Tested

Tenebrae - Thursday, March 27, 2014, 5:52 AM

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-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* A16: Nobility District *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The splendor of the technology, bustle and eclectic energy of the city and nation of Alexandria all seem to point towards the towering structures and constant thrum of activity in the Castle District. The Castle District contains the vast majority of the government offices, guild headquartrs, noble quarters and political functions of the city. The very air seems energized with this level of importance. The architecture is pompous and enormous, consisting largely of multi-leveled edifices and great jutting towers and buildings that seem to grow out of the mountains with hanging gardens and brightly colored banners and mana lamps strewn about. Everything seems to be aiming upwards here and pointing towards the freedom of the skies beyond. The grand towers and structures reaching heavenwards and activity in the skies above a constant happening with ships of all sizes from air-cabs to great merchant vessels moving through the Skygates and Griffon Riders moving through their patrols as they pass through and above the many bridges and walkways that connect the towers, buildings and walls.

Ever-easterward stands the fortress-castle of Castellum Alexandrae and a large bulk of both ground and air traffic seems focused in that direction.

A light rain falls from a grey sky. It's cool and there's a mild wind from the east.

Mikilos wanders the District in the early morning light, the faint drizzle running own the elf's face, but somehow not wetting his clothing. The tall man murmurs absently to himself, wandering in his own thoughts, paying just enough attention to his surroundings to not bump into anything. Yet.

Only a few things, he said. Not to worry, he said. Master Evard, one of the few Wizards to have relocated to the city with the Dragoneri refugees, told Kyson to 'just pick up a few things' for him. As his new employer, it wasn't as though the young mage could refuse. So there he stands, with a basket of items as tall as his waist, his cloak tossed over them to keep them dry, with seemingly no way of carrying them back. Dilema.

You see before you a young, human male of no more than twenty years of age with short, dark brown hair and saphire-blue eyes. The young man is thin in stature - one might think him frail or possibly one of those children who may have been sickly as a child and never put on the weight that would turn a thin boy into a broad man. His complexion betrays him to be someone who is not out of doors too often. Farming folk are known for their bronze skin especially in the summer and autumn when there's so much work to do in the fields. This young man would almost seem to hide from the rays of the sun by the tone of his parchment-colored skin. The slender fingers of his hands would seem to emphasize the 'delicate' quality that you initially saw within this young man.

He is wearing the robes of a young wizard or priest who comes from a modest income. Surely the good quality of the fabric of his split-sided robes would suggest that he is no country rube just off the turnip wagon. The robes are a mixture of various colors of blue ranging from the swath of deep, sea blue across his shoulders to the lighter, sky-blue of his under tunic visible around his wrists and at the lower hem of his side-split robes. His pants, fashioned from a sturdy, dark-blue cloth, become visible as he walks through the large slit that extends up from the lower hem of his robes to a about his crotch. The robes have been slit, one would presume, to allow him to mount a horse successfully without having the robes ride up and expose his bare legs. A pair of black boots keep his feet warm and dry and conceal the cuffs of his pants. Slung from one shoulder is a worn leather satchel that's a common piece of gear for most traveling scribes. The satchel also doubles as a make-shift writing surface when necessary. Slung from his other shoulder is a large, pumpkin-sized sack with a wide strap to make it easier to carry. This must be where he keeps his traveling gear and extra clothing.

Mikilos is, despite the rain, and cloudy sky, lit with his own personal sunbeam, the sort that never seems to quite hit anything else. One of perks of generations of magic in the veins. The elf's wandering path is blacked for a moment by a pile of things. Stepping to the side, he finds his path blocked again, by a person. A double block is enough to rouse the elf from his thoughts and into the real world. "Oh, hello. Ah... waiting for your carriage?" Mikilos glances around absently, as if expecting the ride to be just up the street.

Kyson was seemingly distracted from the world - worrying about how he could haul this load back to his new boss - when the sight of a personal sunbeam grabs his attention. Caught up in the fascination with such a spell, he doesn't seem to hear the elf's words at first and has to blink a second time before responding. "Oh...uh. No. I have no carriage, sir. I'm...just..." and his eyes dart from the elf, upwards to the potential source of the sunbeam and back down, "...how?"

Mikilos blinks himself a moment, and smiles. "Ah, Mikilostravia Abrioudelanarchie Mithralla, Builder Arcane, and Wizard of the Forth. I... hrmm... I seem to recall seeing you at one of the lectures... 'Safety on Divine Planes'? But don't believe we've been properly introduced before."

The young wizardling pulls himself up to his full height and in his best, formal tone he introduces himself in the language of the Syldanyari - in a dialect that's near text-book perfect. It's so text-book that it's impossible to miss how 'artificial' it sounds. It's clear that he's studied the language; clear that he's wanted to learn it but also clear that he's never had much practice with a native speaker to pick up the proper inflections to make it sound natural. "Greetings unto you, Lord Mikilostravia Abrioudelanarchie Mithralla," he pauses after getting out that mouthfull of a name, "...I am called Kyson of Blackbriar, apprentice of the...er, Wizard of the Second Circle." And with that he bows, formally, to the elf - in much the same way his master taught him 'when greeting a superior wizard'.

Mikilos grins, and makes a vaugely dismissing motion. "Greetings and well met. And now that formalities are out of the way, what seems to be the problem? You look a bit lost."

Kyson explains that he has to travel some eight or nine blocks with this rather large load of wrapped parcels and has only his cloak to keep the pile dry. "I -could- try and conjure a servant but I'm not sure if it would handle the weight, and I don't want them knocked around." He pauses to think, "What I need is a cart of some kind...even a small one would do." He has assumed, possibly rightly so, that the challenge given him by Master Evard, was to see how resourceful the young wizard could be given the tasks at hand.

Mikilos nods thoughtfully. "Well, easy as it might be for me to assist, under the circumstances I think I'd best not. Though mayhap listing all the resources at your disposal might help in finding the ones most useful?"

Kyson begins listing off a few of his spells and rattles past the phrase of 'floating disk' as though it never occured to him to possibly use it as a rain shield. "Wait..." he reconsiders the idea, "Master...do you think it possible to change the spell slightly so that it would float over my head? It wouldn't need to hold any weight but...just deflect the rain."

Mikilos nods. "You'll still be carrying a lot of stuff if have it over your head, but is an option, certainly."

Kyson nods and decides that he can get wet so long as the packages stay dry. "I'll have to research that application later but for now, I think, the disk should probably serve my needs." Rather than casting the spell right in front of the elf - which he might screw up and decides to hold off just for now - the wizard then turns to the elf and asks, "...What did you think of the lecture," a clear attempt to distract the conversation from his casting.

Mikilos hehs, and shrugs. "The material itself is all but useless. Trips to alternate planes almost never happen. But, it was well presented, and they had refreshments after, which is always a big plus."

Kyson smiles at the mention of refreshments; clearly an important feature of all successful presentations. Standing in the rain with his cloak over the packages he tries to hold off casting the spell but it becomes quickly apparent that he's stalling. With a sigh and an inward nod to himself that it's time to swallow his trepidation, the novice wizard does his best to make it seem as though the spell was 'rudamentary' and something that he's practiced to the point of ease. With a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure that he's not going to cause a problem with the conjuring of the disk, he politely excuses himself from the conversation with the elven wizard and calls forth the magic.

It's a simple enough spell; just a conjured disk of arcane force held in a planar alignment parallel to the earth at a given height. Curiously enough, he adds a bit of emphasis on the last phrase of the spell to 'overcharge' the manifestation. The result, as any instructor would know and possibly chide his student for doing, is that the effect of the spell is a bit brighter than usual. Perhaps he was trying to impress the elf with a bit of flash? Perhaps he's just nervous and forgot to control his voice.

Mikilos mmms quietly, neutral. The elf has seen many spells cast over the years, this one doesn't stand out. The lack of explosions, intentional or no, might have something to do with that.

Kyson breathes a sigh of relief that the spell actually worked and as intended. With a faint glance towards the elf to see if he caught the sigh, the Novice starts loading packages onto the disk as though he would fill a simple cart. "I'm working for Master Evard, one of the refugees who is staying at the Academy. It's possible that I'll see you around, I hope?"

Mikilos nods. "Around the Academy, certainly. And likely in Dragonierei, when the war begins in full. I've no real desire to go to war again, but I've less of a desire to allow Heth to rule. An undead ruler is bad enough. A dragon-lich is something ehich never should have existed in the first place."

Kyson nods, his tone becoming somber and full of dread. "My master asked if I would be joining the campaign. He said that it was my choice but I believe that...like you said...we have an obligation to remove such a threat." Ahh - youth. Full of ideas, causes and duty. "My skills, however, are far from developed enough for much more than being a clerk."

Mikilos grins. "Even armies need clerks. And ones able to call upon The Source are quite useful. May find yourself somethign rahter more than just a clerk by the time all the dust settles."

Kyson smiles at the idea of becoming more than he is but tries not to think about how many bodies he might have to step over to get there. "My thanks for your assistance, Master. I hope to cross your path again soon."

Mikilos smiles, but shakes his head. "Just 'Mikilos', please. But yes, I'm sure we'll meet again soon enough. But for now, fare well."