Scribe of Thoth

Court of Nuhl

---

As the elevator doors parted, Chad stared down his nose imperiously at the two vampires that emerged. Their brief hesitation spoke volumes; he'd already won. As expected, the entryway soon became a hail of spells, and the Astorio played his hand at evasion rather than rush right in as he'd initially planned. Immaterial torrents of energy sheared across his extremities in glancing blows, such was the volume of their shots and his casual dismissal of the threat posed by them, but he dared not commit to a charge in full before the vampires had been taken care of.

One of them foolishly went for a lunge - predictable - and Chadwick slumped downward to mirror him, confident that the mages wouldn't dare spear through one of their betters just to get to him. Blood spurted from his fresh wounds as the relative warmth of flowing blood circulated through his limbs once more, and he braced both hands on his sword in a determined guard in front of him, as if he intended to parry and clash like an idiot, giving the vampire's backup ample opportunity to slice him to ribbons while he was tied up in a melee.

"You're not some throwaway mage," Chadwick grunted through gritted teeth, hoping it came off more as intense focus than the annoyance it was. When the opposing vampire's elbow shifted in preparation for his thrust, Chadwick took his dominant hand off his sword and sidestepped to the left as he rose back to his full height, letting the blade pass under his now-free arm.

"Nor are you a threat, unfortunately."

Said arm lashed out like a striking cobra as soon as the vampire extended, slithering around his enemy's arm and chopping upward into his armpit with enough force to give a mortal at least a nasty bruise. Chad's fingers latched onto the man's tricep and he tugged as hard as he could, with intent to exploit his opponent's momentum and arm drag the man past him to expose his back. From there, he hefted his sword up with his left hand and drove it between the other vampire's shoulderblades.

"And now I'm hungry," he spat, his attention now returned to the other occupants of the elevator. He'd assumed the acrid stench of singed flesh in the air was the inquisitor, but the static in the air implied it might not've been. Which meant Chad needed to be quick before he ended up pincered.

---

The Shattering of Aegis

---

Right on the precipice of sleep, the resident bandit was, alas, rudely awoken by something hitting the ground with an ungentle amount of force. A hand found Goredrinker's hilt as Ceolfric's eyes cracked open, a cold, agitated glare that took in his surroundings in the way a disgruntled parent might take in a room of unruly children. Rather than find one of his incompetent travelling companions dropping cargo on the ground while fumbling around for their bag or something equally inane, he was surprised to find everyone accounted for, and two new presences dancing along the edge of his awareness. Not aetherborn, nor undead, but there was something fishy about them all the same, and that was before the one had opened his mouth.

Though, if this 'Giles' was as unrousable as his companion claimed, Ceolfric might just have an advantage. He was surprised to see Storyborn was of similar mind; he'd expected they'd be content to let the duo be on their merry way, as it truly was none of their business what two drunks in the middle of the woods did. Suspicious location, suspicious amount of aether, suspicious whispers about conclaves and schemes, suspicious lack of that gods-damned music that had droned through his head without end for days, but no reason for anyone to actually care. Except for the fact that they'd made the grave and possibly fatal mistake of bothering Ceolfric of Dranir after a day rife with setbacks.

And, he had to agree; he'd had just about enough of being snuck up on too.

Rather than wait and watch as would've probably been prudent, Ceolfric wordlessly rose and slunk off away from Lilann's ambush spot. If they waited for the drunk one to wake up, they'd have two opponents to deal with - even if inebriated - rather than one. Best to strike while the interlopers were unprepared. He kept to the bushes until he'd put the duo between himself and Storyborn - and more importantly, the wagon - each step careful and measured so as to not give himself away prematurely.

Once far enough away that he wouldn't compromise the camp's position by announcing himself, Ceolfric emerged from the brush with an arrogant strut, blade in hand, without any of the pretense of subtlety that he'd crept to his new position with. It was a familiar dance, one he'd performed many times before, though this might've been the first time he didn't intend to rob his target blind when he was done.

"Strange place for a moonlit stroll," the bandit announced himself as he approached, "You're a long way from the nearest alehouse, after all. Makes me wonder what exactly it is you're doing out here, scurrying around in the dark." He was careful not to look in Storyborn's direction, lest he give her away. The man might intuit that a highwayman wouldn't work alone, and he couldn't imagine she was very fearsome with only a rock at her disposal, aetherborn or no. She definitely needed the element of surprise.

And, of course, if they got difficult, she could sing the tale of Ceolfric peeling these idiots' ribcages open in every tavern from here to Dragon Rock.

---

@Mcmolly

Court of Nuhl

---

The audacity of this petulant little worm. Short of Lord Pieron, no man could command the fealty of this 'good little minion', least of all a mage barely on the cusp of womanhood whose only claim to fame was emerging from the womb of an Eve's pet. If this inquisitor thought Chad could be leashed long enough to get away, he was sorely mistaken. He used the time bought by the remainder of Hasgad's pathetic coping to eyeball an optimal angle of attack through the purple kid's gut that would be most likely to avoid eviscerating all of his vital organs while still popping the inquisitor's bubble of delusion as surely as it ruptured one of his lungs. This proved to be a mistake, as the Dionne girl actually called the pompous fool's bluff.

Normally, an act of bravery like that wouldn't have been an issue, but the Eve descended upon Chadwick's rightful prey shortly after, evidently no longer willing to hang back as he had been. Ever the gallant bodyguard, was he? Or was the name Donovan synonymous with traitor in the halls of the Astorios for more reasons than one? It briefly crossed his mind to rip the other vampire away and finish the man himself, repercussions be damned, but their useless prisoner - the first one, not Cavatappi - croaked out some inane warning about reinforcements while he cowered hard enough to wedge his head up his own ass or something. This inquisitor must have a grudge against hair dye. Chad couldn't blame him.

"No, no; it's fine! I'll get it," he hissed, muffled under the roar of flames and chaos of battle. To think someone had honestly considered this backwater worthy of his talents.

And so, with everyone's attention stuck on the more infuriating threat, it fell to him to pick off the chaff. How utterly degrading. He turned his back to Hasgad flippantly - he was willing to risk one petty last attack from the man as he was reduced to ash - and crossed the room toward the other entrance with measured strides. The door would open and the reinforcements would find not the chaos of a battle in progress to launch their spells into at their leisure, but a hungry predator staring down at them. If Donovan wanted to claim the (dubiously) fine dining for himself, Chad would have to content himself on the buffet rather than wrestle for scraps. Teamwork and whatnot.

---

The Glynwood Institute For Thaumaturgical Studies

Glynwood Academy Grounds

_{Sunday, the 21st of the Third Pyric Moon, RY 3418}

---

"Theo was there before me, but I stayed about a week. I'd never travelled by cart very long distances before, and I might've overestimated how long it would take," Blake admitted at Apollo's question with a chuckle, "Honestly, you didn't miss much. I would've teleported too if I could."

Nearby, Dionysia regarded Iris with the slightest hint of confusion, marring her otherwise genuine enthusiasm. She had no idea what a Worldsoul was, assuming it to be some type of magical concept she wasn't privy to in her mundane upbringing, if not a name for whatever nebulous enchantment could've been woven into the fabric. She almost asked for an explanation, until Iris ruined any perception the girl had of her being a studied mage-to-be by her sudden infatuation with beds.

"You... you didn't have a bed before this?" she questioned tactlessly. Sure, she knew the lower classes often shared bedrooms, if not existed entirely within a one-room farmhouse, but to lack even a bed was poor-poor. And destitute beggars didn't have nice scarves like that. "Are you not from a wizard family?"

Iris' statement likewise turned Theo and Blake's heads, with a polite arch of the brow and a look of outright incredulity, respectively.

"Oh, come now. The war wasn't kind to everyone, her family could've fallen on hard times," Theo tried to mediate, "No need to pry into hurtful subjects."

"Oh, like you have any room to talk," Blake mumbled bitterly, before he suddenly looked taken aback, as if he hadn't meant to say that out loud. Theo startled slightly and flashed the other student an apologetic look, but Blake waved him off before he could speak. "Sorry, whatever, drop it."

@Light@Crowvette

---

Across the room, the grumbling grew as many a disgruntled student was shoved aside by a spear-wielding gremlin in search of food. Haughty scoffs about uncivilized behavior mingled with the cruder derisions of the lowborn, though no one dared outright approach the armed Róisín yet. Were the girl not too immersed in her feast, she might notice a shift in the corner of her eye, that unmistakable feeling that one is being watched originating from a fleeting shadow by the nearby wall. Within a blink, it was gone.

@Dead Cruiser

---

With Luc seemingly distracted with a new conversation with the troublemaker, Professor Galenos turned his attention squarely the remaining girl that had been waiting for him.

"Do you have a question?" He still didn't seem particularly excited, but whatever weariness Phoebus had drawn out of him was gone, replaced with stoic indifference once again.

@Crusader Lord

The Glynwood Institute For Thaumaturgical Studies

@Ignorancebliss Very unlucky, I just turned the old invite off yesterday lmao, here you go.

Court of Nuhl

---

Idiot. The Grand Inquisitor evidently tolerated something he shouldn't, because this guy's gloating was just going to get them both killed at this rate. Selling Lyra out to save his own skin was nothing compared to the stain Quinn had already inflicted on his family, and it wasn't like this guy was the type to play it safe; Count Astorio was eyeing them both like a choice cut of meat even before the inquisitor went and pissed him off.

So now Quinn was soundly back in the rebels' camp. Not that it mattered because one of these people was going to kill him and he'll go down as a cautionary tale for his nephews and grand-nephews about what happens when one doesn't do as they're told. The rebels would probably lament his heroic sacrifice or some other disingenuous garbage. Not even the mercy of a death unmourned and unremembered would be granted to him. Quinn dared to take his eyes off the vampires long enough to shoot a resentful glare down at the blue-haired prisoner. Didn't look like something worth dying for.

Whatever self-pity he could wallow in was cut short as Lyra dashed forward recklessly. The violet-haired boy wasn't sure if he should shove her back or stand dutifully still like the inquisitor had wanted. At least the vampire would've put him down clean. Despite how badly he wanted to meet his end with dignity, Quinn winced as she neared, clenching his eyes shut and tearing his gaze away. She screamed some incantation and suddenly the crackling of lightning near his ear erupted into the explosive death throes of unstable magic. Something shoved him, and he simply reacted on instinct. The earth's tug on his body shifted, and Quinn flung himself along a random vector as he flailed an arm at the limb that had restrained him, aiming to bat Hasgad away before he could grab something else. He smacked unceremoniously into the floor, probably a wall in reality, a cough escaping him as the impact knocked the air from his chest.

His eyes blinked open as a wave of heat reached him from afar, finding himself now gazing up (sideways) at the conflagration of the two grappling mages. Waves of pain throbbed across his back and side as surely as the searing lashes of an unmade spell still stung in jagged lines across half his face. The temptation to simply lay there and catch his breath was strong, but he had enough lucidity to realize he was essentially strung up on the wall like a giant target at the moment, and he promptly dropped back to the actual floor as gravity corrected itself, collapsing first to his knees and then to his hands.

"Ba- back up... you idiot," he wheezed, probably nigh-inaudible over the roaring flames. She had no reactionary gap. If he warded her attack, there wouldn't be time for Lyra to avoid the next bolt. Was she just gambling that she was too valuable to kill? That'd be worse; she'd be the new hostage and they'd have to play the same game over again.

---

Persona ~ Alone at Sea (PERSONA WITH A BOAT 𓊝)

---

The past week had been odd. Not quite as odd as Danny's unplanned vacation last Thursday, but given that it seemed to be the flashpoint that had severed him from ordinary reality, he supposed he could count everything as one big oddity. He'd woken up Friday morning fully clothed, groggy, thirsty as hell, and almost late for class. He'd have believed the night prior really was just a dream were he not wearing a bathing suit for some inexplicable reason.

Okay, that wasn't too outlandish for him but the point stood.

After that, he was positively assaulted by what's-her-name who claimed she'd heard that he spent the night prior making out with some other girl. He, of course, denied such entirely false allegations, but she claimed some girl sent her video evidence, which was promptly shoved in his face. The girl in the video definitely sounded familiar in a way Daniel couldn't place, but she was also definitely not talking about him. His pleas that it wasn't the same Daniel fell on deaf ears, especially since he couldn't provide an alibi as to his location last night. Apparently some jackass ratted out that he stumbled into his dorm all disheveled in the middle of the night.

He felt bad for a few seconds, but then the giddiness took over. That was easier than he'd expected! Even better that he didn't even have to kiss anyone to be caught making out. The accidental little smirk he had on his face after she walked away apparently solidifed his reputation, given the disgusted noise he heard some nearby girl make. Hopefully his streak of luck would hold out and the real Daniel Kissylips would be too embarrassed to come forward. Danny spent a bit of time that evening prowling social media for the details of the alleged encounter, but too much of the gossip was hidden behind private accounts for him to actually piece together anything concrete.

After that, it was mostly back to business as usual. Once or twice he considered approaching his fellow islanders, but the desire to forget their shared fever dream ultimately won out in the end, lest he end up building a negative association with water in his head. Then he'd be fucked. Plus, imagine if they had no recollection of the entire event. That'd just convince him he was crazy, and he couldn't even afford an optometrist right now, let alone a psychiatrist along with it. So, instead, he threw himself in the pool. It was free.

Unfortunately, he didn't throw himself far enough. Danny came up for air one relatively uneventful afternoon, only to come face to face with two random teachers that he didn't recognize staring down at him from the side of the pool. They had that look on their faces like he was in trouble, but he was completely sure the pool was open. He hadn't even snuck in after hours! Yet.

"Daniel Burkley?" The elder of the duo asked, in that self-satisfied way that told him the man already knew the answer but wanted to hear it anyway.

"Uh. Yes, sir?"

"If you could step out of the pool and follow us, we'd like to ask you a few questions."

Danny wrinkled his nose distastefully. "What're you, a cop?"

The younger man suddenly burst into action with an almost childlike enthusiasm, as if he'd been waiting a very long time for someone to ask him that. His hand shot into his pocket and then thrust itself forward toward Danny, presenting something that unfolded into a badge and an ID that boy couldn't read from this distance anyway.

"Actually, yes! Inspector Nathan Jones. Please step out of the pool."

Daniel's stomach dropped. Alright, he definitely didn't do something illegal-illegal. How did these detectives even find him? He really needed to do some detective work of his own and figure out which of his dormmates was the fucking Karen - what's a male Karen called? Kieran? - that kept tabs on his every move. The situation was so out of left field that he didn't even protest, just climbed out of the water and solemnly followed the detectives to their makeshift interrogation chamber.

And so, here he was; seated in an empty room and draped in a towel, nervousness coaxing his leg into an incessant bounce that made his chair softly creak and would've earned him a lecture about bad habits from his mother ten times over. It annoyed him in the past, but honestly, he saw her point now. It definitely made him look guilty of... whatever he was being accused of.

Inspector Jones and his partner (Daniel could only assume he was the 'bad cop' here) entered after a short wait, taking their seats calmly as if he wasn't about to shit his pants over the whole situation.

"Do you know a student by the name of Sofia Wright?"

Oh no.

"Y-yeah, I know her. I wouldn't exactly call us friends, though." Just as he'd managed to tense his leg into stillness, the fidgeting returned with a vengeance.

"What about the night of the fifteenth," the older detective continued, "You wouldn't happen to have seen her around that time, would you?"

Again with that tone. This guy knew something. Maybe even more than Daniel did. After last week, he wasn't above believing that the government had a top secret supernatural investigation division that was going to whisk him away forever and cut his brain open to pull Kharon out and- Okay, they were probably only interested in Sofia.

"She was my orientation leader or something, and she invited us all to the docks for some dumb good luck thing where we were supposed to jump in the water and freeze our a- butts off. Is- is that a crime?"

"Not quite, but no one has seen Miss Wright since. She's been reported missing."

Wait. She was missing?! Did they leave her on the island? Danny was sure she left with the others. Well, he hadn't actually seen her, but didn't she fall in the water? He didn't have any of the answers these men were looking for, regardless. And he didn't know if he could even properly explain without being consigned to a mental institution. And his family certainly wouldn't like to hear about that scar on their reputation.

Either way, maybe this was another weird stroke of unfortunate luck; the earlier nervousness could've been excused as an anxious boy who didn't know why he'd been called for questioning, and the way his face sunk when they said she'd gone missing surely couldn't have been faked, given that, y'know, it wasn't. He knew more than he let on, sure, but Daniel could only hope he didn't betray that. Because then they'd think he fucking murdered her. And honestly? He might've.

"Missing...?" he repeated, stunned, "I- we- I just jumped in and left. I don't... know if I saw her afterward, but I didn't see anyone drowning or anything." Technically, that wasn't a lie. He just hoped it wasn't close enough to the truth to sound suspicious either, because he really could not explain any of this. Talking less was generally a good policy when dealing with the law, but Danny didn't know what else he was supposed to do. He couldn't come clean, but he couldn't just leave Sofia on some magic island full of evil frogs! Not... that the cops could really solve that, but...

Thankfully, they seemed to let him off the hook. He was sure Inspector Harris, as the older cop had introduced himself after the fact, would be keeping tabs on him regardless, but Daniel certainly didn't intend to engage in any suspicious actions any time soon. Then again, if Sofia was still on the island somewhere and the only way he knew how to reach it was from the docks, and he was nearly the only one with a persona, and the cops were unlikely to figure out that there's a portal to Fiji in the Harbour Academy dockhouse, and they might not have a way to find Sofia even if they could get to the island... Danny's conscience might just have him returning to the scene of the crime like a terrible movie crook. And he didn't even commit a crime!

---

The Shattering of Aegis

---

This woman apparently didn't understand her position. It was understandable, if annoying, for her to think she could bark out orders in the heat of the moment, but to greet one of your saviors with snide remarks that they should be run out of town by inept sun worshippers so tactlessly afterward spoke to a completely unfounded confidence. Kyreth could set her ablaze with but a flick of his wrist and her only recourse would be to scream for Cerric's help before she met her beloved Zubil personally. His apparent indebtedness to the Lord might've given her a bit of a shield against retaliation, but Ceolfric couldn't help but wonder if she'd be so open with her scorn if he were the Tainted and Kyreth a meek human farmboy along for the ride. If she was so afraid of that doddering old gremlin, she'd hardly be a match for him, after all.

And then Esvelee turned on Eila. A warranted question, but she really should continue to indulge her curiosity at her own peril. Eila was harmless and Kyreth probably lacked the testicular fortitude to actually retaliate, even verbally, but even the cowardly can 'conveniently' miss something that may bring the girl to harm. It was a good thing Cerric didn't seem to mind that she hated his stories, because he'd be the only friend she had left by the end of this trip if she kept that up.

Cerric himself, on the other hand, offered another tidbit of helpful knowledge. The bandit had already surmised that Kyreth possessed some specific sense that he lacked himself, but an explanation of the nuances wasn't unwelcome. Assuming he got the gist, anyway; the display with the water snakes did nothing for him. Though it raised an important question; did he make such a disturbance every time he reached into someone's mind? And was such a skill innate only to primordial aetherborn, or could anyone cultivate such a sense. Dealing with fellow aetherborn would be even more difficult than he expected if they could breach his layers of subtlety and misdirection with a sense Ceolfric wasn't even aware of.

"Does that happen with every use of magic, or just big ones?" Ceolfric questioned as he turned his gaze to Kyreth. Cerric would've probably been a better resource, but his bladder had apparently won out and Ceolfric certainly wasn't going to interrogate a man while he was pissing. Maybe it would segway back into a productive discussion instead of more of Esvelee's whining.

---

@Obscene Symphony

The Glynwood Institute For Thaumaturgical Studies

Glynwood Academy Grounds

_{Sunday, the 21st of the Third Pyric Moon, RY 3418}

---

The trio of students opened their mouths at Apollo's prompting, but it was too late; they'd already been ensnared in Nortwin's spell. Theo turned his attention dutifully to the stage, followed by a puzzled Dionysia shortly after. Blake, however, spent the better part of the speech with his brows furrowed in frustration, trying to no avail to produce noise above a strained whisper. When their voices were finally returned to them, he let out an irritated huff.

"Finally. At least they didn't make the battlemage give a speech," Blake grumbled, "We'd be here all day."

Eager to avoid anymore prying questions that might come up from the mention of battlemagi, Theo straightened his posture to something more fitting of a high-status mage as he turned to Iris and Apollo. "Theophilos Se-" Whatever confidence he'd conjured had apparently melted away barely a word into his introduction, and he cut himself off with a sheepish downturn of his gaze. "Err, just Theo's fine. My parents are a little archaic with their naming," he chuckled nervously as a hand came up to nudge his glasses back into place, "Nice to meet you."

Blake promptly raised a bandaged hand in greeting, his earlier whining forgotten in favor of acquainting himself with the rest of the Cohort. "I'm Blake! And to answer your earlier question," he gave an acknowledging nod toward Apollo, "The three of us shared an inn with a couple of the other newbies in Pebblebrook, that's all."

"Yeah, there's really not much to do in that town, if you hadn't noticed," the brunette chimed in next, "Might as well get to know everyone around the fire at night, y'know?" Her gaze drifted off toward the crowd that had formed before their cohort's leader. "Oh, we can do that here too! I think it'd be fun- wait, I forgot to introduce myself! I'm so sorry! Dionysia Abernick, at your- I mean, pleasure to make your acquaintance! And Iris, I love that scarf, is it homemade?"

@Light@Crowvette

---

Meanwhile, Professor Varen Galenos seemed far less enthusiastic about greeting his new cohort. Or maybe Phoebus' question had already ticked him off. A critical eye passed over the blond, as if Varen meant to appraise the true intent behind the inquiry before he answered. After a moment, he simply sighed in resignation and went with the textbook answer.

"The deeper tunnels that lead to the subterranean portions of the old city are off-limits and entrances to such sections are clearly marked, if not blocked off entirely," he explained humorlessly, "If you turn down a corridor and the magelights aren't on, that's usually a good indicator you should turn around. There's plenty of old rocks for you to look at in the accessible parts of the ruins, so please, for your own safety, don't be difficult." It'd be on his head if some idiot first year was found under a pile of rubble in the middle of the Atryan sewers, after all.

The troublemakers started earlier and earlier every year, he swore.

Varen's attention drifted toward the nearby Seraphilla and newly-arrived Luc rather than entertain any follow up questions Phoebus might've mustered, offering an expectant arch of his brow in favor of a greeting. If they were polite enough to wait their turn, maybe he wouldn't have to watch them so closely. In fact, most of the cohort looked responsible enough, minus one or two outliers.

@Hero@Crusader Lord@Achronum

The Glynwood Institute For Thaumaturgical Studies

Glynwood Academy Grounds

_{Sunday, the 21st of the Third Pyric Moon, RY 3418}

Dreary summer rains dominated the skies of the Realm's northwestern coast, foreshadowing the end of summer and the encroaching chill of fall, yet above the caldera that housed the Glynwood Institute for Thaumaturgical Studies, the afternoon sun shone as brightly as ever. Such inauspicious weather simply wouldn't do to usher in the new academic year, and it was promptly corrected before the first drop of water fell from the sky. Between the parted clouds, great whirls of Ouranic mana descended before coming to rest in glittering magelights that danced just above the surface of the lake, illuminating the path for the incoming class as they rode the ferry to the campus proper. The nearest town and static teleportation point outside the campus, a quaint little village of humble magi called Pebblebrook, had thankfully enjoyed the protection of Glynwood's sphere of influence against the rain, and it was from here that the young spellcasters of Glynwood's freshman class departed by cart earlier that morning on their ceremonial trek to the Great Gate.

Despite the weariness of travel hanging over the students' heads, exclamations of awe and excitement filled the air as the ferry drew near to the island at last, and all were ushered off the boat and into single-file lines before three makeshift kiosks, each manned with a chipper mage and an enchanted tome to admit the new arrivals and assign them their cohorts. Beyond, a waiting crowd of human staff and golems alike sprung into action as they began the process of transporting student luggage to their new dormitories.

Across the courtyard, upperclassmen spared only a curious glance or two toward the gathering as they trickled in from an enchanted archway to the wide double doors of the feasting hall, mixed in with flashes of sympathy or haughty condescension at the new arrivals that had to walk like commoners. Once past the entryway, the freshman class was led not toward the hall with their more senior peers, but instead into a smaller audience room, decorated finely enough to match any Pontaion nobleman's ballroom. Motes of flame traced lazy circles through the air above, lighting what the magnificent stained glass windows could not. A string quartet's gentle tune carried across the room above the chatter of students and staff alike, originating from a set of rune-etched instruments that levitated in place as they played of their own accord. Tables of refreshments lined the walls, leading to a grand stage at the far end of the room, where several magi stood in idle boredom before commencement of the opening address. Dedicated followers of obscure academia or Glynwood personnel might recognize a few, but only the most isolated could possibly miss the man standing center stage. Second Battlemage Renault Auristel had graced the assembly with his presence, distracted though he might've been in a quiet conversation with a quaintly amused looking blonde woman some might recognize as Vice-Chancellor Victoria Charbeneau.

This fact did not go unnoticed; between the assemblies of Cohorts Seven and Eight, a spirited discussion raged between two chatty students.

"D'you hear that rumor about Professor Charbeneau and Auristel?" The boy from Cohort Eight asked in a conspiratorial stage-whisper, "I didn't believe it, but look at that."

"I dunno," the other student, Blake, answered skeptically before he whirled around to tactlessly accost a nearby young mage with cerulean hair and oversized glasses, "Hey, Theo, are Charbeneau and Auristel fucking?"

The bespectacled mage seemed to wither at the question. "Please don't ask me about his sex life, he's like an older brother to me."

"So yes."

"That is not what I said," Theo bristled in response, but Blake had already turned back to his theorizing.

"Oh, let the boys gossip," a nearby girl chimed in, "It's not true, anyway. Riiiight?"

Unfortunately for her, Theo offered only a weary glare in lieu of a response. Dionysia shrugged innocently and turned her attention back to the stage, where a lanky man with a spring in his step made his way across at last. A sudden silence fell across the room - the music stopped, and the conversation died down to muted whispers almost immediately. Not on the part of the student body, however; anyone still talking would find their voice greatly muffled, even if they were to scream as loud as they could.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I think everyone's arrived, and I'd hate to keep you any longer than I have to," the recent arrival to the stage chirped exuberantly, his voice carrying across the room despite - or perhaps because of - the enchantment acting upon the student body. "I am Chancellor Albrecht Nortwin, and I would like to be among the first to formally welcome you to the Glynwood Institute for Thaumaturgical Studies! For the first in many years, we once again have the honor of hosting students from every corner of our great nation and, as ever, I see before me a sea of potential. I'm sure you've all heard of some changes to our curriculum this year, but make no mistake; our commitment to the education of the Realm's finest minds remains as firm as ever. And, on that note, I'd like to take a moment to thank Second Battlemage Renault Auristel for his generous acceptance to teach at our fine institution."

The rest of the staff members politely clapped as Auristel bowed for the crowd, which provoked swooning looks and thinly-veiled glares from the incoming class in equal measure. This fact didn't seem to go unnoticed by Chancellor Nortwin, whose face slipped into a pensive frown for but a moment before it sprung back to its prior enthusiasm.

"In these tumultuous times, I believe it's more important than ever that we remember the ideals of our founder, Theodoric Glynwood, who urged us to put aside our differences and petty politicking and stand together as magi, that we may build a brighter future for the Republic through education," Nortwin continued, a bit more solemnly than before, "So, when you look upon your classmates and those in your cohorts, I urge you to dwell not upon the conflicts of our past, but on the future that you wish to create instead. Thank you." Once again, the staff politely clapped, along with the majority of the assembled students. It was plain to see from a couple of the faces in the crowd that not everyone found the sentiment of the speech particularly inspiring, and more than a few grumbles of 'necromancer' and 'traitor' could be heard floating around underneath the cacophony of clapping hands.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to come up with another speech for your upperclassmen," the chancellor followed up tactlessly, "Vice-Chancellor Charbeneau, if you would?"

The woman in question merely sighed as Nortwin departed at a hurried pace. Her lips moved as though she had mumbled something, and Auristel barely caught himself from letting out an amused snort as Charbeneau made her way to the front of the stage.

"Thank you, Chancellor. It certainly is hard to follow a speech like that. Students, make sure to see your cohort overseers before you leave for information about your dormitories." As Victoria spoke, several professors descended from the stage, one for each of the assembled cohorts. A bored-looking man with wavy black hair took his place before Cohort Seven, passing a critical glance over the students under his charge before his attention drifted back to Charbeneau.

"Members of the staff will also be standing by to help acquaint you with the campus and answer any questions you may have. You'll find your student handbooks and class schedules already delivered to your rooms. Classes start first thing tomorrow morning, but until then, please feel free to mingle and enjoy yourselves for the rest of the day. Once again, on behalf of all of us here at Glynwood, I'd like to congratulate you all on your acceptance and welcome you to our academy. Thank you."

Upon their dismissal, the crowd dispersed; some eager to be the first to greet their new cohort leaders, others more concerned with the tantalizing spread of food that they'd been so rudely denied upon entry. Whatever magically induced silence had taken hold of the hall before was gone, and the air was once again abuzz with chatter and music.