The smell of cleansing fire filled the air and the yellow light was extinguished. The daylight returned to them soon.
_________

The boys ran all around him. They were sweaty, some were smeared with dirt and some wore fresh wounds. Willow worked them well. They called out to their father to join them at the western bank, their designated bathing area. He interrupted his meditation and rose calmly to follow the high energy of the children.

Most of them he’d sired. Many of them were his nephews. To only a few he wasn’t directly related. He knew them all very well. With all the training and play and work they did every day they were turning out to be competent despite all of them being under the age of 12. His chest became ablaze with pride as they continued to play in the river or help the other boys with their injuries. Some stole their clothes off the bank and threw them into the river and laughed as they watched the current take them away. They laughed harder as the victim raced to retrieve them. Some of the older boys raced to see who could get it faster.

Brightwood’s bare feet skated over the rushing water. He scooped up the small clothing and leapt to the other side of the river. The racing boys stopped when they realized their goal had been taken from them. They looked up at the patriarch of the Valley and whined and shouted at the unfairness. Brightwood just smirked and began to pace back up the river to lay the clothes out in the sun. He then removed his own clothes to meditate in the river.

The soft coolness flowed around his body. The boys splashed and screamed around him. He could feel the power of Scatach fill his muscles and reinforce his bones. He could feel her hair as his own and her touch across her cheek. It all went silent for him.

He didn’t know how long it’d been since he fell into this meditation. When he opened his eyes, all the boys had assumed similar positions within the river, meditating as their father, uncle, and patriarch. He rose quietly and turned around to be met with a foreign yet familiar figure standing just off the bank.

“Brother Brightwood” Akacen said, greeting him with a bow.

This simulacrum was used to the rather liberal Valley, rarely phased by the unclothed man. Brightwood began to dry himself off with a piece of his clothing. It was the one Akacen remembered him wearing during the cold months during their time on Scilira. He couldn’t be sure what it was called, as it seemed like an enlarged scarf connected into a circle.

“Headmaster,” Brightwood greeted back in a stern and deep tone.

“I was wondering if you’d be willing to meet with me back in the Eastern Reaches. I know you haven’t the fondest opinion of the place, but there is something I wish to share with you.”

Brightwood dried his face, darker than Akacen remembered. Staying so long in the Valley and living how he enjoyed living, his dark skin tanned even darker. His hair, however, was highlighted by the sun. It was still twisted in the same long braid, but the coarseness was easier to see, now. His eyes looked brighter, somehow, when he finally turned to look at Akacen. They were softer. But he seemed larger than before despite Akacen being used to craning his neck to look upon Brightwood.

“Does it put my family or my home at risk?” His stare was almost paralyzing.

“It very well could, the nature is similar.”

Brightwood’s large chest pushed out in a deep breath. He sighed silently, exhaled slowly as he considered his answered.

“I will gather some things and say goodbye to my family. Meet me at my home and we will leave thereafter.”

Akacen bowed deeply, understanding all too well how conflicted his friend must be to return to the place where he died thrice and was resurrected twice. The last time, Akacen had done it in person in Tierm. His good will, determination, and righteousness was not enough to compensate for his rashness and confidence. It was all he could do to not openly sob as he approached the river once more.

He didn’t spend much time saying farewell to his children and their mothers. It was intimate in their own way, but even Akacen was surprised at how brief it seemed.

He was wearing the same type of clothing. The only thing different was a backpack that pulled against his bare skin with an amount of weight that he betrayed with his posture. Akacen had begun to perform the spell to Teleport them to his destination. Brightwood stood surprisingly close to Akacen at the spell’s activation.

He put his backpack down in a nearby dorm room. There was much more activity than he remembered. But he made his way up the foreign yet familiar staircase that followed the cylindrical walls of this Scolia Arcana. The banquet and study hall had students pacing around, practicing and reciting Arcane findings at each other. Students, Brightwood thought was interesting. Last he knew this Scolia Arcana was dying.

The third floor was harshly silent. His bare feet could not be heard slapping against the stone steps and then the stone floor. “Greetings, Headmaster. Headmistress.”

Tierm

“You shouldn’t be here.”

His voice was level. Uninterested. Bored, even.

“Nor should you.”

Her voice was stronger. Demanding.

“You don’t have that authority, miss. Why don’t we just go up to the barracks together. I’d rather this not be more tedious than it already is.”

“You don’t have the balls, sir” she said to mock his apparent lack of age. “You couldn’t touch me if you tried for 10 years!”

-

“Ah! Fuck! Fucking bastard!” she started to scream, her voice echoing against the concrete sewers all around them. She barely heard leather zip against leather before finding a knife in her thigh.

“Didn't have to be so difficult.” His voice was deeper now. Threatening.

“You don’-”

She was silenced. Muffled. An arm wrapped around her head and over her mouth while her arms were grappled behind her. A foot kicked at the back of her knee, forcing her to stumble. She got the hint and began walking forward. She screamed and fought as much as she could, but this was clearly not the first time he’d caught someone like her. The inside of his elbow was reinforced with an additional layer of leather. He couldn’t feel her gnawing at it. He forced her arms up from behind her, causing her more pain if she fought too much.

“Alright, gents. Come get the bitch!” he called up through a manhole.

The gray light of the evening cast down through the hole. It lit the bars of the ladder unevenly. Two City Watch came down, unaffected by the deceitful lighting. The first one managed to cuff the woman while Tumise still grappled her as if they’d done this every day. The second made sure she didn’t run away as she was released from the grapple.

“Gah. This one’s a right nasty cunt!” the second Watch said as her face touched the light when she was pushed forward.

Her face was plain. Her hair was a nest. Her skin was pale. What came out of her mouth was the most offensive. She kept calling for Vargrimst, for his justice, or power, or whatever. He wasn’t really listening anymore. They all said the same things.

Tumise slipped his dagger out of her thigh before she pulled away. He put a hand on the Watch’s shoulder, keeping him from moving. A piece of cloth was tied tight around the thigh to keep it from bleeding too much.

“Why bother? Just let the cunt bleed. Less work for us.”

“You know this isn’t really her,” he said plainly. “Make sure you actually get this one to Professor Illyis.”

He walked back into the sewers before they could retort further.
_________

Professor Humplebumple made short work of reconstructing the city. It was clear that she’d had plans for this reconstruction for quite some time, considering how quickly she made the city better than new. Streets were reconfigured for ease of flow. Buildings held more consistency between them while still having individuality. It was a brand new city. It had to be considering the utter destruction of it all. Not only that, the Scolia Arcana was expanded and new Schools added. She and the other Professors worked to elect heads of these schools. Each discipline would be represented at the Scolia Arcana of Tierm, even Necromancy. They would be known throughout the continent in not only being able to do so, but also choosing to do so.

Caelynn made it her priority to oversee the mass Transmutation of the city while her Lieutenant, Tumise, worked to clean up the corruption of that yellow demon light. She let him work more closely with Ghesh so Tumise would learn to appreciate her more. The Transmuter students were learning quickly as if practice and necessity accelerated one’s ability to learn. She hoped Tumise was going through a similar transformation.

The swarms of people that were teleported back from the Valley with the help of Lorilla couldn’t fill the city proper. It showed both how much Lilli and her students expanded the city as well as how few people survived the invasion. At least they fared better than Golabah. It was too bad that most of them settled permanently in the Common South rather than return to Scilira. Those that returned were absorbed into Tierm’s population. Efforts to rebuild Golabah and even Loughlof Town were postponed until further notice.

“Captain, may I have a moment?” He bowed.

Caelynn knew this was only a simulacrum. Akacen would never address her so formally, and nor she him. Her heart still sank, though, knowing he hadn’t yet returned. “Yes, Headmaster.”

“I’d like to see you in the Eastern Reaches. While Tierm is aptly rebuilding and finding a state of normalcy once more, I’m hoping you’ll find the time to help elsewhere.”

She sighed but kept an even face. She remembered her outburst. She remembered holding Brightwood’s body in her arms. She remembered sobbing so hard that her throat swelled until she could no longer make sound. The familiar feeling of her heart breaking while seeing Isshyim fall and then rise came back hard.

She took a deep breath. “We’ll see. I’ll gather Tumise and Kephalos to go with me.”

“Even better. I’ll meet you at the Spire, then?”

Caelynn didn’t answer. She took a sharp turn on the balls of her feet and pointed to one of the City Watch to fetch her Tumise and Kephalos. If they didn’t make her regret taking Akacen up on this offer, they certainly would.

-

They found rooms for themselves, though Kephalos and Tumise had to share, to place their belongings before heading up the stairs to the third floor where this meeting would be held.

Tumise was relatively glad to be back home - longed to return to his actual home and change it for the better. Kephalos was impressed with how much it’d developed since he’d first come here. They were putting in as much work as they were back home.

“Hello Akacen,” Caelynn announced in a teasing tone and a playful smile. “And hello, Headmistress. It’s good to see you alive again,” she said. It might have sounded unnecessarily informal, but those that knew her knew how serious this statement was. It was her way to continue to cope with the events that occurred.

Arhew

The Princess of Storms was beautiful. She wished to stay in her presence forever. But she was pulled back to the Prime Material after a single breath.

These mountains were steep, bare. She looked around at those who looked upon her with caring eyes. She looked up at the whipped clouds against the pale blue sky. The sun shone white. The stone beneath her was solid and unmoving. She looked down at herself. The bold reds and muted oranges of her dress proved to her how peaceful she was in death. She was no longer afraid of it.

“You bring me back for more work?” she asked rhetorically. “Fine.” She smiled, though. Warm.

Her smooth face betrayed her age as it had when she’d first accepted the crown. Her hands were soft and without a blemish. The brown-green pigment looked lush over the slate of the earth beneath her.

“It is by Diancecht’s decree that you undo what you’ve unjustly done.”

The creature hovered over the stone, as if deigning to touch it would reduce its purity. She twisted her neck toward the creature. “Merzi,” she said with a modest bow.

Her hair fell over her shoulders. The wide ringlets as defined and regal as ever. She allowed the volume of it to remain over her shoulders as she shifted to face the others who were also resurrected. Her delicate feet clicked forward. She rose a hand over their heads and released the scent of nutmeg and the seeds of a dandelion as she did so. She brought both hands under their chins and extended to them warmth and comfort as her Princess had done for her upon her arrival to the Elemental Planes.

She then turned. “High Priest Tiadar. High Priestess Taidra. Are you ready?”
_________

The Temple of Ledwonnú saw more patrons in the past week than it had in its lifetime. Wynlynn’s final Wish was to undo her Meteor Swarm that she’d cast on the city. Now she put all of her energy into resurrecting the churches, if not the people themselves. Tiadar and Taidra proved highly competent in seeking out hidden worshippers of the other Gods that had survived the culling of religion and then the dissolution of the region. They were gathered to Arhew to discuss their roles and hierarchy. They could rebuild how they saw fit. They could take leadership roles throughout the region, but within reason, of course.

Ultimately, they were the heart of the Eastern Reaches. They would be ones to mend hearts and console the broken and find the lost. While laborers rebuilt structures, the religious leaders would rebuild spirit.

During one such effort, a banquet hosted by Wynlynn herself, an unexpected visitor approached her as she worked on baking rolls and pies.

“Priestess Casilltenira, might I have a moment?”

She spun around with a fair smile on her face and in her eyes. Some sweat sparkled on her brow, proving how long she’d been working these ovens. She handed the large bowl she was mixing batter in to a halfling who anticipated the situation before Wynlynn could.

“Ah, Awoan! Good of you to join. Shall I fetch Tiadar or Taidra for you?”

“Oh, no thank you, Priestess.”

“Please, dear. Wynlynn is fine.”

“The Headmistress and Headmaster would like an audience with you when you have the time,” she said, returning the friendly air but not the informality. She couldn’t anticipate how swiftly Eladrin might change and if they could be contradictory, if their memories were different.

“I have so much work,” Wynlynn started.

“There is no rush at all, Priestess. Wynlynn,” she said as if to humor her.

“Did they receive my invitation to this event?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Awoan took a moment to remember the enchantments placed upon the envelopes and how showy they were when it was opened. “Unfortunately, they’re not much of the celebratory types. They feel much too responsible for the state of the Reaches.”

“As do I! That’s what all of this is about!” This form seemed gracefully cheerful.

“They completely understand. But we all have our own sense of duty.”

“How true. How wise.” Wynlynn paused to ponder the idea. Her lips pursed but then spread into a gentle smile soon enough. “I will see them tomorrow,” she said with determination to keep her own promise. “Now, go find a seat. I need a representative of the Arcana here tonight.”

“I’m flattered, but -”

“No buts!” Wynlynn almost shouted with a giggle. “You shall stay and find comfort in my home,” she said, gesturing all around her.

Awoan thought for a moment but couldn’t help but smile. She thought of all she’d been through recently. She believed both that there was so much work for her to do and so much responsibility being placed on her as well as the fact she definitely deserved to have some time to relax and enjoy herself and her company. What would Headmistress Isshyim do? Fire her?

Awoan giggled, herself, and thanked Wynlynn. She offered to help in the kitchen but was shooed out as soon as she opened her mouth.The night was long, but she was full and content. She was comfortable. And, strangely enough, she was happy. Happy to be alive and happy to have the connections she did.

-

The scent of nutmeg and pumpkin filled the room before she entered. The sound of drying leaves rustling in the autumn breeze echoed against the stone as she ascended. Her heels clicked softly against the stone. Intentional as to not sound harsh even while walking.

“Greetings, Headmistress, Headmaster. You wished to see me,” she said with a shallow bow and looked upon them with a gentle, matronly smile.

[Akacen]

The gold flecks in Akacen's eyes seemed to shine ever so slightly at the sight of his old friend, Brother Brightwood. It was he, after all, that had been his first and longest companion and friend since leaving the Scholia Arcana in Tierm all those years ago.

Though, of course, that was a mere blink of an eye to someone as long-lived as an elf.

True to form, the both of them had hardly changed since they last saw one another. Even so, Akacen took a moment to take in the sight of Brightwood as he was. "Brother Brightwood," he started with a smile both on his face and in his voice. He didn't say anything more, as it was to be an unspoken conversation of sorts that the two would share.

While there was a joy in seeing his old friend again, there was clear, at least to Brightwood, conflict and worry. The Headmaster might do his best to cover that up, and succeed in the eyes of most people, Brightwood was not so easily fooled.

Even so, there was not all that much time to dwell on this as the echoes of several feet soon wafted up to their ears. Isshyim, in her endless grace and beauty, extended an arm to offer a seat to the serious, if not brooding, human. The long cuff of her sleeve fell over a foot from her wrist, the gold border, along with the pure white of the bulk of the robes she wore, did not shine; rather, they glowed in the sunlight that pierced the space.

She said nothing, nor did Awoan. It so happened that the three of them were quite aware of recent conversations.

Following behind Master Brightwood was Captain Caelynn with Lieutenants Kephalos and Tumise in tow. While Caelynn kept most of her same outward appearance, Kephalos and Tumise had changed quite a bit since they were last seen. Kephalos, for his part, had aged only somewhat, it would seem. Perhaps it was his now-bald head and purple tattoo on his face, with a matching one on his bare left arm. Always heavily armed, the Greatsword and Glaive he carried, along with a shortbow and quiver, would overcome most any other man. While shorter than Brightwood, he was perhaps stockier and carried the equipment over his scale armor that shone - no, glowed - with seeming ease.

Lieutenant Kephalos Greatlance

Tumise, on the other hand, had matured quite a bit since he was first recruited from Jocarol. All the new responsibilities seemed to have settled on capable, if not still mischievous, shoulders. Wielding daggers, a rapier, and a crossbow, it was clear that the smaller human favored maneuverability and stealth over raw power. More than anything, though, it seemed that he "filled out", as they say.

Lieutenant Tumise Keller

Akacen would nod and offer back a hello in kind, but it seemed to be Isshyim's time to speak this time. She, too, nodded in greeting to the wood elf and offered, "It is good to be back. Of course, I learned much..." And that was it; she would offer no more at this point. Sure, she offered the slightest of smiles in return, but it left much to be desired - as she typically did whenever she spoke. Instead, she would again extend an arm to each couch, offering all three of them a seat on the long couches, able to each fit five individuals comfortably.

As the three of them sat down, both Kephalos and Tumise having to adjust their weapons in order to do so without damaging anything, Akacen commented, "You all look good." It was a meager compliment, but the intent and feeling behind it revealed so much more than the words. While reserved, Akacen was not necessarily lacking in emotion.

"Still... one more... she is nearly here," Isshyim mentioned, as though it were common knowledge. Typical for her, of course, but still off-putting to those who weren't so used to it.

Isshyim nodded first, as she was the first one addressed. Akacen followed suit, of course, and ended up being the one to speak. "Yes, Priestess. You look... wonderful." He seemed to have some trouble with that particular compliment, but it was clear that his lessons were starting to stick.

"Please... sit..." Isshyim offered the couch that had the fewer seats taken and waited for her to sit down. Akacen, for his part, gazed at this reunion. His mind raced with this and that thought, his eyes trying to take everything in before they got into all of this.

"Saviors of the Eastern Reaches," Isshyim started with only a touch of grandiosity. "I trust you remember the request you received from Zariel's minions?" She would wait a beat before continuing. "She plans to force your hand. You must go to the ruins of the Yuan-Ti temple to prevent the destruction of Theodthyrth." She spoke with such assurance that it was sometimes difficult to realize that she spoke in possible futures that she had witnessed only through her font, currently stationed directly behind her in the middle of one of the great windows facing west.

Akacen's face distorted in displeasure and unease. It had always been in the back of his mind, but it was too soon. However, it would have always been too soon, he figured. "Yes, of course," he started with a shallow nod. "I will go alone..."

"You will take your companions here with you," Isshyim interrupted just as he uttered the word alone. Her timing was impeccable, as always. "Otherwise, you will be bound to her service, and all of existence will be undone."

The look on the moon elf's face suggested that he didn't quite believe that the threat this "Zariel" posed could be any greater than summoning the Elder God of Infinite Destruction to the Material Plane. Or, perhaps he was merely incredulous in the inference that he alone could start a tip in the balance that would result in this cataclysm. He, of course, knew better than to argue with Isshyim's directives. Too many times had they proven true, and she had not said or done anything that would call her predictions into question.

"You will leave in the morning." The statement was just that - a declarative that would be followed without question. "Rest and prepare. Awoan, please give them anything they might need."

"Yes, Headmistress," Awoan responded dutifully behind her charge.

At this point Isshyim waved them all off without a word. Not contesting this, Akacen stood and bowed to the Headmistress and turned to leave. The hardened soles of this otherwise soft shoes produced dull claps against the stone floor, once off the rug. While the cape hung heavy on the Headmaster's slim shoulders, the white robes he wore rippled in the still air as water. The silver staff clapped in resolution against the stone, muffling each other step fall.

Down on the second floor, the Gathering Hall and Library, Akacen would wait for his comrades to join him. Several students looked on with curious gazes, though Mumed was there to usher them to their tasks, duties, or studies soon enough so as to leave them with at least some privacy.

Mumed: Master Enchanter