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Posted: Nov 16 2015, 09:10 PM
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Joined: 6-December 11
The mage's college looms over the little town of Ha'vaad, its innumerable towers twisting and bending along the horizon. Some of them bend at forty-five degree angles; others seem too slim to allow human passage. One in particular is covered with lichen, flaking off into the breeze.
The mages keep to themselves—for this, Ha'vaad is grateful.
Tonight the moon is full, and the shady folk of the downtown taverns scurry like mice in the shadows. At the Fox & Hound the barkeep polishes his brass; at the Gate & Key the maids bend to polish the bartop; at the Bucket & Slug, a cabal of a dozen dull-robed individuals snicker their way into the hall.
For a moment, the ale stops running. Locals gather their things and make the mark of protection over their hearts, then slip out unseen doors and passages. The barkeep, a stout, sleepy man, blinks owlishly at them. The man in front—elfin and blonde beneath his hood—flashes a sharp smile.
"Mead?" he asks in pitched vibrato.
Behind him, a young woman snickers.
"Cenus," she says, her voice raspy, "Ask 'im for the good stuff."
Her eyes are in shadow but her lips are thin and bloody-red, snarling in the greasy gloom.
"Get us some liquor."
The barkeep pours with trembling hands.