So the trio went their separate ways for the night, Forge, Froud and Miriah spending an uneventful night resting, eating and studying respectively. With the night came a sharp, cool breeze, the type of weather that should have been normal for this time of year. Perhaps fall had finally properly arrived?
The next morning saw more studying and lectures for each of the students, and the mundanity of their activities seemed a stark contrast from the day before when they had been fighting for their lives.
~
Ain Weatherhawk stared at Miriah's notes on the nature of Yarthan magical notation with baffled grey eyes, scratching his chin absently. The two sat on a hillside in the Mage's court, on the University grounds. Few people came through the area during the day. "Forgive me," he told her softly, "but I still can't make heads or tails of it. I can barely make out the geometrics of the thing, much less identify this cantrip. I admit defeat. What is it?"
~
Deep in the bowels of the school, rows of workbenches were manned by enthusiastic mechanic students who toiled over their creations. The smells of grease and ozone and the sounds of hammering were heavy in the air. A young rust-haired halfling by the name of Poe wiped the sweat off his brow and looked over at his neighbour. "Hey Fwoud! Got got an extwa spanna? Left my otha one at home today." Before him was a cast-iron contraption of some sort, seemingly a collection of gears and levers and screws. "How's your pwoject going, by the way?"
~
Forge stared down at the piece of parchment Professor Cronk had given him yesterday in class, and then back at the door in front of him. Yes, this looked like the room. Though he wished he had gotten better instructions; the upper floors of the University were labrythine and confusing, and it had taken him an infuriatingly long time to his way here. He'd been up here several times while looking for his academic advisor, and had hoped it would be easier to navigate with experience. No such luck, yet.
The plaque on the door said, 'Professor Midwinter, Psionics Department, Head' though so he was in the right place. He prepared to knock the door.
"Come in," came the call, just before he could actually knock. So he went in.
The room was a good deal tidier than Professor Angstrom's, Forge's own advisor. The room was made smaller by the huge shelves that dominated two of the room's walls, filled with tomes of all sizes and colours. There was also a variety of flowers in vases, placed throughout the room. At a large desk fashioned from a light coloured wood, sat a blonde human woman in white robes. She glanced up from the small red book and stood, gesturing to the chair before her. "Hello, Mr. Ironsong. I hear you are interested in Divination? How may I help you?"
