Obscene Symphony

Court of Nuhl

Roan’s body exploded with pain the very instant he made contact with his captor, but he was eerily silent. The electricity coursing through his every cell rendered him completely immobile, unable to scream or even exhale as his eyes, glued open, remained fixed on the pained and dying face of the Inquisitor, clawing helplessly for mercy Roan couldn’t give even if he wanted to. Fortunately, his electric captivity only lasted a few seconds, and soon Hasgad’s grip on his magic loosened as he breathed his last wretched breath and collapsed. Roan went down with him, as soon as his body relaxed, falling in a disorganized heap over the bloodied corpse of a beast neither Roan nor any of his compatriots ever thought it possible to slay.

With that, Roan thought he’d never move again. He wouldn’t have especially minded it, to be honest. His mission was over; he avenged his friends, and even beyond that, hit back at the Empire in a way more meaningful than all the petty supply raids his motley group had ever done. Taking an Inquisitor out of the equation was no small feat, and doing it with a tiny blade? They’d sing about him for generations.

Was it worth it? Eh, he really could have done without the torture part, but if it had to be this way, he supposed there were worse ways to go out. He could have suffered the same fate as poor Marie, to die in terror and pain looking at the same four walls and the same fucked up face, sickeningly only hours away from rescue. Yeah, getting back at that freak for her sake was worth it, he’d say. And dying here would cut down on all the PTSD he’d have to deal with later on from this whole ordeal. Honestly, it wasn’t starting to sound too bad.

But the fighting didn’t stop for him, and as Roan dreamily reminisced about death in his stunned stupor, the situation around him continued to deteriorate. Notably, Hasgad was moving, and Roan’s small heart attack at the sight was only partially dispelled by the realization that he was moving too. As a kid, in breath holding competitions with his sister, he always lost because he could never stay on the bottom of the pool; the same seemed to be happening now, though Roan turned not to see water above him nor a beckoning light signifying his demise, but the face of the vampire he’d been trying to help escape from Hasgad, kneeling over him.

"I owe you my thanks," he said.

“Uh, mhm,” Roan mumbled stupidly, accepting his help only for the both of them to be haphazardly dragged across the room by whatever was pulling them along. Naturally, Roan feared the worst, but once they were unceremoniously dropped and the purple-haired floating kid ran by apologizing, he put two and two together.

The kid carried Dylan and ran, and it was only then that Roan notice the now-open door leading outside, where the night air and trees and sky waited impatiently for them - along with a rapidly gesturing figure at the treeline he struggled to make out in the dark. Lyra seemed to be the leader here and beckoned everyone out, and the purple-haired mage already followed suit, but the vampires seemed hesitant, discussing their options. Scrambling to his feet, Roan spared only a quizzical glance between the vampires and Lyra before making for the door.

“Come on!” he called over his shoulder as he made his long-awaited escape, hobbling as fast as he could on the gravity mage’s heels toward the treeline.

_{@Hero @Bert Macklin @Scribe of Thoth}

The Shattering of Aegis

_{✧ Location: Snakeburrow Woods ✧ Purse: 12 copper ✧ @Achronum ✧}

While the others took their places around the interlopers and Ceolfric put on his territorial display, Kyreth simply watched from his covered spot in silence, unsure what else he could do. Hiding from danger was somewhat of a specialty of his - confronting it, not so much. Of course, as Ceolfric drew answers from one of the highwaymen, they seemed a lot less like danger and a lot more like drunkards, but Kyreth knew better than to think all threat was gone just because someone was heavy with drink. Quite the opposite, often.

He didn’t miss Lilann’s cue, but he wasn’t sure what she wanted him to do with it; she saw his performance with the wolves, didn’t she? Unless she wanted an encore that concluded in setting the entire forest ablaze, Kyreth was certain everyone would be much better off with him firmly on the sidelines for this one.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t concerned. He believed the travelers’ story - truth be told, he balked at it a bit, a little offended that they’d make such a mockery of their god’s sacred places, whichever one it was. But something still didn’t sit right. He could believe some lowlifes went out into the woods to eat, drink and be merry, and stumbled across a travelers’ camp on their way home. But if that was all, then something else had to explain the sudden swell in the ambient aether.

Kyreth’s heart jumped when Cerric suddenly spoke up from his bed, the Tainted shrinking even further as their guide gave up their position. His eyes became glowing slits as he glared at the half-elf in the dark, who was looking innocently at him in turn, and sighed. There was no recovering from that - the drunks and anyone else in the vicinity definitely heard him.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Kyreth replied dismissively, fatigue evident in his words. He kept his voice low, as if not to disturb other sleepers, but didn’t bother whispering. “Sounds like some drunks took a wrong turn.”

In keeping with his facade of tired annoyance, Kyreth rubbed his shoulder, glancing around innocuously in the guise of stretching his neck to see where Lilann and his other companions had gone. “Ugh, first the aether buzzing, and then all this racket - sleep does not come easy on the road,” he complained, hoping his companions would take the hint.

Obscene's Scratchpad

Eli Forester

_ＮＡＭＥ
Eli Forester (formerly Esra Tjaldhiminn)
_ＲＡＣＥ
Viera
_ＣＬＡＮ
Rava
_{ＢＩＲＴＨＰＬＡＣＥ}
Golmore Jungle
_{ＯＣＣＵＰＡＴＩＯＮ}
(former) Assistant Grant Officer - Forum Department of Research, Education, and Dissemination of Knowledge
_{ＳＯＵＬ ＣＲＹＳＴＡＬ}
Summoner(?) Black Mage(?)
_{ＡＰＰＥＡＲＡＮＣＥ}
Eli is a good height for a Viera male, standing around 73 ilms tall (~6’). His quick, slim frame is typical of his ilk, with a flexible core and long, slender limbs layered with lean, wiry muscle. His straw-coloured hair falls chin-length in waves, neatly kept out of his eyes. His skin is deep brown, contrasted starkly by a pair of startlingly light green eyes, ever equipped with a cool, piercing gaze. Likely his most striking feature, Eli’s slender, upright leporine ears betray a state of perpetual alertness even when the man himself seems at ease, always quick to twitch and turn toward the slightest sound.

Eli’s manner of dress follows the preeminent style of Old Sharlayan in spirit, although in place of heavy robes and skirts he prefers slim-fitting tunics and loose-fitting trousers. Still, he sports an air of sophistication, both in dress and mannerisms; aloof at the best of times, Eli carries himself with a certain indifference to goings-on around him, bearing the look of a man whose mind is perpetually somewhere more important.
_{ＰＥＲＳＯＮＡＬＩＴＹ}
Curt
No-nonsense
Has no interest in company - prefers to be alone
Hates noise - prefers silence
Would rather not chat
Seems kinda salty
Seems unimpressed at all times
Suspicious of everyone and everything
Very solitary
Blends into Sharlayan on the outside, but to talk to him he feels distinct from the stuffy academic crowd - he has all the manners down but still carries a distinct vibe of being a hard motherfucker
The quiet co-worker who doesn’t really talk to anyone and doesn’t interact with anyone outside of work

_{ＢＩＯＧＲＡＰＨＹ}
While vastly different from an Eorzean upbringing, Eli’s early life was typical of a male of the Rava clan. He was born by the name of "Esra" in the village of Tjaldhiminn, named for its precarious construction in the upper boughs of the Golmore Jungle's mightiest trees. He spent his first twelve summers under the wise tutelage of his mother and her sisters, learning the basics of Golmorran life all Viera must know: how to hunt, how to forage, and most importantly, how to fight.

But the village would not remain his home forever. He came of age in his thirteenth summer, and with that, in keeping with the Green Word, was sent out of the village, bound for a life of watchful solitude guarding the forest as a Wood Warder. Of course, he was not alone - not yet, anyway. As a young Jack, he was placed in the care of a master, an experienced Warder by the name of Asri. A Warder any Vieran man would aspire to be, Asri knew a thing or two about training Jacks, and pushed his young charge to the point of breaking, and then beyond. If they needed to go one mile, Esra would go two, with a pack of rocks on his back for good measure. If he was hungry, he would catch his prey, or he would not eat. If he was cold, he could have fur - but only if he slew the coeurl who wore it.

Such are the ways of the Wood, Asri would say. So, such are the ways of the Warders who guard it.

Asri's regimen was as brutal as it was effective, and Esra nearly died more than once in the many years the two spent together. It would not have been strange if he had; after all, Jacks who survived their training were less common than those who did not. But Esra persevered, growing slowly but steadily from a feisty child to a hardened killer, capable of silently tracking and dispatching any prey, man or beast. Asri taught him everything a Warder must know: to live alone, hear the Green Word, treat wounds, find water, avoid predators and contend with them if necessary, to care for the forest and its inhabitants. Most importantly, Asri taught him to protect the Wood with all his body and soul, and to eagerly fight and die for it.

Esra took these lessons to heart, and when he finally earned the title of "master" himself and struck out on his own as a true Wood Warder, he looked forward to a lifetime of noble solitude among the boughs, listening to the Green Word and valiantly protecting his home from whatever foolish threat may dare to cross beneath its branches. And he did, for a long time. Every few summers, he returned (somewhat reluctantly) to Tjaldhiminn, mated, and left again. Once he took on a young Jack of his own, but his charge unfortunately perished a few summers later. He was there when the iron men tramped through Golmore in their ugly machines, and helped his brothers and sisters make them pay for every leaf they trampled underfoot, until they dared not venture into the jungle again.

After the iron men left, the jungle was quiet for a time. The nearby Dalmascans, who had often harassed Golmore in the past, ceased to bother them, and Esra and the other Warders grew uneasy, wary of the peace. But one day, the familiar sound of clumsy crashing alerted Esra to invaders in the forest, and he was greeted by a new foe.

At first, Esra watched from the boughs, taking stock of his opponents. They didn’t look like the iron men; these ones were clad in cloth garments, carrying large sacks on their backs, and weren’t accompanied by the hulking metal monsters the iron men employed to do their bidding. But these new invaders did no less to invite Esra’s ire, swinging long knives at the foliage to hack their way through and filling their sacks with the stolen bounty of the Wood. They put their hands on everything, from the plants to the waters, the soil, even small animals and insects. Esra was pretty sure he saw one of them triumphantly scoop up a handful of coeurl dung and stow it away in his pack with elation.

Beyond his confusion, their utter disregard for the Wood somehow angered Esra even more than the iron men did; where the iron men hacked and burned, reducing all in their path to rubble, these new invaders had the gall to traipse into the Wood without a hint of respect and start stealing.

And Esra wasn’t the only one the invaders brought to attention; alongside a few other Warders, the noise of the clumsy interlopers was attracting the attention of predators. Something had to be done now, before

_{ＯＴＨＥＲ}
Favourite food: ???
Although it is almost unnoticeable against his dark skin tone, Eli has a black tattoo on his left cheek.
If one were to look closely, they’d notice that Eli seems to have an odd habit of standing on his toes.
_{ＲＥＡＳＯＮ ＦＯＲ ＥＮＬＩＳＴＭＥＮＴ}

Court of Nuhl

Roan shrank into the floor away from the heat and the oppressive whoosh of the fire overhead, a stark and sobering reminder of the raw power the Empress herself was smart enough to fear. But more than that, above the roar of the flames came a sound that he never thought he’d be lucky enough to hear: Inquisitor Hasgad shrieking in pain.

The sound was so shocking it made Roan pause, and despite the surrounding danger he lifted his head, eager to see what horrible fate befell the feared Inquisitor to make him scream like so many of his victims had done before. The sound was hauntingly familiar, so oddly close in pitch and tone to the shrieking laughter that usually accompanied vicious torment that Roan almost wondered where the hapless victim was. But he was right there: frozen by his own magic with a vampire’s dagger in his side, screaming bloody murder and vengeance on his enemies.

Hm. Didn’t that look familiar.

Enraptured by the sight, Roan rose to his feet, staring in disbelief at the frozen sculpture of his tormentor, reveling in his unbelievable luck for what felt like an eternity before an arc of lightning popping in his direction brought him back to his senses.

“Agh!” he recoiled as the bolt caught his forearm, hopping back a step as further lightning groped for contact. Right, that vampire wouldn’t last long getting fried like that. Roan knew from experience trying to separate the two would only get him paralyzed along with them… but maybe that wasn’t necessary.

“Hey!” Roan shouted above the din to the purple-haired hostage that had since regained his footing. Possessed of a conviction not present before, he pointed to the belt of daggers girding the vampire’s waist. “Grab one for me!”

It took Quinn a moment to realize he had even been addressed, with his eyes locked on the mess of a melee that had erupted in front of him. Logic told him he should’ve moved first and gawped like an idiot later, but his body hurt and his thoughts weren’t yet caught up with the events that had transpired in the past few moments. A stray arc from Count Eve finally urged him into motion, though his limbs cooperated much more sluggishly than his magic, which hoisted him back into the air.

Roan’s frantic look caught his eye, and Quinn finally processed what it was he’d been asked to do. Had he been shocked too many times before they got here? Rushing into that mess with a knife was suicide! Not that Quinn wanted to sit by and let Donovan be cooked, but shooting into that mess seemed like a good way to hit the vampire on accident too. Better the prisoner take the fall than him, he supposed.

Quinn swiped a finger upward, dislodging one of Donovan’s knives from its sheath, before he flicked his wrist aside and sent it floating in Roan’s direction. Knowing nothing about the other mage’s reflexes, it’d be a gamble to speed up the knife at the risk of cutting Roan, but the motion of the knife still felt painfully slow compared to the tension of the last couple minutes.

Roan caught the knife on reflex, or maybe luck, since Roan looked just as surprised as anyone else to find it actually landed in his hand. He didn’t acknowledge the mage who threw it to him; instead, like a magnet, his gaze was pulled back to Hasgad.

He turned the knife in his hand to grasp it with the blade pointing downward, fingers curling awkwardly for purchase around a knife made to be thrown. His grip and posture belied an utter lack of training, but his white knuckles testified to his zeal; gone was the timid prisoner the rescue party found begging for death. His body seemed to move independent of his mind, driven by a singular calculation: if he couldn’t detach the vampire from the lightning, just turn off the lightning.

In contrast to before, when the cacophony of battle overwhelmed his starved, exhausted mind, everything now seemed to slow down for Roan. The urgency that should have accompanied his bold new plan didn’t quite breach the surface of his mind. The din of the reinforcements being torn to shreds in the entrance didn’t reach him; only the pulse in his ears, the crackling of lightning, and the twisted expression of rage frozen on the Inquisitor’s face.

Maybe this was how Hasgad felt in his victims’ final moments.

“AAAHHH!”

Roan’s own scream brought time rushing back to him, and he was already moving; he rushed forward with vengeful fervor, dagger in hand, numb to any bolts that fell upon him. Somewhere in the far recesses of his mind he had probably predicted that he was in for a hell of a shock once he made contact, but gambled on the electricity stopping soon enough not to stop his heart; in the moment, however, any consequence to his actions were far-off and insignificant compared to the righteous justice he could finally mete out for his friends and comrades by putting the son of a bitch out of his misery.

When Roan reached his target, only a few steps away to begin with and only a handful of seconds after the whole affair began, he threw all of his weight behind the dagger, bracing as he moved to plunge it deep into the Inquisitor’s neck.

_{Collab with @Scribe of Thoth; @Achronum}

The Shattering of Aegis

_{✧ Location: Snakeburrow Woods ✧ Purse: 12 copper ✧ @Achronum ✧}

The rest of that evening’s conversation got away from Kyreth, the young Tainted’s mind drifting off with wonderings of his own on the nature of ambient aether. Ermes’ further questions mirrored his own, and myriad more followed behind them, none of which he could ever hope to answer without further instruction. It was strange (and tiring) to think so hard about something so… abstract. Ironically, it felt like a great luxury; with his room and board pretty much sorted for the time being, Kyreth was unaccustomed to the freedom to let his mind wander to things beyond his immediate needs. Maybe that was why fortunate folk like Eila always seemed to dive into study: with nothing else to worry about, they were free to pour all their attention into higher pursuits.

Ironically, it was more a distraction than a help when it came to his candle practice, his focus wavering as his mind was drawn to pry into concepts he barely understood. Of course, since he knew so little on the topic of… well, anything, he only ended up treading the same circles in his head, repeating the same questions and proposed answers over and over again. It was like getting a song stuck in his head, a vague tune and lyrics half-remembered and muffled through the tavern wall; he knew just enough to realize how much he couldn’t remember, and the tune would stay lodged in his ear until he finally learned all the words.

Sleep didn’t come easily, especially with aether hanging dense in the air, so it was tough luck that just as Kyreth finally drifted off, something insistent pulled him from his slumber, accompanied by a sudden thud and-- silence?

Wait, was that right? Kyreth shot up from his spot on the grass, eyes wide in the darkness, straining to hear. Yes… yes, it was quieter than before. There used to be… music? Yes, Lilann mentioned the music in the forest. It was supposed to be a good thing, he thought. Had he really been so distracted not to notice it before? And more importantly, if it was such a good omen, then why had it stopped…?

Kyreth’s eyes glowed brightly in the darkness, his freckles like a little swarm of fireflies in comparison, both conspicuously visible in the gloom as he looked over toward his companions. Esvelee was awake, too, and looking just as concerned as Kyreth. What was more, a now-familiar buzzing in Kyreth’s fingers heralded a change in the aether. Wait, maybe that was what woke him? It wasn’t the sound; he was awake already when he heard that. No, it felt like it came from within, like a rising panic in his chest - no, a rise in the aether!

Kyreth’s breath caught in his chest as a voice rang out in the darkness, an invisible traveler bickering loudly as if they were in broad daylight. The contrast put him even more on edge, and he stiffened as a slap sounded through the trees. He barely breathed, not sure what to do next. The voice mentioned a “scheme” - were they thieves? Kyreth didn’t know much about merchants and trade, but he knew enough to know their cargo was valuable. Were they here to rob the caravan? Had they been following them? Or was it bad luck to stumble upon common highwaymen?

Oh Mistress, you chose a strange vocation for me, Kyreth thought worriedly, grasping his crescent as the evening’s conversation about everyone’s skills came pointedly to mind. Silently, he looked to Esvelee and held a finger to his lips, motioning for her to be quiet. It seemed the interlopers hadn’t noticed them yet.

Beyond that, he had absolutely no idea what to do.

The Glynwood Institute For Thaumaturgical Studies

Eli outright jumped as the hungry boy he’d spoken to suddenly choked, blinking awkwardly as the boy coughed and sputtered into his proffered napkin. Oh good grief, and he was trying to be discreet! Eli had an apology on his lips as the boy recovered, but there was no time to offer it; as soon as the boy got some air back into him, he took off on a tangent that sounded less like conversation and more like… well, it wouldn’t be polite to say at a party. Had trouble slowing down on eating, did he? Eli might add talking to that list.

Still, Eli couldn’t say he was annoyed. In fact, the poor kid’s obvious discomfort was a little endearing. He was clearly out of his element, maybe feeling a little inadequate, and he was even starting to blush - Eli hadn’t seen anyone act like that since his last Debutante ball, when that poor little boy sprung a nosebleed trying to strike up a conversation with his younger cousin. Eli was so used to silver spoons on silver tongues that all this stumbling and bumbling was a breath of fresh air - even if the question it ended with might have been a little less than polite.

And speaking of less-than-polite, again Eli’s reply was cut off - but this time by a newcomer, a tall, grumpy-looking blond who made his entrance by snatching something from the hungry kid’s plate. Eli quirked a disapproving brow; wasn’t he one to talk.

“Not to worry - it’s a birthmark,” Eli replied, pointedly answering the hungry boy’s question first before cooly considering the new guy. The blond’s proposition was tempting; absent the excitement of making the hungry kid choke, this ceremony was painfully boring. It hurt a little to admit - the mystique surrounding Glynwood made it feel like blasphemy not to drink in every moment like it was his last - but with the speeches done, it was like any other stand-up reception: shallow and tiresome. Of course, leaving early probably wouldn’t look good, especially if there was some second phase of the opening ceremony he didn’t know about, or if they missed any important announcements from their Cohort instructor, and it was probably prudent to do a little more socializing…

But didn’t you come here for a change?

Eli sighed, dropping his shoulders in surrendered amusement. He was right, he came to Glynwood hoping for a change of pace from the bureaucracy he was used to, and here he was clinging to it like a child to a blanket. Maybe Blondie had a point - in a weird, rude, roundabout way.

“Sure, sounds fun,” he replied simply, finishing off the last bite of his dessert before depositing the spoon neatly in the empty glass. He held the glass out and dropped it, as if he was placing it on a tray that wasn’t there; instead, it caught itself after a short fall and glided gracefully to a nearby table.

Eli adjusted his uniform, looking over to the hungry kid. “You coming?”

---

@Achronum @Hero

Court of Nuhl

Roan’s chest burned, the gaunt and frightened prisoner reluctant even to breathe in the midst of a standoff with a hostage-bearing Inquisitor. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing; no way this bitch was actually taunting an Inquisitor! If the situation wasn’t so tense, Roan might have actually laughed - with balls like that, maybe she really was the general’s daughter.

To his credit, the purple-haired hostage was taking it like a champ. His bluff didn’t seem to have worked, but he was keeping his cool much better than Roan would have in his shoes, especially considering that Roan himself saw absolutely no way out of this that kept everybody in one piece. Sun and stars, he felt so helpless! Not that he was ever some combat master to begin with, but at least with magic maybe he could have done something more than twiddle his thumbs while Lyra gambled with a dude’s life!

And time was running out. Without magic, Roan struggled to hear much over the thundering of his own pulse in his ears, but even he could hear reinforcements making their way down to their level. Hasgad’s trap was snapping shut fast, and as far as Roan knew, that was their only egress point.

Some kind of silent communication must have passed between his rescuers then, because all of a sudden, the room burst into a flurry of motion. Lyra rushed forward screaming a spell, and flames erupted in Hasgad’s direction; meanwhile, the hostage went flying to the side, and Roan himself hit the deck as an intimidating wave of heat flashed back at him.

He covered his head on instinct, falling into a protective pose - or a cowardly fetal position, depending on your point of view. From there, having lost track of the confrontation in the chaos and powerless to do much about it anyway, Roan shouted a warning: “Watch the door!”

The Shattering of Aegis

_{✧ Location: Snakeburrow Woods ✧ Purse: 12 copper ✧ @Scribe of Thoth @Trainerblue192 ✧}

Eila’s question drew more attention to Kyreth, as he expected it would, and he rubbed his neck insecurely as the shadow-haired kid - Ermes - questioned him.

“...Well, it’s like…” He began haltingly, the fingers of his free hand groping the air at his side for a suitable answer. Truly, he was hardly the person to do this; grasp on the concept of “studying the aether” was tenuous at best, and he barely understood it well enough to practice it himself, let alone explain it to others.

Fortunately, as he searched for an explanation, Cerric piped up with just that, and Kyreth was happy to let him steal the show, nodding along. “Yes, exactly,” he added, looking back to Ermes. “Lord Mystralath tells me there’s aether all around us, running through the air and everything else. What I’m here to study is how the aether… well, feels, I guess, and how it moves and behaves in different places as we travel. I’m told it changes a lot in these woods.”

Ceolfric was next with a question, and Kyreth was a little surprised that he would ask it at all. The bandit struck him more as the proud type, and it was hard to picture him asking anyone about anything, but he supposed he was probably pragmatic above all else. That would be wise, if Ceolfric lead as rough a life as he looked.

Of course, his question was just as much of interest to Kyreth, and the Tainted had to pause to think about it. “I don’t think it would be all magic, no,” he finally replied, searching his memory. “That’s the first time I can recall ever noticing something like that before, but I’ve been around Lilann doing magic and didn’t feel anything.”

His brow furrowed as he thought, trying his best to work through the limited aether theory he’d been taught to come up with an explanation. “I guess if the disturbance we felt is the aether rippling, then it would make sense for only bigger uses of magic to cause that, right? Like throwing stones in a pool.” Kyreth picked up a piece of gravel and tossed it into a nearby puddle, watching pensively as the ripples spread and bounced off the edges. “Maybe it works the same for aether. Or not; maybe it’s just something I’ll learn and get more sensitive to with time. I wish I could say, but I really don’t know.”

The Glynwood Institute For Thaumaturgical Studies

---

The trip to Glynwood was appropriately uneventful, not that Eli would dare complain. With a familiar target on his back and a fresh new opportunity to flaunt it, he knew better than to hope for trouble, but at the same time, he kept expecting some new sense of awe, wonder, or even fear to break up the monotony his life had become over the past several years.

He’d been hopeful that Glynwood would be that break. His first time living away from home, his first time studying high levels of magic, and all of it in the most historically and magically significant institution on the continent - that should all have gotten him absolutely giddy with excitement! But as much as he logically knew it was all very exciting, awe-inspiring, and even emotional, it just… wasn’t. Even as he stepped out of the teleporter and into Pebblebrook and got his first glimpse of the magically manipulated sky, he was still waiting for it all to finally hit him - a moment he was beginning to fear would never come.

Now, that wasn’t to say he was entirely without interest in the whole affair. The ceremonial boating journey to the school with its whimsical magelights, that first full glimpse of the campus grounds in their famous ruined crater, it was all visually stunning and intellectually impressive. It just felt… empty. Because no matter how hard Eli focused on the idea that many of the most important mages in Cresvald’s history had walked the very same ground as he now trod, how his classmates would shape the continent’s magical and political future, and how the mysteries to be discovered here were as deep as the ruins themselves, he also knew the ugly truths lurking beneath the glamour of it all. Those vaunted historical figures were as famous for petty politicking as they were for their magical prowess; his classmates were probably cynically scoping each other out for their usefulness as he spoke, and magical developments and discoveries were so often hoarded away like treasures, even in a society so ostensibly dedicated to the advancement of the collective knowledge.

Eli had hoped that that sort of cynicism, the type that had tainted his view of Pontaion and everyone in it, wouldn’t follow him to Glynwood, but he was wrong; it was as if a patina had formed over his former idyllic visions of the school, its shining appeal dulled and darkened by harsh reality.

Inside, the air of the hall at the speech’s commencement was intimately familiar to Eli, closely mirroring the mood of a mixed debate hall as the speaker finally deigned to commence the business of the day. The rapt, eager attention of some, the simmering discontentment of others, even the grumbling impatience of those who just wanted to get to the food were all just as common in the vaunted halls of the Heptarchy as they were at an Academy commencement; be the attendees 18 or 280, green or learned, nothing changed that much.

Least of all the gossip, Eli remarked with distaste, his eyes falling on the chattering group ahead of him in the crowd. Of course, privileged enough to be surrounded by some of the most influential mages in Cresvald’s history and their principal concern was who was sleeping with whom. Good to know a little piece of Pontaion would always be around wherever he went.

The speech itself was remarkable in its… unremarkability. Perhaps Eli shouldn’t have been surprised, Chancellor Nortwin being known for his eccentricities and all, but of all the myriad things he was expecting from Glynwood, the very last among them was mediocrity. The Chancellor was a busy man, but he was also the beating heart of the Academy, and such was his renowned passion for the institution that he was rumored to have fiercely clung to his position through decades, if not centuries, of attempts to oust him. If the man was so animated by his love for the Academy and its students, it was hard for Eli to believe mere scatterbrainedness explained such a curt and generic welcome. Was something else going on?

Whatever it was, there was little time for deeper reflection once the commencement speeches came to a close. As soon as the silencing enchantment was lifted, the ballroom came back to life, warm chatter rising into the rafters as the sea of students began to sway once again. As for Eli, he was jolted from his thoughts by a bump to his shoulder, a dark-haired student in a poorly-fitting uniform barging unceremoniously past him to the refreshment tables.

Brow furrowed in surprise, Eli watched the boy depart, a look of confused fascination taking over his features as he watched the boy wolf down hors d’ouvres like a starving animal. He almost laughed, smirking impolitely for a second before schooling his features more politely as the student returned to his Cohort, seemingly oblivious of his audience. No, no, he shouldn’t laugh; that was too rude, he knew just as well as anyone that anyone could get into Glynwood on merit, and by dint of being here this guy clearly had just as much merit as any of the rest of-- oh no, now he had sauce on his face!

Gossiping crew now long forgotten and spirits lifted, Eli followed the hungry student’s lead and made his own way to the side tables, although his choice was a touch more modest, a magically chilled fruit and custard dessert popular on the Southern coast. Nabbing a spoon and a cloth napkin, he endeavored to keep his expression as neutral as possible as he sidled up to the dark-haired student, following his gaze toward the others and leaning slightly to speak.

“Any good?” he asked, tone low enough not to interrupt the other students as they observed. He kept his eyes on the others, save for a quick glance, but discreetly offered his hungry acquaintance the napkin. “I should hope so; awful lot of grief getting in here if the food sucks.”

---

@Achronum

The Glynwood Institute For Thaumaturgical Studies

Eliseo Rhaveus

_{"You know, there was actually a fascinating discussion of this very concept in Canterbrick Stables v Elrichsen, where— wait, where are you going?"}

Name:

Eliseo Benedict Rhaveus

_{(you can call him Eli)}

Age:

18

Gender:

Male

Appearance:

Saved from a skeletal form only by a habit of fencing instilled in him as a child, Eli is a bit taller than average with a lean, narrow build. His skin is dark brown and mostly even, topped with tousled brown-black hair contrasted by a pale lock on his forehead. His tallow-coloured eyes are usually rimmed by rectangular spectacles, and his features school nicely into his signature look of distracted contemplation.

His style of dress follows the trends of high society, currently consisting of loose-fitting shirts and simple, slim trousers complemented by ornate doublets or overcoats. As for his Glynwood uniform, Eli has coped with its considerable drabness by adding a colourful textile sash tied around the waist, a popular article in the Southern prefectures that he's particularly fond of. He is also rarely seen without his cloak, even indoors, coping poorly with Glynwood's brisk northern clime.

Personality:

Truly a politician's son, Eli has always been charismatic and outgoing, thriving on social attention and happy to make anyone and everyone into a friend. He loved talking to people of all sorts, passionate for discussion and debate of any topic and hungry to learn. Curious and opinionated in equal measure, Eli loved defending his own views as much as entertaining those of others – skills that would shine in politicking later in life.

But the naive optimism of youth is fragile, and the fallout of the Belworth affair was a blow from which Eli never truly recovered. Shaken in his foundations by the superficiality of political life, Eli lost all faith in the sincerity of others, learning the hard way that people are really only out for themselves; friendships are mere tools for favours and influence, and the spirited discussions he loved so much only a means to an end. Jaded and hurt by such a harsh reality, Eli has since drawn in on himself, convinced that anyone giving him the time of day has ulterior motives and uninterested in playing such a cynical social game. As such, Eli can come off as cold and a little melancholy, still naively yearning for connection even as he strives to keep others at arm's length.

One exception, however, is that old habits die hard; still just as strongly opinionated as ever, Eli is still liable to launch into a lengthy spiel if someone brings up a topic of interest, prattling on until either he realizes he's wasting his breath or his unsuspecting victim walks away.

Background:

Keen classmates will recognize Eli’s surname as that of Juliano Rhaveus, famed (or perhaps infamous) chief prosecutor for the Heptarchy responsible for the prosecution of the controversial Belworth case. His father’s station is representative of the whole of Eli’s pedigree; hailing from the wealthy Southwestern prefectures, House Rhaveus has long held a strong presence in the workings of the Magisterium, producing lawyers, statesmen, and all manner of scholars for generations. As such, Eli spent his privileged youth sheltered securely in the walls of his Pontaion townhouse and sprawling Southern estate receiving a first-rate education from tutors and relatives alike, not least of whom his accomplished father.

The two were near-inseparable when Eli was a child, the boy always at his father’s heels chattering all manner of questions, and Juliano happy to answer them all. Eli had the privilege of sitting in on all manner of Magisterium business (when security didn’t demand privacy, of course) and he grew to love the world of politics and governance and the people who made it up. Juliano Rhaveus had no shortage of friends and allies, and kept up with all of them; Eli grew up with a slew of doting relatives and family friends alike making regular rounds at his childhood home, sharing their love of the political sciences. As such, it surprised nobody when the boy who made legislators out of stuffed animals and conducted mock debates on the ethics of early bedtimes soon aspired to be a great statesman himself, handling issues of import among the esteemed ranks of the Heptarchy.

But the strife of the war affected everyone in the republic, and perhaps young Eli the most out of his sheltered peers. Initially, the Belworth case was exciting; Eli was proud of his father for enforcing the laws of the Magisterium so stalwartly, and he was sure such a righteous cause would be championed by all of the honourable statesmen he’d come to know and love. But instead, the controversy surrounding the Belworth case and the resulting political schism within the Heptarchy put his family on precarious ground, suddenly caught up in disputes over Belworth’s prosecution and the reach of the Heptarchy which began to threaten beyond academic debate. Family friends Eli had known since birth suddenly turned against his father, and men Juliano had butted heads with for decades suddenly became friends; Eli’s world was turned upside down as friends and foes changed places, the superficiality of political allegiance finally rearing its ugly head.

Fearing for their safety amidst rising unrest in the capital, Juliano sent his family away to their Southern estate while he remained in the capital, where they remained for the duration of the coming war, including Eli's noesis at the age of 14. Still reeling from his upheaval from Pontaion, Eli dug into magical studies as a distraction more than anything else, flitting from one topic to the next following interests that changed with the tide. Magic was fun and fascinating, sure, but the passion he'd previously held for politics wasn't mirrored in the magical arts; aside from the defensive magic his father insisted he learn, Eli became a jack of all trades, master of none, dabbling here and there to develop moderate experience in many fields, but no deep understanding of any of them.

Now that things have finally calmed down, Eli’s family has returned to Pontaion - but it’s not the same. Despite longing to return to the city that raised him, Pontaion felt colder, more foreign to Eli than it did in his youth, the faces of beaurocrats and politicians now concealing potential threats as opposed to the friends he once knew. As such, Eli is eager to move on, hoping that immersion in academia at Glynwood will distract him from the political turmoil brewing at the capital - and the turmoil within as he tries to find a new direction for his future.

---

Attunement:

Tellurian

Aura:

Eli's aura materializes as an iridescent golden shell that encapsulates him like an egg, marked by glowing runes that write and erase themselves on its surface. Inside, his aura is filled with excited murmuring, reminiscent of an eager crowd anticipating a great debate.

Magic:

Eli likes to dabble in all manner of magic, and as such he's amassed a fair arsenal of low-level spells mostly geared toward convenience. A little telekinesis here to reach a book on a high shelf, a little fire there to keep his tea hot, all products of an endless stream of intense, but short-lived interests. The only area of magic in which he's progressed beyond the beginner stage is a field of defensive magics often employed by those in law enforcement, impressed upon him shortly after noesis as a caution against any negative attention drawn by his father. Those spells include inflicting paralysis on individuals or groups, conjuring magical bindings, and summoning protective barriers outside of his own.

In a cruel twist of irony, the only area Eli has found any more than fleeting interest in is High Magic, its complexity and depth plucking at the long-abandoned passions of a boy who once wanted to tackle complicated problems for a living. Of course, being so young, such advanced arts are still well out of his grasp.

---

Arcane Items:

• A pair of magicked spectacles which reveal invisible enchantments. Although intended to help the wearer avoid magical traps, the glasses don’t actually indicate whether an enchantment is malignant or benign, only that it is present.
• A very expensive, very complex magical artifice currently all the rage in the wealthy Southern prefectures, used for telling time down to the second. It is made of gold, fits in the palm of the hand and is secured by a chain attached to Eli's doublet, usually carried in his pocket. Its small size and great value make it a pickpocketing risk, and the care that must be taken keeping track of them has led enthusiasts to fondly dub these little devices "pocketwatches."
• A gift from his father on his return to Pontaion, Eli is also bringing a staff with him to Glynwood for use with High Magic. Created by the fine craftsmen of Pontaion, the staff is made of fine polished ebony and topped with a palm-sized knob of solid silver, wrought in the likeness of an octopus with only seven tentacles.

Other:

• The pale lock of hair near Eli's forehead is a birthmark. Apparently his great-grandfather Benedict had something similar, and such was the origin of his middle name.
• Alongside his magicked glasses, he also has a set of normal glasses for nearsightedness.
• Eli is a perfectly average fencer, and that's probably all he'll ever be.