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He sat alone within the VMA building his eyes wandering back and forth over the rows of books. Occasionally they would settle on a title briefly but he barely took in anything he saw. His heart was heavy and his thoughts dark and brooding.
He finally looked back to the mass of papers before him, completed at last. He picked up the goblet of wine that had stood untouched for so long it had become warm. He closed his eyes momentarily, stilling his thoughts and focusing on just a single image. The well known rune came to mind easily and he spoke it quietly as his mind exerted a gentle push against the mana flow. Beads of condensation formed instantly on the goblet as the liquid within chilled.
He sipped the wine but hardly tasted it. He put the goblet aside once more.
The papers on the table were sorted and neatly stacked. All were carefully labeled and addressed.

His mind wandered back again over many times and places. The loss of his parents, when he nearly died himself. The healers. The orphanage. Living rough, stealing to survive. Being caught and banished. All his illnesses and finally coming to Gobiath. A second chance. The troubled times he had seen on the Isle. The good times and bad. Friends and enemies. The finding of purpose, magic calling him. Coming to Varshikar and being accepted, welcomed. The forming of the VMA. Trust of his peers. Then more illness and loss, of people, memory and magic. Love won and lost. Despair. Hopes and dreams of building a better Varshikar, building a home for magic on the Isle. Hopes dashed by the new academy upon the return of magic. Leadership. Friendships won and lost. So many people come and gone. Sadly he shook his head to clear the jumble of thoughts and images.

He stood from the table and walked to the stairs, heading up and through the room above, out onto the balcony. Turning to look upon the mountains he felt nothing. The realisation that the view had ceased to stir the usual feelings of safety and belonging caused a momentary anxiety. Home no longer felt like it should. He turned and looked out over the desert. The forbidding lands which shielded Varshikar. Normally a scene giving a sense of security for him, now just looked empty and open.
He lifted the Red and gold robe, placing it over the ever present staff at his side. Marie had made the robe for him. It had meant so much. Holding the staff high he concentrated, gathering mana about him. Pulling it in, forming it. He summoned Jus, binding the mana within it. He felt the power building, swirling within itself, wanting to be let free, but powerless to move. He held it a moment longer, letting it build momentum, feeling its anger at being caged. Finally he summoned Qwan and opened a channel in his mind, releasing the gust up along the raised staff. It caught the robe and carried it high into the air where the natural breeze caught it and carried it spinning and whirling off towards the mountains.
“The closing of a chapter of my life. My final offering to you, sentinels of the North, that you continue to watch over this troubled little community.”
Returning downstairs he gathered the papers carefully and headed out into the street. A courier was waiting. He took the papers with great care and the offered bag of coins with great speed.
“Be sure to follow all the instructions carefully and there will be another bag for you” Jeremy called after the retreating courier.
Finally he shouldered his pack, picked up his staff and headed out without a backward glance. A small trickle of tears escaped as his small strides carried him away, for ever….?

Slowly and walking at comfortable speed, the elf - wearing a very worn grey cloak which may have seen decades of bad weather and an old, a bit torn looking hat pulled down over his brow which may have been red once, and a somewhat simple, leafy staff used as walking stick - approaches Varshikar, slowing down as he watches Jeremy handing out a bag of coins and turning around. He pauses and waits shortly, taking out an apple, polishes it with his hands while approaching Jeremy from behind without making much noise, then bites into the apple, speaking up while chewing.
"Aah, Master Willowbrook. I have been looking for you."

As he hefted his pack onto his shoulder Jeremy became aware of a powerful aura behind him. He became instantly alert, expecting an attack. A stealthy approach, silent, the radiating power, he feared the worst. He gathered mana, drawing it in from all around him, preparing to launch a flurry of spells as he turned. Muscles bunched in preparation, the runes lined up in his minds eye, waiting to be summoned. He started to turn......

"Aah, Master Willowbrook."

The words held no meaning, but the voice cut through all his thoughts, familiar, friendly.
He released the mana harmlessly as he continued to turn, the turn itself slowing to a more normal speed. He felt the mana dissipate rapidly, blending back into the mana stream. His eyes flashed a searing icy shade, before returning to their normal ice blue, the inner fire, stoked by the build up of mana, subsiding quickly.
He hoped his visitor would not have noticed the transition from attack posture to the normal facade he showed as he completed the turn.
He forced a brief, quick smile, trying to centre himself rapidly. He gave a shallow bow to cover himself and win another second or two to steady himself.
"Master Damien, greetings. What can I do for you?"