~Forge
Forge makes his way again through the maze of corridors, up a flight of steep stairs, and up to a forbidding metal door that held a plaque with Delamara's name on it, proclaiming him a member of the Conjuration department. Swinging the large brass knocker on the door, the young wizard had to wait several minutes before the door was pulled open and a tall young man with a head full of red curls regarded him with a surprise. For a second Forge thought that this might be Delamara, but he wore the tunic of a sportsman over several gaudy chain necklaces. Another student, then. "Here for Delamara, are you? Well, come in then." And he stepped aside for Forge.
Stepping into the room, Forge could see that it was tall and roomy; Gears alighted to the timber rafters above with only a slight breeze and wooshing to mark his flight. Though bigger than Professor Midwinter's room, it seemed smaller as it was three times as long as it was narrow and cluttered on every side. Books and stacks of papers mingled alongside beakers and goblets and pots. The large wooden table near the door was covered with yet more alchemical tools and contraptions, and something pungent smelling brewed on a large pot in the fireplace on the right wall. In the back of the room on a raised dais and behind an ornate desk sat a tall, dark-haired man with leathery skin and severe cheekbones. His hair was neatly trimmed into a bowl atop his head, and his beard shaved to become brackets for his long face. He studiously scribbled away at the book in front of him.
Professor Delamara stood, gave Forge a piercing look with ice blue eyes, then moved to the nearest cabinet. Fishing out an earthenware flask, he passed it to the red-haired boy. "Asher, apply this salve to your wounds. You'll be more careful in the future, yes? I don't have time to coddle foolish students." Then Forge noticed the sore scratch marks about Asher's neck; they'd been mostly hidden behind his many chains.
"I... I thought it'd go away on its own but it didn't," Asher stammered out, his face a little flush at the man's tone. "I'd never have come to you if I hadn't thought..."
"You don't think, and you never will," snapped Delamara. "Your abilities don't extend far beyond hitting a ball with a stick, do they? Now leave!"
For a second, Forge thought a fight might break out right there. Asher was almost as tall as Delamara, and much more thickly muscled. They locked glares for a moment, before the younger man, scowling, turned away.
The professor turned to Forge now, an irritable look on his face. "And what do you want?"
~Miriah
"Then you shall have it! Anything to please my tutor." The two walked across the campus and down the street, to the large stadium. It was indeed a busy day, with enthusiasts milling about the entrances. Ain paid their admission, and then they were free to walk about the grounds, waiting for the races.
Ain continued on. "There's nothing quite like racing," he assured her, warming to the thought. "The feel of the wind racing about your body, the surge of the animal beneath you, the crowd cheering you on. I think you'd quite enjoy it. Ah, here they are." Ain indicated a pair of young men. "Gentlemen, I'm delighted to introduce you to my magic tutor, Lady Miriah. Lady Miriah, these two Ares Demoskaros and Etan Domare, colleauges of mine." He indicated each in turn.
Ares was a muscular youth dressed in tan leathers with a long Marguardin brown braid down his back and a sword at his side. Etan was much lighter in complexion, with heavy brows but a large toothy smile.
"Watch out for dis one, huh?" he told her with a glance at Ain, as he took her hand and kissed it. "He is a... you say, 'Lady-Eater'?"
"Etan, I believe the phrase you are looking for is 'Lady-killer'," Ares corrected gruffly.
"And yet, I like our phrase better," Etan decided. "Why does one want to kill as bellica a creature such as this?"
"Better than the depravity of eating them, I should think?"
"But when we say, eat, we do not quite mean that, huh?"
"Pay them no mind," Ain cut in, "I had thought these were my friends, but apparently they have been absconded with by rude, rough doppelgangers."
"I apologize," Ares responded almost at once, and then turned to regard Miriah. "You have come to see the game, Lady Miriah. Will you be wagering along with us on who will win?"
~Froud
Poe replied with a large smile. "Why, I think it's a might fine idea. I accept yo' invitation." He returned to working on his device, periodically pulling on it. Presently, Poe piped up again. "Ah you saying you ahn't cut out to be a builda, Fwoud? 'Cause I've seen some of yo' clockwok and it's quite good. Evewyone has to choose a path, though, that's twue no matta what. But I'm just saying you have talent enough."
