Late afternoon, a lone man walks to the doors of the magic academy... He studies them with dark eyes, nearly hidden by heavy brows. His skin is tanned, and he wears his long dark hair in braids...he wears a sleeveless tunic, with a pick strapped to his back. He calls out a few times. "Hello?" He waits a while...before walking the perimeter. Soon, he leaves.
A short while later...he and another man approach. The newcomer is wearing a flowing robe, walking with a staff and has strange markings on his face. They converse in low voices, avoiding the gaze of a young mage standing outside. The darkskinned man suddenly walks to the cluster of trees nearby, and begins to set up camp. The young man joins him, and together they wait for someone to pass by.
One may hear them speaking in low voices, particular one with a loud voice and a heavy accent. "Perhaps they will be impressed by our initative?" "I'm not sure..." says the other. They sit in front of a small fire...made only with twigs and fallen branches.At nightfall, they lapse into silence.
Two men outside the mage academy...
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Damien
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From the darkness suddenly comes a flashing, sparkling light. Then, a loud, but somewhat melodic sounding voice speaks up in common :
"If you want to contact one of the mages, you should consider sending a messenger instead."
The sparkling appears instantly again, just a moment later it can be seen in some distance, twice. Then it seems to be gone, it looks quiet again.
"If you want to contact one of the mages, you should consider sending a messenger instead."
The sparkling appears instantly again, just a moment later it can be seen in some distance, twice. Then it seems to be gone, it looks quiet again.
The darker man looks up, seeing his friend still sleeping, and listening to the voice. "We are the messengers." he grumbles.
"Why get a bird to do what I have done already?" He glances up at his application, fluttering, nailed to the doors of the academy. Nevertheless he takes out some parchment and begins to write, and the soft scratching of his quill can be heard and made out by the glow of dying embers. He holds it in his fingers...wondering exactly who he should be addressing the letter to. With a shrug, he writes "To the Teachers of the Academy".The man, known as Arvem, ties it up with some twine...stretching, he gets up and takes long strides back to the doors. With a deft shove, he slides it under the door. Arvem returns to sleep under the tent.
"Why get a bird to do what I have done already?" He glances up at his application, fluttering, nailed to the doors of the academy. Nevertheless he takes out some parchment and begins to write, and the soft scratching of his quill can be heard and made out by the glow of dying embers. He holds it in his fingers...wondering exactly who he should be addressing the letter to. With a shrug, he writes "To the Teachers of the Academy".The man, known as Arvem, ties it up with some twine...stretching, he gets up and takes long strides back to the doors. With a deft shove, he slides it under the door. Arvem returns to sleep under the tent.
The man with the strange markings on his face wakes to find his friend in releasing a bird and says in a sleepy voice
"you'd think someone would notice us camping outside the acadimy by now.....seems odd no one has passed us by yet....." with a yawn the sleepy man pushes some strands of long black hair out of his face and leans back onto the tree he rests next to. "maby they're just ignoring us...." with his final observation the man slowly closes his eyes and falls back asleep.
"you'd think someone would notice us camping outside the acadimy by now.....seems odd no one has passed us by yet....." with a yawn the sleepy man pushes some strands of long black hair out of his face and leans back onto the tree he rests next to. "maby they're just ignoring us...." with his final observation the man slowly closes his eyes and falls back asleep.
The darker skinned watches his friend wake before saying, "I'm heading back to Gobaith. We need a few things..."
After writing down a list, he sets off, leaving his friend to stay and watch the path to the doors. The man left behind continues to watch for those walking into the academy, resting during the dark hours of the night and occasionally wandering the area.
((Please rp with us, we're just after a bit of fun!))
After writing down a list, he sets off, leaving his friend to stay and watch the path to the doors. The man left behind continues to watch for those walking into the academy, resting during the dark hours of the night and occasionally wandering the area.
((Please rp with us, we're just after a bit of fun!))
(( I can't promise I'll post regularly, so here goes nothing. ))
Blake, seemingly absent from the island for a few long days now, makes his way down the deserted paths that intertwine throughout the immense Academy. Arms crossed under his chest, curbed onto himself, he eventually reaches the imposing thick wooden gate. Something had kept Blake away from civilization for a while, from his students and from life in general. If only he wasn't five times as young as the youngest hermit, one could easily confuse him for an anchorite. Only if they didn't know about Blake's little-to-no care about religious matters. Even a subtle fuzz began growing onto the sides of his jaw.
He peered up at the wooden stronghold, reached into one of the wide, loose pockets of his thick heavy mantle and pulled out a large iron key. His eyes narrowed, the fog rushing out of his breath blinding him, he began aimlessly pushing the key towards its keyhole when he stopped, frown onto his expression, he glanced up and noticed the fire from the two campers' fire. A strange line of smoke - never been one there before.
Reflexively, Blake kept the key into the door and slowly reached back for his wand off his shoulder straps. Straightening up, awaking and becoming more aware by the second, he unlocked the door with his right hand and pulled it open, his left hand wearingly holding onto his elegantly crafted wand. The gate barely open, he leaned to the side and peered throughout the snow storm, eyes constricted. Recognizing the silhouette of the nearby man by the fire, he frowned deeper and slowly made his way outside of the stronghold, shutting the gate behind him and locking it. He faced the man, cleared his throat and attempted an imposing voice.
"Who goes there?!" He hollered in the fog, miserably failing to sound scary whatsoever. Not only could you tell he was in his late teenage, but a glint of weakness could be felt in his voice.
Blake, seemingly absent from the island for a few long days now, makes his way down the deserted paths that intertwine throughout the immense Academy. Arms crossed under his chest, curbed onto himself, he eventually reaches the imposing thick wooden gate. Something had kept Blake away from civilization for a while, from his students and from life in general. If only he wasn't five times as young as the youngest hermit, one could easily confuse him for an anchorite. Only if they didn't know about Blake's little-to-no care about religious matters. Even a subtle fuzz began growing onto the sides of his jaw.
He peered up at the wooden stronghold, reached into one of the wide, loose pockets of his thick heavy mantle and pulled out a large iron key. His eyes narrowed, the fog rushing out of his breath blinding him, he began aimlessly pushing the key towards its keyhole when he stopped, frown onto his expression, he glanced up and noticed the fire from the two campers' fire. A strange line of smoke - never been one there before.
Reflexively, Blake kept the key into the door and slowly reached back for his wand off his shoulder straps. Straightening up, awaking and becoming more aware by the second, he unlocked the door with his right hand and pulled it open, his left hand wearingly holding onto his elegantly crafted wand. The gate barely open, he leaned to the side and peered throughout the snow storm, eyes constricted. Recognizing the silhouette of the nearby man by the fire, he frowned deeper and slowly made his way outside of the stronghold, shutting the gate behind him and locking it. He faced the man, cleared his throat and attempted an imposing voice.
"Who goes there?!" He hollered in the fog, miserably failing to sound scary whatsoever. Not only could you tell he was in his late teenage, but a glint of weakness could be felt in his voice.
From the path ahead comes an accented voice. "Do not worry young one...he is sleeping." Arvem walks closer and glances at the stirring body. "Well...not for much longer anyway..."
The man wears a hatchet slung across his back, a broadsword at his side and a dagger tucked into his belt. He holds a few dead rabbits in his hand. He shivers a little, having little warmth in his thin tunic, and his breath comes in puffs of fog. "My friend and I have come here to seek a teacher. With all the applications on the board, I thought it best I delivered the message myself...at least show a little initative."
Arvem sizes up the very young man, with narrow eyes. "You are a student here?"
The man wears a hatchet slung across his back, a broadsword at his side and a dagger tucked into his belt. He holds a few dead rabbits in his hand. He shivers a little, having little warmth in his thin tunic, and his breath comes in puffs of fog. "My friend and I have come here to seek a teacher. With all the applications on the board, I thought it best I delivered the message myself...at least show a little initative."
Arvem sizes up the very young man, with narrow eyes. "You are a student here?"