The Cloister was supposed to have proctors in it. Or at least proctors available on-call, to make sure nothing unnecessarily dangerous was going on. Even with all the Everspell shielding built into the stone and earth, students inside the ring could seriously hurt themselves if they started using dangerous spells. Say, Magma, for example.

Mornings on the Fives and Sevens were Harte's duty. He'd volunteered for it, since he never had classes those mornings. Not in any of the forms. A random quirk of scheduling - or maybe even the intention of the Dean. It didn't really matter, it was part of his duties.

Games-Keeper Stephanus was supposed to have been near enough to make sure none of the students were doing something dangerous unsupervised. Instead, he was out front of the Church of the Moon, amusing himself by blowing his small metal whistle rhythmically at the students who were running late for their next class. His daughters were over a hundred leagues away, but the paternal instinct to harass students to keep them honest hadn't left him.

Relaxed and calm, he was simply posing, face red and full of laughter in the warm and windy morning. His too short shorts blew calmly in the wind, and his simple cotton shirt clung to him slightly too tightly to hide the face that his body wasn't what it used to be, but he didn't care. A man my age shouldn't have to worry about appearances when it doesn't suit him anymore, he told himself, before quietly chuckling at the internal pun.

Besides, he was trained by the Seventen. Surely he'd notice if something dangerous was going on inside. Over ten years of practicing casting his senses far away to look for active fields while on patrol, and that was frequently against fully trained adults, not mere children.

Then he remembered that the same Everspell that would stop bystanders from getting hurt by experiments in the cloister would numb his own senses. The thought made his gut drop. Sure, nothing much dangerous ever happened there, but what if just this one time was the day of coincidence.

He'd wandered too far away, it would take him ten minutes to slip across the small quarter and through the halls of the Church of the Moon. Pushing his field sensing to the limit, he could practically taste something not quite right in the air coming from the area, but it was already old. The field smelled and tasted spicy, made his eyes feel like they were about to water, and sounded a prenatal rumbling in his ears. Fading away. Magma, he thought to himself, with a few other smaller spells hurled with it.

He jogged his way in through the Church halls, slipping into protocol-calm face. I'm up to my knees in Chrove dung if any students were hurt. Maybe.

Truthfully, Harte didn't know how seriously the teachers took the proctor-in-the-cloister rule. He was still new here, and had already been pleasantly surprised at how many regulations were in the school's code that didn't seem to matter at all, in day to day student life. A long term cop could respect the rules you only enforced when it proved a point.

He jogged into the cloister and could immediately smell the burnt grass, but a cursory sweep of the fields didn't show anything fresh anymore. Wandering out of the elegant stone doorway, he stepped into the secular, grassy fields of the cloister and made a second, professional survey of the area. The pool of cooling rock, surrounded by a ring of scorched foliage, was obviously out of place.

Sighing to himself, Harte tried to decide whether it was worth investigating. "I'll just get in trouble if the staff found out I wasn't here," he muttered to himself, poking the still-malleable rock with the back end of one of his cheaper pens. He glanced around, imploring any of the handful of students sitting nearby to clue him in on what had happened.

And maybe even offer to help the old man clean up.

((Continued from here: viewtopic.php?f=3&t=1726&st=0&sk=t&sd=a&start=25 ... and yes, I can take hints. ))


Nauleth leaned a little as they walked to support the blonde, sheepish grin having blossomed, one side before the other, on his pale features. His fingertips still stung, singed as they were from casting, but the raw pain was a reminder, a trophy, of what had just occurred. He'd just clocking cast Magma. Clocking finally got Counterspell right. Clocking cast spells that plenty of clocking graduates never clocking mastered. Yeah, and on top of that, he totally let some older student know where to stick it when it came to talking about his clocking girlfriend.

It had been a good morning.

Well. Almost.

The dark-eyed boy glanced at Athrym and his smile faded a little. He was more than a little apologetic for the way his attempt at fixing whatever happened turned out. As much as he enjoyed the girl when she was angry, the sadness and pain was decidedly not what he would have wished for her,

"What we both did, you know. Not all of those were level one spells we were casting." Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of too much leg. Man leg, "And, yes, by Alioe, that was an amazing Magma spell. I wasn't thinking, though ... your Wall—"

Naul was reluctant to be grateful, but he understood the consequences once he had seen the extent of his damage. It was a guilty thrill. He couldn't remember the name of the professor he'd caught a glimpse of, but the thought briefly passed through his mind that he should keep his voice down. Just a little.

"Your Wall saved my ass." He squeezed the arm he held, smile a little more sincere than excited, but his voice was hard-edged, "No one should talk about you that way. Ever."

She was caught up in his enthusiam, but the mention of her block against him made her wince. It wasn't because she wanted to save Eck's hide, she couldn't care less if he fell into a whole vat of magma. But if Naul had succeeded, he would have left Brunnhold. And that just wasn't going to happen.



The blonde laughed a little, ignoring the way it made her head throb.

"Your sweet. Stupid, but sweet." Opening her eyes, she noticed a teacher near the cooled pile of Magma and frowned.

"Where the clock was he when all that happened? I thought we were supposed to be safer in here than on the lawn. Clocking foolish school, ugh." Her blue eyes closed again and her brows furrowed. Stopping, she held herself still, waiting for the overwhelming pain and nausea to pass.

Sniffing the air, Harte glanced towards Naul's hiding place and loosened the tight hold on his own, oddly clean field, letting the weak energy rarefy as far as he could push it. Any of the spectators and students would be able to see that his field was hardly a demonstration of raw strength, especially considering his age, but it had a kind of unusually smooth order and clarity - the sign of a disciplined mind tied with the signature of low-level Perceptive magic. The flex was meant as a sort of weak nudge, to get everyone's attention. He stood up from his crouch and stretched his back, before turning back to the small floe of magma.

"I guess it's lava, now," he muttered to himself. He noted something on his clipboard and cursed quietly, then turned to the more visible students on the field, pretending he hadn't seen the telltale tumult of freshly-used fields coming from around the corner.

It only took a moment of sweeping his senses and common sense across the puddle to know no serious injuries has occurred. A serious injury with a magma spell would've resulted in either body or a loud, public trip to the infirmary, and the Games-Keeper hadn't see either.

Cracking his hands, he considered what would be the best way to proceed. Getting a shovel would be undignified, but his own control over static and physical magic was far too weak to clean up the mess in a respectable way. He decided to reach out to the students and blow his tiny patrolman's whistle, in a quick, minimally offensive burst. "Oy, anyone want to help me clean this mess up?" Make it a teaching exercise.

It took him a moment to realize he sounded bonkers shouting in his Sergeant's voice at a bunch of kids. He decided to add, in a gentler tone, "I'll give you a free pass on your next demerit." Hopefully his reputation of making the galdori children run laps for detention was enough to make this a worthy prize. Even if they did need the exercise.

If the kids who had caused this all in the first place wanted to run off, he didn't feel like chasing them. Clocks, if they were just testing out a new spell, it probably didn't even matter that he hadn't been there.

Hopefully.

Nauleth snickered, but he was at the moment more preoccupied with concern over Athrym's current condition than remorse for his well-cast mess. It took all he could muster not to grit his teeth at the sound of the whistle, not even wanting to imagine the discomfort it caused the blond with all the more negative effects of the morning's misadventure still a burden to her mind her body.

Still.

He considered volunteering Ecks, who had not completely left the scene but was, even from this distance, quite the pathetic sight now.

The dark-eyed boy cast a glance at Athrym again, hand on her back, disquieted by her discomfort and eager to get her back to the dorms so she could rest before class. Maybe he could work this in both their favors,

"Mister Stephanus, right?" Naul didn't quite have to shout; their escape hadn't taken them that far from the scene quite yet, "I may or may not know the cause of your mess," he was obviously taunting—he couldn't help it—today had gone so amazingly well, "but I'm not sure if a free pass would motivate me. Are you up for a bit of bargaining?"

He grinned, one side before the other as usual, still supporting the blond.

The Games-Keeper turned, the small metal whistle still clenched between his canines. He looked at the boy's white stripe of hair and raised an eyebrow knowingly, then flipped through the binder of papers for a moment. Sliding a finger down a page, he stopped and tapped twice, before closing the bound notebook and turning back to the boy.



Harte didn't know what kind of bargaining the student had planned, but he didn't want to lose control of a conversation to a kid a third his age. Besides, whether the dark-eyed boy knew it or not, Stephanus had no illusions about who the cause of the Magma spell had been. It was a powerful spell, and only a short time had passed. Maybe it was sensing the licks of static fire that still clung to the boy's field, or just the sixth sense of a policeman connecting the dots, but it didn't take a Chronicle spell to make sense of the situation.

"Nauleth Sidordanti," he said, unaware that he had misread the name. "I don't believe you are in any of my classes. But I've definitely heard of you." He looked at the blond, where she stood and frowned. "Your girl there is looking a little green. Is she alright?"

Athrym clenched her teeth at the whistle. Why would anyone blow a whistle in such a close vicinity. The blonde looked up to see it was the same teacher she had glanced at earlier. Her temple pounded as she thought of places she'd like to cram that little silver noisemaker.



The blue eyed galdor closed her eyes, still holding her forehead. What was he upto? Why didn't they just tell this stupid old fool to shove off?



"Siordanti, get it right, and I am not alright. I am in a lot of clocking pain." Suddenly, she was angry. Opening her pale blue eyes, she glared at the teacher.

"Where were the proctors? We had magical practice to attend and decided to come here because its safer, but I've had safer practice on the lawn. This school is a clocking joke." Her voice was like a blizzard, harsh, cold and hissed through her teeth. If her head wasn't about to burst, she would be yelling at the doddering old fool.

News, especially news involving 'Crazy A' and Magma spells, traveled fast. Frederick had been on the way back to his room to change when he heard some of the boys in the hall talking about crazy casting and possible murder in the Cloister. He'd made haste to see what trouble was brewing for his friends. The boy's jacket - unbuttoned - whipped loose around his sides. He'd managed to button his shirt correctly but it was only half-tucked into his pants. He carried his bola in one hand and a first aid kit in the other.

"Nauleth, Athrym! Are you alright? I heard-"
He ground to a halt. Realizing that the presence of a proctor necessitated a more roundabout query. He knew Stephanus vaguely from various encounters around the grounds and once or twice on the hunt, but not well enough to guess the proctor's opinions on the controversial duo.

"I - er, so how was practice?"

His field reached out questioningly to his friends'. He knew better than to approach Athrym too closely, but clearly there was something wrong with her. It, fortuitously, distracted him from the hint of Magma on the edges of Nauleth's field.

Harte didn't rush to reply to the girl, keeping his gaze locked on Naul for a lingering moment. When Fredrick approached, he stole a glance to the side to appraise him, and recognized the stocky boy in an instant. Has he been to some of my games? Maybe I just wish he had... Regardless, he liked him. Any galdor who still enjoyed exercise enough to do it for recreation was an ally, as far as the Games-Keeper was concerned.

Inhaling deeply, he compartmentalized some of these extra thoughts in his mind, as he carefully pushed the air through his body rhythmically. A simple focusing technique he had practiced since he was small. He pictured the mona flowing through him, in his mind, making a chain of force from his hands through his still-rarefied field, and spent an extra effort to study the interloper's own field.

In another part of his mind, the quasi-meditation made it easy to brush off the angry comment from Athrym. Even if she really was furious with him, it wouldn't change what happened or what still needed to be done. A Drillmaster is used to being reviled, but he still had to maintain the dignity of his position, and maybe hold onto the respect of the other students in the Cloister.

Really, he knew the responsibility wasn't totally on him. Or maybe the knowledge was just an internal justification for his own failure of duty, but his mind was filled with thoughts of students checking to see if the proctors were present before trying their dangerous new toys of spells, rather than waiting until a girl's brain was addled, a boy's hands burned, the the beautiful green Cloister field left a molten smoldering mess.

Mistakes happen, but his had left his own charges - the students - hurt. Back in Numbrey, he never would have let such a thing happen. It made him feel old and tired.

After sniffing the air deeply, he concluded that all three of the students were sufficiently powerful, and any one of them could probably help him clean up, in a pinch, so he decided to volunteer the newcomer. Naul looked like he was ready to pick a fight with anyone, to protect the blond, and she looked like she was ready to faint to protect no one, so the choice was easy. Working together, they should be able to use a reversed melt to cool the rock back down, then some simple labor could get the rocks out of the way. Maybe the boy could even direct enough living magic to clean up the grass - it was the cloister of the Church of the Moon, after all, so even if he held rigidly to the nobility of mona such a spell would seem appropriate.

Looking back to Naul, he said, "Mister Siordanti," his tone sharp and commanding. "Take you friend to the infirmary. Or at least the girls' dormitory. I'll write you both a pardon if it is a problem with your other instructors." He thought for a moment, and turned fully to Frederick. In a more gentle tone, he said "Student, if you would kindly help me cool this rock your friends have so kindly left so that no one trips and gets all their skin burned off." He smiled, hoping that the boy would agree to help without any more pressure than that.

As he returned his attention to the formerly-practicing pair, he folded his arms tightly across his chest and tried to sharpen his own face into as stoic an expression as possible. "I'll ask for an explanation of what happened later, for my own report, if one is even necessary. But right now I want to make sure the monic inhibition that seems to have been installed in this young woman's mind doesn't cause her any permanent harm before it wears off, and few remedies are more reliable for that than bedrest."

The clipboard was poking him awkwardly, in the side of the belly, because of the way he crossed his arm. He tried to pretend it wasn't an annoyance, lest he break the severity of the atmosphere.

Naul visibly bristled, "She's not al—"


The dark-eyed boy let the girl vent, managing a deadpan sort of expression. Internally, he was rather clocking thankful there hadn't been any faculty or staff around at the time ... he'd enjoyed what had transpired, dangerous or not. It was like sparking an old, smoldering fire into something more like a steady blaze.

Then Fred arrived and Naul couldn't help but smirk at the other student's expression. He'd heard what? Already? His breath caught in his chest for a moment, pulse in his ears, a wave of devious excitement washing over his thoughts, an old craving briefly satisfied with the propagation of fear.

He turned away from the shorter boy as Harte began speaking, unable to contain the hint of a smile tugging lopsidedly on his features. Clearing his throat and keeping his hold on Athrym, he spoke quietly with a mix of emotions,

"I can sum up what happened. Athrym and I were practicing, and there were some ... runoff or after effect issues. Some clocking idiots of older students decided it was worth while to heckle, which would have been acceptable had they not taken it to a personal level. It turned into a bit of spell casting. They learned their clocking lesson. End of story."

Naul resisted the urge to grin wickedly, but his dark eyes shown with unhidden prize at his perceived victory.

"And, yes, a pass would be splendid."

The Games-Keeper nodded once, curtly, then jotted a brief note on some scrap paper attached on the inside cover of his leather binder, in shorthand. "That is not the end of the story, but I'll let it pass for now."



He flipped through several pages of his book and scratched another mark. "Come to my office this evening and I'll give you the proper note."

Stealing a sidelong glance a the girl, his frown redoubled. "The brain is simultaneously one of the most robust and most fragile systems in the body. It is unwise to interfere with its normal functions. I would sincerely recommend you take her to the infirmary."

Without another word, he turned back to the pool of magma, and began to plan and prepare for the spell he would need to render it back to cold, safe rock. Without the strength to just summon a torrent of magma out of thin air, it took a great deal of care and planning to affect such a large change...

Truthfully, Harte was deeply impressed at the display of power. He'd seen Seventen artillerymen who would respect such a display of force. How cliche, the boy has the power and lacks the control to make use of it, he thought to himself, wondering if the boy might be receptive to his own mental disciple exercises.

Athrym continued her icy glare at the teacher, unsatisfied at the lack of response. Where indeed, had been the proctors?



The girl glanced at Hunter, at his little medical kit, and internally she groaned. It wasn't that bad. It was just a migraine. The thought seemed to spur the headache back on and she closed her eyes, pressing her hand against the pounding as if to hold it in. Voices spoke, but she just couldn't find the energy to concentrate on them.



Bedrest, oh please bedrest. All she wanted was a dark, quiet room and a wet cloth. And sleep.



The girl opened her eyes again and smiled a little. Nauleth, her hero in the end. It was so appropriate, and so nice. The blonde wondered just how much trouble he would have been in if she hadn't cast the Wall. No...it was better having Naul here.



Athrym groaned and closed her eyes, leaning against Naul.

"No infirmary. Just take me home." She said quietly, unwilling to try and sleep in the infirmary. It would be too noisy, too many people. The nurse would just be a clocking pain.

Fred continued studying Athrym's field for a few seconds. There were signs of casting - meddling really - that warranted further investigation by someone more experienced than himself. Perhaps he would consult with Healer Ixbridge later.

Nauleth's self-satisfaction was all too apparent, and it put Frederick off a bit. It didn't help that the Magma signature was rather evident. The use of that particular volatile spell brought other unfavorable incidents to mind, grouping Nauleth with murderers and figures from bad dreams.

Being practical, Fred pushed those thoughts aside in favor of the clean-up.

"Yes, Master Stephanus. A Solidify to counter the molten state modified with variant requests to safely draw off the heat and a Push to shape it correctly? Static isn't really my strong area, so I'm happy to follow your lead."

Naul figured he wouldn't be followed anyway, so the boy decided it was in both his and Athrym's best interest to drop the discussion of dorm versus Infirmary. He had no clocking intention of wandering into the Infirmary unless he himself was being carried in there. He'd seen enough of that place in his time.

With a smirk, Nauleth added, "I'll come by after class, if that's alright. Unless you'd prefer after dinner?"

He paused to listen to Fred's suggestions on cleaning up his mess, perhaps a little chagrined. Cooling on the Cloister's delicate grass near all of them was solidifying proof of the kind of spell-casting ability the dark-eyed boy had ambitiously, hungrily pursued. It was also a clear warning that mocking his future wife was a bad, bad idea. He'd be sad to see it go, really.

Chewing the inside of his cheek briefly, Naul spoke up before making his escape from the situation with Athrym, "You could just Metamorphose it into something else. Like water. It'd probably take more than one caster and some time, but it'd certainly save you the trouble of having to lug it anywhere once you're through."

His grin bordered on the smug, right side more obvious than the left as usual.

Stephanus wished he had a better excuse than "I can't work such high-level Static" to Naul. It was a good idea that absolutely didn't occur to him. The Seventen were taught to leave as much evidence behind as possible, so simply destroying the object seemed an alien idea.

He stayed quiet as the boy began his retreat. Though he had a sinking suspicion that he may not care enough about the pass to stop off at his office. Maybe, the Games-Keeper thought, he'll grow a bit more mature and stop by.

In the meantime, he decided he would do his best to give as orderly a display of magic as he could for any of the students. Show them how a minimal amount of force could be used to achieve a complex goal. Besides, remembering he didn't need to keep the rock intact made the whole process much simpler.



"Quite right young master..." He hesitated a moment, then drilled his head through the mnemonics he used to keep track of names and faces. "Young Master Vespasian, was it?" Smiling, he said, "While your friend's solution would be far more impressive, it has given me the idea for something similar considerably easier." Motioning with his hands, he pointed in sweeps across the rock - though it wasn't clear exactly what the mime meant. "As we solidify it, we just need to focus the general will of a break spell into the chorus, and this who rock will be reduced to sand. Make it fine enough and the wind will take care of our mess for us. If done right, you can use the heat that's already there to fuel parts of the spell."

Static wasn't Stephanus's strong suit either, but if he went slowly and carefully he could always use his skills in perceptive magic to sharpen his own mind until he could formulate a clear wish to the mona. It was roundabout, but it was effective at most first-level magic, especially spells that relied more on fine adjustments than raw force. Working in chorus with someone, it should be easy to undo the damage...

((Waiting a bit to make sure everything is resolved before spellcasting starts))

The blonde laughed gently.

"Come by after class. I don't think I'm going down to dinner tonight. Not if this keeps up." Furrowing her eyebrows, she suppressed another urge to vomit.



She couldn't help but feel a little smug. Her soon-to-be-fiance was so clocking smart. The lack of response from Harte seemed to indicate it hadn't occurred to him. Taking a deep breath through her mouth, she nodded.

"I really need to lay down Nauleth."

Harte cleared his mind and focused his will, and began to write on a piece of paper, drafting the spell together. His work was quick. It wasn't a new spell, but just a complex medley of several smaller ones - arranging it in the first place was tricky but following along should be simple enough. He nodded once to Fredrick. "Join in whenever you are ready."

I'll make a teaching exercise out of this. Show them the way power isn't everything...

Without another errant word or thought, he began to speak the Monite for the spell, enunciating each word slowly and carefully. It was complex, compounding a reversed Melt and elements of Break, focused carefully through his own perspective magic - a technique of reversed Dullness which he had practiced for hours back in his patrolman days, sometimes even holding up the spell for hours to facilitate an important investigation. His intent in casting was to use microscopic filaments of power to encourage the rock to weather and break into dust so fine it would simply scatter under the breeze. Rather than a work of raw strength, it was one of mental focus.


Almost all of his own willpower was placed into the structure of the spell, as he invited the stocky boy to push his own will into the chorus to set the entire mechanism in motion...

((edit: garbled the first time, oopse))

Naul might have hovered for a moment, torn between demonstrating his suggestion and being the good boyfriend. It was, honestly, a difficult struggle that might have been lost had it not been for Athrym's quiet insistence. With a reluctant sort of noise, the dark-eyed boy nodded and led them away, knowing there was no point in lingering any longer.

"My way would've been faster." He grumbled quietly once they were out of ear-shot, walking at a supportively slow pace, taking the most direct route toward the girls' dorms.

"I'll make sure your professors know you won't be in class if you don't think you'll be making it later."

((I suppose it'll be EoT for Ath and Naul shortly, but Harte and Fred are free to carry on!))

Fred knew the spells, but had not worked any of them in combinations before. Also, something about the older man's style made the words seem a little off. Still, this was the Cloister and Stephanus surely had the experience to know what he was weaving together.
I'm not sure it's necessary to destroy the rock - just break it up into soil, I would think. But that's his request to the mona and his decision to make.

Cultivating a deeply respectful tone to counteract the newness of the combination, the student added his voice to the professor's. Confidence bolstered by the older galdor, Fred hoped to add in some phrases of Growth toward the end to repair the lawn.

Stephanus' patient attitude was so contrary to the way that the magma had been formed initially. Although a great deal of residual heat prevented the rock from solidifying right away, his patience and resolve paid off in several minutes' time. The dark crust that had already formed on the surface of the molten rock began to grow, filling in the cracks where the white-hot magma remained; soon, these began to crust and drop off like old scabs, withering into crumbled carbon, iron and all the other base elements from which the magma had formed.

The deadened earth that Nauleth had razed to provide the base materials for the spell began to reclaim its original resources once more, and with the aid of Fred's Growth spell, the grass began to repair itself. After ten minutes, the only indication that a pile of molten rock had been there was a slight bump in the ground. It looked like a miniature barrow.

((not including the Dullness spell as that is a perceptive spell and won't work on rock))

All in all, the spells worked out well. Only a slight bump in the earth (and some residual monic traces for those who could read such things) remained of Nauleth's reckless casting.
Perhaps I should tell him about Couldin and Billy Bryan... then again he might not give a chime: passive's just a passive, right?

"Thank you, Master Stephanus. It's nice to have a practical application for casting rather than a duel for practice. I'll try to check up on Athrym later, just to be on the safe side."

A question had been bubbling under the surface, inspired by the games-keeper's presence. Fred simply wasn't certain he had the free time to justify the inquiry, but...

"I was wondering if you might have some time to advise me on a couple of matters, sir?"

The Games-Keeper nodded, smiling faintly. He was still pushing some of the tension of focus out of his mind, but he was pleased with the result of the spell. It had taken time, but the ground was green and clear again. Odd, that he Magma changed to soil so easily... is it possible that they boy somehow made it organic with pure force of will, or was that something Mister Vespasian added to the spell? Shrugging, he turned fully to face the boy, looking over the small hump in the ground. Mona works as it chooses to, he told himself, giving up on trying to figure out precisely what had happened.

"I'm not much good at work in magical duels myself. The kinds of techniques I was taught to use to avoid injury are somewhat dangerous to the other party..." He trailed off, thinking back for a moment, then decided to shrug the comment away dismissively. "I'm always happy to help with this kind of practice."



"I may not be quite the academic of some of my peers here, but I'm still a teacher," he replied, shaking the last bits of tension away from his shoulders. Stephanus took a long moment to look around at the busy courtyard, as it returned to it's usual light din of eased study and conversation. "If it's just a minor matter, I'd gladly talk to you here..." He motioned off in the general direction of the teacher's building and added, "Otherwise I'll be in my office all evening."

"Ah, well it's nothing too personal. I was just wondering about fencing lessons. An officer friend of mine suggested it. I like to keep my physical edge."

"I, er, well I was also wondering. You have quite a bit of experience that other professors don't... and, well. Have you ever had to fend off a hungry ghost?"

At this, the professor grinned widely. "That I can do easily. I already hold occasional group lessons, for anyone interested. I got in a bit of trouble for trying to give a lesson during mandatory elections, but on the eights and tenths I hold an open lesson out at the Lawn. I'll give you the information."

He quickly jotted a note down on a loose piece of paper, happy that someone was actually interested in practice. Not many students showed up. "Is there anything else?"



Stephanus blinked. He didn't mean to, but it was quite a surprise. Ghosts were by no means something impossibly unusual, but they were far from a day-to-day occurrence either - especially dangerous ones. Besides, most cities - especially Brunnhold - had phasmonia to protect the citizens from such things. "I've assisted in grounding a Ward spell once, actually. Back when Vienda's phasmonia caught fire in 2701 and a few attacked the cityfolk." He shifted in his shoes, awkwardly. "I didn't really know what was going on, though. It certainly isn't a topic I consider myself an expert in"

After hesitating for another moment, he looked at the stocky boy curiously. "Honestly lad, I've fended off all a manner of earthly things in my time, but I'm just not the sort who attracts the attention of the fantastic."

"Eights and tens. I'll try to make the eights, then. Most tens find me out on wilderness watch with my bander. It'll be a relief to not skirt around the issue of whether I've arranged for training next time I speak with my friend."
Fred smiled, his attention wandering for an instant to the thought of getting good enough to spar with Illyia.


"The attention of the fantastic?"
The student laughed. It started out harsh but he tried to lighten it so as not to give away the weight that he carried.
"You make it sound like a boon. I'm up for adventures of a physical sort. But creatures that do not obey the physical laws are another matter. Truth is, I was hoping to find a defense other than a full Warding. I'm wondering if a Barrier would work - even though it's something I've not tried."