1. New Student Orientation

The Biblioplex's first floor has been transformed into a magnificent assembly hall for the opening ceremony. The enchanted shelves moved elsewhere while enchanted chandeliers floated overhead, casting warm, golden light onto the gathered first-year students. Hundreds of chairs were arranged in neat rows, facing a grand podium backed by a shimmering flying tapestry depicting the four Founder Drakes. The air buzzes with excitement and the faint hum of magic.

One by one, the eight deans enter the stage, each dressed in the flowing robes of their college, adorned with symbols of their magical disciplines. Last enters Headmistress Seraphina Drakelight, the current Voice of the Founders, her platinum dragonborn scales shimmering in the light.

"Welcome, future mages, to the hallowed halls of Misthaven University. For over eight centuries, this institution has stood as a beacon of magical discovery, a sanctuary where the boundless potential of magic and the mind converge. You are now a part of that legacy, heirs to the knowledge safeguarded and nurtured by generations before you.

You are here not only to study magic but to forge your place in the world. Here, you will confront challenges, encounter wonders, and uncover truths about the universe—and yourselves—that will shape your destinies. Know this: you are not alone on this journey. Your peers will become your allies, your rivals, your confidants, and your friends. The bonds you forge here will be as enduring as the magic you master."

As the students listen in rapt attention, the headmistress gestures behind her, inviting the eight deans forward. Each steps to the edge of the stage in turn, their presence a reflection of their school’s essence.

---

Dean Kaelith Sylvaris (Perceptio):
"To perceive is to understand. Magic flows through the world in infinite patterns, and the school of Perceptio teaches you to see them. With knowledge comes clarity, and with clarity, the power to illuminate the future."

Dean Ragnor Steelmantle (Dominatio):
"Magic is not merely to be understood; it is to be wielded. The school of Dominatio will teach you to command, to shape reality with your will, and to leave your mark upon the world."

Dean Lyric Singsilver (Creatio):
"Creation is the heart of magic, the spark from which all beauty and wonder arise. The school of Creatio will teach you to summon, to inspire, and to give life to your imagination."

Dean Nyla Flickertwist (Mutatio):
"Transformation is the soul of adaptability. The school of Mutatio will show you how to alter, evolve, and reshape both the world and yourself. Change is not just survival—it is magic."

Dean Cyril Everquill (Amplifico):
"To amplify is to empower. The school of Amplifico teaches you to lift others, to heighten strengths, and to achieve greatness through cooperation and growth."

Dean Calien Mirthwhistle (Illusio):
"Illusion is a tool as subtle as it is profound. The school of Illusio will teach you to weave perception, to craft truth from shadows, and to wield deception with precision and purpose."

Dean Varek Hollowthorn (Excidium):
"Destruction is not an end—it is a beginning. The school of Excidium will guide you in mastering entropy, wielding the forces of decay and ruin to clear the way for renewal."

Dean Althea Greenshade (Tutela):
"Protection is the greatest gift a mage can offer. The school of Tutela teaches you to shield, to heal, and to preserve life, ensuring that magic serves as a force for good."

---

The eight deans step back as Headmistress Drakelight addresses the students once more.

"Magic is a paradox—a unity of opposites, a force that can both destroy and create, deceive and reveal, transform and preserve. At Misthaven University, we embrace these contradictions, for it is in understanding them that true mastery arises. You will be challenged to explore both sides of every college, for balance lies at the heart of all magic.

Remember this: your time here is not just an opportunity to learn—it is a chance to define who you are and who you will become. Welcome to Misthaven University. May your journey be filled with discovery, growth, and brilliance."

With a graceful sweep of her staff, the air above the Biblioplex transforms. A dazzling array of fireworks bursts into existence, shimmering with magical hues that seem impossible—golden spirals of light, emerald flares that bloom into glowing vines, and sapphire sparks that twirl into tiny galaxies.

The fireworks interact with the space around them, weaving through the towering bookshelves and circling the floating chandeliers. Some take the shape of mythical creatures: a phoenix of fire that sweeps across the ceiling, an iridescent dragon that roars silently, and a cascade of butterflies that flutters above the students before vanishing into shimmering stardust.



The grand finale fills the hall with a burst of silver and gold light, forming the university’s crest—a radiant dragon encircled by eight magical runes. The crest lingers for a moment, then dissolves into thousands of glimmering motes that gently drift down, evoking gasps of wonder from the students as they fade before reaching the ground. The hall fills with thunderous applause as the Headmistress and the deans bow. The first-year students rise from their seats, their hearts pounding with excitement, ready to embark on their magical journey.

The applause from the fireworks has barely faded when a warm voice echoes across the hall. Professor Ellowyn Starforge, the university's head of student orientation, steps forward. A friendly dwarven woman with braided silver hair and a laugh that seems to resonate like a bell, she claps her hands together.



"All right, young mages, time to stretch those legs! Gather round—your tour of the Central Campus begins now!"

Groups of students are divided and led by enchanted, floating lanterns that hover just ahead, bobbing gently as though eager to lead the way. Professors and upper-year students serve as guides, weaving through the Biblioplex and out into the campus.

Greta, Zix, Dorian, Marlena and Kiraen are chosen by one of the lanterns. It seemed almost alive, swaying slightly as though urging the five students to stay together.

From behind them, a cheerful voice broke the comfortable silence.

"Ah, now here we are! Group Fourteen, the finest of the bunch, wouldn’t you agree?"

The man who had spoken strode up alongside them, his long robes shimmering faintly, like moonlight on water. Dean Calien Mirthwhistle, head of Illusio, had a charm about him that seemed both effortless and deliberate, as if he couldn’t help but make himself the center of attention. His dark silvery hair was swept back and his eyes sparkled with a mischief that suggested he found everything and everyone just a bit amusing.



"Now, you lot are fortunate, indeed. Not only do you get the best lantern—look at it, positively radiant—but you also have the great pleasure of my company. I assure you, no one else on this tour has such excellent fortune."

The lantern wobbled in place as if in agreement.

Kiraen had been shading her eyes during the fireworks, even with her dark glasses it caused her some discomfort. She smiles at Greta, but after Dean Calien Mirthwhistle introduction she turns her attention to him.
What is the difference between illusionay pleasure and "real" pleasure?
It it not a question about perception? Where is the border between illusion and reality?
She is somewhat taken aback by the smug professor, but hide it in a respectful question. The way she talks and hold herself, it hints of courtly training.

She is dressed in a loose shirt and tight pants that gives the impression of a flexible outfit. A long thin dagger is strapped to her thigh. The hilt is of a silver like material and set with a red stone. A similar looking bracelet* sits on her offhand wrist.

A vaguely humanlike creature with nondescript facial features took a step forward. It was once again wearing the less flashy shape known to some as Zix the Traveller. Road clothes, a modest dagger subtly worn on the belt - not truly hidden, but placed so as to not attract more attention than it needs to. On its shoulder sat a corvid seemingly uninterested in its surroundings and quietly preparing to doze off right there and then despite the commotion."From what I've heard from many people, it's not the fleeting and ephemeral and fleeting nature that makes people disagree whether a given pleasure is worthwhile, but its realness or lack thereof," the traveller smiled.

Marlena's still swept up in the excitement from the fireworks! It was unlike anything she'd ever seen. The headmistress had brought it on with but a mere wave of her staff, too. She must be a mage of terrifying power. Oh, how I'd love to see her cast something a little more dangerous!

Clutching the strap of her large satchel, she joins her assigned tour group. She's lanky and tall for a young elf woman, standing at six feet two inches. A grey cloak hangs off her shoulders, and underneath it is light but sturdy leather armor, decent quality but otherwise mundane. A well-stocked toolbelt rests around her waist, gleaming gently with magic to any observant eye. Black gloves extend up to her elbow. She pushes her glasses up with the heel of her hand and takes stock of the group. Recognizing Kiraen and taking a small bit of comfort in the somewhat familiar presence, she smiles at the half-drow."I'm Marlena. It's nice to meet you!" She offers her hand to Professor Mirthwhistle, Greta, Zix and Dorian. After shaking with anyone that accepts it, she asks Mirthwhistle a somewhat blunt question. "Professor, forgive me, but will this be worthwhile for those of us who've already seen most of the campus?" She only wishes to make sure she's being efficient with her time.

I'm sure that Dean Mirthwhistle will enlighten us with facts we didn't knew about the familiar halls and buildings.

Kiraen turns to Greta. Greta, are you are first-year student aswell? I got the impression that you were a senior.

Where are you from Zix? Never heard that accent before

"I'm all the way from the seaside, but have travelled throughout the land from there to here - well, almost here, usually - more than once. What about you? Yours isn't familiar to me either."

Her cheeks are touched with a tinge of pink. Though she could definitely head back and do some tinkering or studying, the Illusio dean's charm draws her in. She averts her gaze when she realizes she's been staring for a bit too long. "Well, I suppose it couldn't hurt to stick around..." Marlena concedes, brushing her thick ponytail over her shoulder. "I've been burying myself in books since I started working at the Biblioplex. A break would do me some good."
"Is that right? Do you often force yourself into the good graces of others?" Marlena flashes an amused smile as she looks down at Greta. She notices the dwarf's muscular physique. "You're very... solid," she starts, but she quickly tries to amend her statement when she realizes it could be taken in offense. "I-In a good way! You look good!" Too far in the other direction... Mildly embarrassed, she clears her throat. "Uh, what do you do? Duel?"

Dorian has been hanging back, watching through the crowd for people he might know while his group cleaners the professor with questions. After the initial avalanche wins down he steps forward and offers the professor his hand. "Professor, I'm Dorian LaCroix. We conversed by letter and I want to thank you for your kind words. I look forward to learning much of Illusio."

Dorian is a rakish man, his hair mussy in such a way as to look haphazard but perfectly so. Fine aristocratic features, a casual flamboyance and with no hint of shyness, he's clearly comfortable around strangers. His clothing is similarly fashionable, nearly cutting edge. If there is one odd thing about him, it's that his expensive clothing seems worn perhaps a little too often.

Those who know such things might recognize his last name, that he shares with an absurdly wealthy family with fingers in all sorts of industry and seen regularly with nobility.

Thank you professor, but I have never been a princess. Never will be. My mother... Kiraen stops herself again. She is still oversharing stuff she should not.

Not wanting to hold up the guided ture any further she just nods to Greta and look expected at the professor. A quick not-so-subtle glance at Dorian evaluates the last member in their group.

Zix frowns slightly for a second at the lack of a reciprocal answer, and exchanges a questioning glance with its corvid companion.

I would expect not, since you have traved the surface on the land. I was raised in the underdark, below the land.
I hope that by the end of the year I wont need these glasses anymore. Her tone is light hearted.
Its awfully bright up here, but I will get used to it - or so they say. That is the one blessing of my human blood. Adaptability

The creature ponders. "Hmm, haven't been there before. Perhaps I should try to add that to my course of travels at some point."

No, you should not. The drow can be... She is searching for a good word. Unforgiving.
I wish I could change them, but I can't.
Look them up in the library before you foster any ideas about venturing into the underdark.

Dorian cracks his fingers and bumps Kiraen in the elbow. "What do you think? It's either a door to make us look stupid, or it's magic. My money is on magic. What's your opinion?"

I agree. Nothing is as it seems. That could just as easily be an illusion of a door, but I doubt it.
It is properly a test of some sort. Its has magical locks. She gives a short bark of a laugh.

There is a saying about a key without a lock. This could be something similar, a door without a room and key.

Kiraen looks expectantly at Professor Mirthwhistle

Kiraen shrugs and approach the door. She circles it to see it from all angels.
Then in an effort to be polite and appreciate the doors secondary function, she knocks on the door and waits a moment to be invited in

"You seem very self- . . . critical, and sadly not that uncommon a sentiment reminiscent of the, uh, self-criticism of. . ." it trailed off just as the professor took over everyone's attention once more, and kept silent until the group was presented with the door.

When given an opportunity to react to said door, Zix spoke up.

"This reminds me of another door. When I was a kid, there was a ruin of house - nothing was left standing, but unlike many other ruins, it had a single doorframe and door entirely untouched by the destruction. It was locked. From talking to street kids I found that it was an urban legend of sorts. Locksmiths and thieves would sometimes try to unlock it - there was a claim that if someone were to force the lock, it would bring a terrible curse, but if one to successfully pick it, there would be a great blessing.

The door kept standing. A friend of mine - well, I suppose I saw her more as an aloof big sis, distant but caring - used to obsess over it, over unlocking it. Some days when we passing by, she insisted on approaching it and trying to fiddle with the lock. It was annoying, sad, clingy. She has chosen to became an apprentice of the local lockmaker when she got older. I knew it was because of this door.

Years later, to everyone's shock, she did manage to solve that lock, opened the door, and walked away. I asked how she feels about the achievement, why she doesn't want to symbolically walk through the door. She shook her head, and said that now there's nothing left to do in this wreck of a town, and that she finally feels the freedom she has, and wants to see the wonders of world. A few days later she left, and I've never seen her again.

If any blessing was meant to happen after unlocking the door, it never came. But over the next years few, many, many of the young adults and a noticeable number of kids decided to leave the city behind too - more than in the decade before. Incidentally, I was one of them.

I think that experience makes me view the standalone door as a lesson. But it also makes me wary of making too big a deal of yet another door standing alone."

Marlena listens to Zix and takes his tale into consideration. "Hm... Maybe the point is to resist the temptation of the door?" She wonders aloud. Still, she draws closer to the door, inspecting it in order to at least ascertain whether it's real or fake. If real, she tries to make sense of the rune patterns.

Dorian looks at Kieran and in a soft voice from behind says, "Come in, dearie. I've some nice sweeties for you!"

He winks at Zix.

He steps around the door and gets down, checking the grass on the other side for footprints or signs of wear.

Kiraen circles the door carefully, examining it from all angles. From the back, the door looks identical to the front—no hinges, no supports, just an isolated slab of wood. With the poise of someone accustomed to courtly manners, she finally reaches out and knocks twice, waiting politely for an answer.

For a long moment, nothing happens. Then, a faint, whimsical creak sounds, as though the door itself were considering whether or not to respond. But it does not open.

Behind it, Dorian’s voice lilts softly, his tone playfully unsettling.
Greta, standing a step behind and just watching, stifles a chuckle. Dorian gives Zix a quick wink before stepping around the door. He crouches low, inspecting the grass on the opposite side for any disturbed earth, trampled blades, or signs that anyone has walked through recently.

There are none.

It’s as if the door has always been here—or perhaps, as if it has never been touched.

Meanwhile, Marlena listens to Zix’s earlier musings and considers the door’s true purpose...

Even so, curiosity gets the better of her. Stepping forward, she examines the runes carefully, tracing them with her gloved fingers without touching. The symbols are elegant, looping—not a standard arcane inscription, but something more poetic.

The runes react.

As she studies them, their glow intensifies, shifting from soft violet to a cool blue. A sudden pulse of energy ripples outward like an unseen gust of wind, making the grass around them sway in an unnatural breeze. The symbols rearrange themselves before her very eyes, shifting, altering...

Kiraen steps off the grass and stands next to the professor. I don't have the skillset to understand this thing. Yet.
But some day i will.
With those words, she is done with the door

"A puzzle, well done Marlena!" Dorian didn't do so well with the last puzzle, but he gets closer, examining the runes. He has no skill in such things, but perhaps Zix does. If so, then he positions himself to possibly aid the strange being.

"I haven't solved anything yet, but thank you." Marlena smiles, soaking up the praise despite her words. "I can make out a few sentences from the runes, but I hesitate to simply tell you, as it may be enchanted to show something different to each of us. I wouldn't want to influence you unduly. Can you read it and tell me what you see? If we are in fact seeing the same thing, then we can start working from there. Even if our perceptions don't match, what you see may be crucial to figuring this out."

"If that is true, then reading it to you would be counterproductive." Dorian describes the rune shapes he sees to Marlena, indifferent to rune lore as he has been in the past, as it seemed a path that lead only to dusty encounters, not experiential or sensual ones.

"How about we all draw the runes we see on a piece of paper, write down a short summary of what we think of them, and then the fourth participant would compare the papers of the other three?" asked Zix, and extracted a stack of paper and a traveller's quill from its satchel, then became the first one to enact the steps of the plan.

Interesting idea. I'm game.
Kiraen returns to the door with a small notebook and begins to copy the runes at the agreed time

Marlena sketches with precise strokes, her handwriting neat and deliberate. Dorian’s page, though elegant in script, holds a certain careless charm, as if he expects the puzzle to unravel itself at his leisure. Zix, ever methodical, finishes first and waits with the quiet patience of someone testing an experiment.

When they finally compare, their papers reveal an intriguing truth—every set of runes is identical.

Yet, as each of them watches, the runes begin to shift and reform before their eyes in the same mesmerizing sequence.

Marlena, having already puzzled out parts of the meaning, repeats the words aloud as they appear once more:

"The way forward is behind you."

"What is locked was never closed."

"You seek the unseen, but do you see what you seek?"

Kiraen repeats the riddle and thinks about it.
Then she suddenly has an idea. Franticly she looks around for something reflective until she draws her fighting wand. It's made of a silvery material in the form of a stiletto. Turning her back to the door, she raises the blade edge to her eyes and examines the reflection of the door.
The way forward is now behind me, as my back is to the door.
What was locked, could have been our perception of this thing.
We came here to see knowledge, that in itself is unseen. Let me see what I can see like this...

Kiraen turns her back to the door, lifting her fighting wand—a slender stiletto of silvery material—to her eyes. Its polished surface should have shown the door behind her. But instead, the door is gone.

Her breath catches. The door isn’t there.

In the mirror-like surface of her fighting wand, the grass sways gently in the breeze, uninterrupted by the dark wooden frame and its ever-shifting runes. The reflection reveals nothing where the door should be—only open space.

Kiraen walks backwards through the spot where the door is/was. If she is right and the door is not there, she is going to look so cool. If she is wrong, then she will boink her head, and the green first-year student just failed a test. As a new student, she has nothing to lose, whereas an experienced student would look like a fool.

Dorian thinks more literally, although he's keen on watching Kiraen boink his head. He turns have to the side and looks back toward where they come from, seeking a similar doorframe as the one before them. He sees the building they ignored when they came around the corner. "We've the faculty offices behind us. Aha! We're here to complete paperwork before we can begin our studies."

Marlena steps back a bit and curiously watches Kiraen to see how it plays out.

Zix giggles at the sudden realisation Dorian just voiced.

"There's that," Zix agrees, and then resumes watching Kiraen's experiment.

Kiraen's grip tightens on the wand. The realization settles in her mind like a puzzle piece clicking into place. The runes, the illusion, the lesson…

She lowers the stiletto, glancing back over her shoulder. The door still stands, solid and unmoving.

Turning forward again, she lifts her chin and squares her shoulders. A slow breath in. Then, with nothing to lose, Kiraen takes a step backward.

And another.

And another…

The moment her foot crosses where the threshold should be, she feels it—not a door, not a wall, not resistance, but a subtle shift in the air, like stepping through the surface of still water. The scent of fresh grass sharpens, the light bends…

Then, in an instant, the door is gone for all of you.

As the last of the illusion dissipates, silence settles over the group. The once-enigmatic door is gone as though it had never been. Where the door once stood, a parchment flutters in the air, and slowly falls at the group's feet.

Yes! She solved it and she dared to look foolish. She grabs the page and read it aloud

She reads the message:

Perception is the first step toward wisdom. You have glimpsed beyond the veil—perhaps you are ready to learn more.

The Society of Subtle Truths extends an invitation to all of those who seek to master the art of deception, revelation, and the spaces in between.

Our next gathering shall take place when the moon is half-hidden and the Biblioplex’s clocks whisper thirteen. Should you desire entry, present this parchment at the door that does not exist.

Be warned: not all truths are meant to be known.

Dean Mirthwhistle, who has remained a respectful observer, chuckles softly. His knowing gaze lingers on the parchment. "Ah, the Society has found new prospects. An intriguing lot, aren't they?"

He folds his hands behind his back and steps forward, surveying the space where the door once stood.

"That, my dear students, was the ‘Door of False Paths’—one of the Society’s ongoing public experiments. Every year, they create a new illusion somewhere on campus, weaving their deceptions into the fabric of Misthaven University itself. Their goal? To challenge students to question what they see, to unravel the unseen, and, in some cases, to waste an inordinate amount of time on a puzzle that isn’t truly a puzzle at all."

He smirks, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"You see, the Society doesn’t believe in direct teaching. Their philosophy is that illusion and deception are best understood through experience. Some students stumble upon their creations and walk away frustrated. Others, like yourselves, press on, test the boundaries, and discover something more. And that, my young students, is exactly what they want."

He glances at the invitation. "Now, while the Society insists that their illusions are harmless intellectual exercises, not all faculty members are quite so enamored with their antics. There have been… complaints. You wouldn’t believe the number of students who have spent hours trying to ‘solve’ a mystery that was, in truth, a lesson in deception itself. But I? I find them delightful. After all, the best lessons are the ones you don’t even realize you’re learning."

He gestures toward the parchment. "You have seen beyond the first illusion, and now, they’ve taken notice. The invitation is yours to accept or ignore—but I will tell you this: the Society is not without merit. Should you choose to follow this path, you may find yourself in rather... interesting company. But, be warned, The Society of Subtle Truths is not the only extracurricular group on this campus seeking your attention. Misthaven University is full of such… opportunities. There are other clubs, societies, and organizations—each with their own challenges and rewards. Some will test your intellect, others your character. Some will tug at your ambitions, and others may pull at your very soul. Literally. You must choose wisely, for time is a finite resource. Yet, I believe that whichever path you follow, it will shape you in ways you cannot yet comprehend."

Dean Mirthwhistle clasps his hands together.

"Well then! Come along, our tour awaits! There is much more to see, and who knows? Perhaps another mystery will present itself before we’re through."

Kiraen joins Dorian, Marlena, Zix and Greta as the follow the professor.
What do you say guys? Do you want to check out this Society?
Oh... when will the moon be half hidden? I haven't really being paying attention to the moon cycles up here.

"It's intriguing, but also likely to be frustrating. While I admire learning of hidden truths, I think I'd appreciate a more direct approach to them more. Perhaps that marks me as a bit of a hypocrite, for I do like pulling off a good trick, and can appreciate having on pulled on me, depending. I just don't think I'd appreciate study being replaced by subjecting myself to trickery."

Dorian eyes the parchment for a few moments. "I would seek them out and hear what they have to say. However, we have much of the tour to see and I for one will continue to keep an eye out for what Misthaven has to offer us."

It takes Marlena a moment to think about this. "Hm... It does sound rather interesting, but I'm not quite ready to commit to an extracurricular. I'll keep weighing my options for now. Though I may at least check it out if there's room in my schedule." For now, she continues paying attention to the tour and Professor Mirthwhistle.

As the group moves, their floating lantern guides them along a winding stone path through the campus. Ahead, standing at a crossroads where several pathways converge, a small contingent of Misthaven’s Dragon Guards waits. Cloaked in shimmering, deep-blue armor etched with arcane sigils, the guards exude an air of unwavering authority. Their presence is regal and their capes are embroidered with the four legendary dragons - Misthaven’s founders.

At the center of the group, a tall, broad-shouldered captain regards the students with a piercing gaze. His polished breastplate catches the lantern light, and his gauntleted hand rests lightly on the hilt of a long, silver-etched sword. His presence alone is enough to remind any onlooker that while Misthaven is a place of learning, it is also one of power—and it is well defended.

"Halt." His voice is steady, practiced, and commanding. "You are new here, correct? Identify yourselves."

The other guards remain silent but alert, watching with disciplined patience.

Dean Mirthwhistle, still as smugly amused as ever, folds his hands behind his back. "Come now, Captain, surely you don’t suspect them of some grand crime already?" His tone is light, but he does not dismiss the formality of the exchange.

The captain inclines his head slightly. "Protocol, Professor. Even in a place of knowledge, security is paramount. The Dragon Guard ensures the safety of all within these grounds."

"Marlena Everbrook, sir." She takes a small but respectful bow before the captain. "Of course, we don't mean any harm. Professor Mirthwhistle was just taking us on a tour of the grounds. Is that enough, or will you need some identification?"

"Zix the Traveller along with the Critic," the student replies, glancing at Marlena after her last question with a hint of concern.

Kiraen straightens up, and look the guard directly in his eyes.
Kiraen Nyrazzrin, first year student.
I have been here for days and this is the first time I'm being challenged.
She looks around at the other guards
I guess this is your way of introducing yourself.
She is not impressed by this little show.

"Dorian LaCroix," he says reluctantly. While his name has opened many doors for him, here he's not sure that he had answers to the questions that could follow.

Of course, his lips ready four lies before settling on a fifth.

"Captain, will you tell us about the Dragon Guard?" he deflects.

The captain gives Dorian a measured nod, then retrieves a thick parchment from a leather satchel at his side. Inscribed with intricate glyphs, the parchment shimmers as he traces a pattern over it with two fingers.

A soft hum fills the air, and golden light spirals outward, scanning over each student in turn. As the light passes over their faces, delicate ink strokes begin forming on the parchment—quick, precise, and impossibly smooth. Within moments, a detailed sketch of each of them is captured, their likenesses drawn in elegant, lifelike strokes.

Satisfied, the captain lowers the parchment and tucks it back into his satchel. Another guard steps forward, carrying a heavy, leather-bound ledger. Flipping through its thick pages, he pauses at intervals, skimming over the neatly penned names inside.

As the guard checks the ledger, his eyes flick over the pages, murmuring each name in turn. "Everbrook, Marlena… LaCroix, Dorian… Nyrazzrin, Kiraen…" He pauses, then glances up at Zix with a curious tilt of his head. Rather than reading their name, he simply says, "Critic, the Corvid, and his assistant." His tone is neutral, but there’s the slightest note of amusement, as if he understands more than he’s letting on.

Professor Mirthwhistle remains still beside them, hands folded neatly behind his back. His usual air of amused detachment is still present—but something is off. A flicker of something in his posture, in the way he holds his breath just a moment too long. Guilt? Hesitation? Whatever it is, he does not speak up, does not correct the captain, and does not acknowledge the weirdness.

Once all names are confirmed, the captain closes the book with a firm thud. "All in order. First-years, welcome to Misthaven. There’s no need to carry identification—our records are quite thorough."

He turns to Kiraen. "We just do this registration process in the first day of classes, Miss Nyrazzrin, but the Dragon Guard is always watching."

Finally, with a measured nod to Dorian, he eases his stance slightly and answers his original question.

"Misthaven is a sanctuary of knowledge, but it is not without its dangers," he says, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "The Dragon Guard stands as the first and final line of defense for this university. We do not merely watch—we act. Should any of you seek to test your mettle beyond the halls of academia, we offer training, discipline, and purpose."

One of the other guards, a younger woman with a long scar across her cheek, uses the opportunity to step forward.



"I am Lieutenant Veyna Kallisar, second-in-command of the Eastern Dragon Guard.", she says to the group of students, "We are the shield that protects this university, its students, and its knowledge. Some threats require a keen mind and quick spellwork. Others—" she taps the hilt of her sword lightly, "—require a steadier hand."

"Many students join as cadets, like I did. Some remain with us after graduation; others take what they’ve learned and apply it to their own pursuits—adventuring, military service, even diplomacy. Magic and combat are not separate arts here. We teach you how to wield both."

"If any of you think you have what it takes, I’ll be the one evaluating your first drills. Don’t let the books make you soft—magic and muscle work best together."

Dean Mirthwhistle chuckles softly. "Ah, yes. Thank you for that, Lieutenant. Nothing like a bit of steel and spellwork to keep things exciting. Though I must warn you," he adds, smirking at the students, "if you join the Guard, not even a Dean like me will be able to get you out of the early morning drills."

Well Dean Mirthwhistle what will be the next exiting thing you will show us? We are getting spoild for choice for interesting options. First the Socirity and now the guards. I'm already getting into the dualing club, and works at the library.
She fakes a lady-like swoone
How ever will we poor students find time to study?
Kiraen jumps and gives Marlena a wink

Dorian thanks the captain and the beautiful lieutenant, although his thoughts are on "Critic the corvid and his assistant". What a wonder is that? Or is it merely a ruse from the minstrel?

As the Dean addresses them and send to be waiting for a reply, he says, eyes meeting Veyna's, "Kiraen is partly right, but we could also say, if we're too busy studying will we have time to learn the truly important lessons available to us? Dragon Guard does have a nice ring to it. It isn't a lot of work is it? Relatively speaking?"

Marlena approaches Lieutenant Veyna. She can't help but scan the woman's face, her gaze lingering on the scars rather obviously, but she manages to look her in the eye. "Lieutenant? I don't believe I'm cut out for the Dragon Guard, but I do have a question. What's the story behind the Dragon Guard's formation? I've read a bit about it, but I figure you would know a lot more."

Zix mostly observed without interfering, moving along with everyone.

Hmm, those scars are suspiciously neat, especially the way they combine with the rest of the face. No way that isn't a deliberate fashion statement or tradition or something. A bit uneven for a traditional symbolic pattern though. Wonder what they mean.

Anyway, wonder what other campus factions are there around.

It continued observing, assessing people's demeanours and natures, watching for topics that seem to hide more meaningful subtext than let on, and the like.

Dorian usually follows his whims and those are leading straight to Zeyna. His voice is only slightly tinged with seductive swagger. "You make it sound so noble, and so rewarding. You've definitely given me a lot to think about."

Marlena eagerly listens to the lieutenant, committing her words to memory. Her curiosity is mostly sated, but she wonders about the founding dragons. She makes a mental note to look into them more, but for now, she respectfully dips her head. "What you do is commendable, lieutenant, but I still don't think it's a good fit for me," she says. Suddenly, she gasps excitedly. "However, I could help in other ways! One of the reasons I came here is to study magitech and further my understanding of it, so I could perhaps design something to make your job easier. I do appreciate a challenge. Oh! How about fully autonomous drones to cover any blind spots your patrols may have?"

Kiraen is not really paying Lieutenant Veyna Kallisar any attention. One of the human guards is carrying a dagger that looks of drow design. She only saw a glimpse of it, but she is pretty sure that its a signature dagger of Lolth Chosen. This human male is most certainly not one of the chosen, so its properly just a spoil of war - from a female only cult to the spider goddess.

Part of her want to reclaim the dagger, part of her is revolted by its very existence, and yet another couldn't care less.

After some contemplation, Zix just shrugged, concluding that the university does realise that the Critic is ultimately Zix's equal or better, at least out in the dreamscapes. This was probably logical given the way some exchanges went in the letters before. It was also less concerning than the fact that the university seemed to have measures that negated the benefits of a malleable visage.

The group followed as Dean Mirthwhistle swept ahead, gesturing dramatically at every location they passed.

Here are some highlights.

Verdant Hollow Gardens:
As they entered the campus park, the dean paused, spreading his arms wide. "The gardens! A place of reflection, meditation, and—if you're clever enough—illusion magic practice. Just don’t try any pranks with the glow-lilies; they’re quite sensitive and liable to explode into glitter."

Misthaven Stadium:
At the stadium, Dean Mirthwhistle leaned in conspiratorially. "This is where the Mage Tower matches are held. A little advice: if you attend a game, never sit directly behind a fire-evoker. Trust me, singed eyebrows are not a good look."

Dormitory's dining halls:
In the dining hall, he made a grand show of conjuring an illusory plate piled high with pastries. "And this is where the magic really happens—breakfast. Be warned, though: the treacle tarts occasionally try to bite back. Builds character, I think."

---

As the tour concludes, the floating lanterns guide the groups back to the Biblioplex. The hall is now dimly lit, exuding a cozy warmth. Tables have been arranged with snacks and refreshments—hot cider, enchanted pastries that sparkle faintly, and tea that changes color as it steeps.

Seeing the groups arriving, Professor Starforge, the university's head of student orientation, steps forward. A friendly dwarven woman with braided silver hair and a laugh that seems to resonate like a bell, she claps her hands together and says:

"All right, young mages, in one hour we’ll cover the process of course selection, as well as how to balance your studies with the vibrant life our campus offers."

Beside her, Dean Mirthwhistle took a final glance at his students, a knowing twinkle in his eye. With a flourish, he adjusted his clothes and spread his hands dramatically.

"Well, my dear students, that concludes our little adventure. Now, go, mingle, eat, drink, explore, and—above all— after you receive your schedules, keep an eye on them. Being late to your first class is a dreadful way to start, not that I’d know anything about that, of course."

With that, Dean Mirthwhistle gave the lantern a gentle pat—though how exactly was unclear—and strode off, leaving the five students to their own.

"Yes, ma'am!" Marlena can hardly contain her excitement. For the rest of the tour, she's mostly stuck in her own head, brainstorming about her design.

---

It's only the smell of the food and drinks in the Biblioplex that pull her out of this state. After all, a thinking mind needs fuel. "What is that?" She lifts a tankard of cider to her lips and takes a cautious sip. Liking what she tastes, she proceeds to down several hearty gulps before finally lowering the tankard.

She bids Mirthwhistle farewell as she bites into an enchanted pastry. She finds that the filling is where most of the magic is concentrated. The magic pops and fizzes slightly on her tongue, and when she swallows, she's hit with a burst of energy. She looks to the others. "You have to try these! They're amazing," she insists to the others. "Excuse me! Who made these wonderful, wonderful works of confectionary art?" She asks Professor Starforge.

Yes, it's a decent cider. Kiraen is not as impressed but drinks it nonetheless.
I'm more interested in our schedules. What are our mandatory classes and what is the possible electives? Have you given that any thoughts?

"I'm assuming things would start with purely theoretical knowledge, and from that go to practice once we're deemed ready. At least that's what I heard scholarly learning is like in places like these."

Dorian sits at the table with the others, and fills his plate with only the finest fare, passing over more unfamiliar common items. "Have we been grouped together do you think? Shall we form a pact in case another coalition attempts to feed us to the sewer rats? There's nothing more to generate politicking than putting people together with relatively equal standing. "

Kiraen sighs. I was naive to think I had escaped politics.
She offers Dorian her hand. Let us stick together and promise to protect each other from threats here at Misthaven University. Being guards, monster or fellow students.
She looks to the others to see if they want to join in this pact
And protect us from ourselves if our ambition or stubbornness is driving us over a cliff
This addendum could be crucial for Kiraen

Zix looks thoughtful, putting the food down for the time being. "I think treating pacts so lightly diminishes their meaning. I am not opposed to amiable cooperation between us, in fact I am for it, but I think we know each other for so little time, that making major promises is inappropriate. The fact that I got involved in a similarly hasty agreement with one of you is . . . something that is yet to be evaluated for wisdom, or at least for fruitfulness."

Despite the critical words, Zix doesn't look hostile, in fact it looks a bit sad and apologetic.

Dorian chuckles and slaps his hand into the clasp with Kiraen, and then holds it there for Greta and others to join. "A promise to watch each other's backs and support each other, at least until after we choose otherwise and say we're out."

"I see... Thank you, Professor Starforge. Taverns aren't my usual choice of haunt, but if I can find more of this, then I may just have to drop by." Marlena happily finishes off her pastry. "Gods, it's like there's pixie dust added in."

She initially hesitates to join in on the pact, her thoughts being more align with Zix's, but after Greta says her piece, Marlena is convinced to place her hand on top of Dorian's. "Okay, I'm in. You lot seem alright so far, so... Tour buddies!" Marlena chuckles sheepishly.

Zix giggles a bit at Dorian's extremely loose reinterpretation of a pact, then saw that even Marlena was swayed, and figured no harm would be done from such a minor commitment. "All right. A promise to watch each other's backs and support each other, at least until after we choose otherwise and say we're out," Zix added a hand on top. "Tour buddies."

As you accept the pact and finish the toast and the last bites of your enchanted pastries, Professor Starforge claps her hands together, signaling the next stage of orientation.

"Right, my eager scholars! To the lecture hall of the Biblioplex. Let’s get you all settled before the real fun begins."

The hall she leads you to is vast, with rows of tiered benches forming a semi-circle around a central podium. Senior students and faculty have already cleared out, leaving only first-years to fill the space. Most of them look fresh-faced and untested, regular students without any magic training or instincts of battle.

The room hums with excitement, students still abuzz from the day's events, when suddenly...

A scream rips through the hall.

"That chair!" a young elf girl shrieks, pointing toward the stacks as she sprints past. "That chair has teeth! Please, anyone, stop it!"

Chaos erupts. Students scatter in every direction, papers and books flying as panicked bodies collide in the rush to get away. Some trip over benches, others push toward the exits, creating a bottleneck at the doors.

Professor Starforge is already moving. She tries to corral the panicked students. "Stay calm! No pushing! Move in an orderly fashion..."

But she’s only one person, and the situation is spiraling fast.

From the corner of your eye, a shape scuttles between the benches—a monstrous chair, its wooden legs bending like insect limbs, its seat splitting into a jagged maw lined with too-white teeth. The creature gnashes hungrily before lunging forward, knocking over a student as it moves.

Kiraen has her figthing wand out in a eyeblink. Suddenly, she has the stiletto dagger out and stands in front of her pack—pact—tour buddies. That is a horrible name, but she just gave an oath to protect them.

She points her wand at the Nervous gnome and projects a handful of images looking like the gnome, giving the animated furniture multiple targets to choose from

This is not the first she has been in real combat. But it is the first time her companions haven't been trained drow warriors.

Some sort of chair mimic? Marlena can't help but wonder if this is someone's idea of a prank. However, there's no time to think about it now. She feels compelled to do something!

While Kiraen's casting her illusion, Marlena digs into her satchel of holding and pulls out a prototype she's been working on. It's a metallic sphere no bigger than an apple, inactive Excidium runes carefully carved into the surface. A thin line divides the sphere in half. A mechanical click rings out as she twists the halves, disengaging the mechanism keeping the sphere firmly shut. It takes a more pill-like shape as it opens, revealing an ice-blue crystal held within that starts violently reacting to the air, spilling subzero fog and trembling wildly. Simultaneously, the runes light up.

Marlena lets the prototype ice grenade cook in her hands for a couple seconds, then lobs it at the monstrous chair!

The Dragon Guard ensures the safety of all within these grounds, Zix recalls, finds the nearest warden, or at least anyone bearing the closest resemblance to the previously seen representatives of the Dragon Guard . . . unfortunately there is nobody who could plausibly match that description. Zix then turns to face Greta, and begins humming an enchanting tune with the intent of enhancing her physical capabilities - more speed to get to the distressed student sooner, strength to be able to overcome the threat easier, toughness to minimise the risk of serious injury. It was a modest enchantment, but it seemed like betting on the someone used to physical solutions to problems was better than trying to take the plunge into the fray, at least on the first day and under the circumstances.

Dorian similarly acts on instinct. Not instinct per se, but more like carefully reasoned actions prepared spontaneously and without forethought.

He presses the air together between the girl and the monster chair to give her some protection from it's particular brand of dis-comfort.

As the monstrous chair rears back for another lunge, with a flick of her wrist, Kiraen conjures a flurry of illusory duplicates of the gnome, each one mimicking his panicked flailing.

The chair’s jagged maw pauses mid-snap, its wooden legs skittering as it hesitates, confused by the sudden swarm of identical targets. Its hungry, twisting form flickers between them, unsure which is real. It buys them precious seconds.



But instead of running, the nervous gnome, still frozen in place, glances around in shock as half a dozen versions of himself do the same.Marlena, fueled by adrenaline and the need to act, yanks the experimental grenade from her satchel. The Excidium runes glow as the ice-blue core meets the air, fog spilling from its seams in an eerie cascade. With a sharp twist, she activates the device and hurls it toward the mimic.

She miscalculates.The grenade bounces off the back of a chair, spinning wildly before slamming into the floor just short of its intended target. The freezing reaction activates immediately, a burst of ice spreading across the wooden tiles between them and the monster. Marlena barely has time to curse before Dorian attempts to press the air into a protective barrier between the gnome and the monster.

The force takes—but not as intended.

In the chaos, the shimmering barrier forms around the wrong target. The mimic lets out a guttural, wooden creak as it finds itself wrapped in an invisible cocoon of safety, shielded from any attacks. It hesitates, seemingly surprised by its newfound protection—then its jagged maw spreads into what could only be described as a wicked grin.

The creature slams its wooden legs against the barrier, testing it, and when it holds, it begins to circle inside, watching its would-be attackers with something disturbingly close to amusement.

---

Complications and injuries
Chair mimic: None
Nervous gnome: None
Room: Slippery floors (D6)

Assets and bonuses
Chair mimic: Force field (D6)
Nervous gnome: Mirror images (D6)
Greta: Enhanced strength (D6)

Zix decides that the lack of cohesion lasted for too long. Someone has to try to organise the defenders, and there was a seemingly likely candidate, but he decided to take a different approach, and it would be unwise to make a bet he'd pick up the reins now. Someone had to step up, and it might as well be Zix.

At least it's worth a try.

The doppelgänger expands it ribcage and lungs slightly to shout louder. "Greta, defence in depth - stay at the front, but with retreats as necessary! Gnome, fall back to the exit, Critic, show the way! Lena, you can add water when the chair is on the iced floor or something," Zix took a breath. "Kira, your wand is a weapon, it's time for it to shine along with you."

Maybe I overstepped my bounds. Maybe Dorian would be better at this after all . . .

She hears Zix's guidance—It was impossible not to—but she had other plans. "No, I've got an idea!" As her ice grenade didn't work out so well, Marlena's eager to prove the effectiveness of her inventions. Kneeling, she slips her satchel off her shoulder and upends it, dumping a bunch of half-finished magitech works in front of her. She starts to take bits and pieces from each creation, hastily reconstructing them into what looks to be some sort of hand cannon. Her enchanted tools allow her to work at an almost inhuman pace. She's in the midst of carving Excidium runes along the barrel that would allow its magic shots to rot organic matter, like wood.

Zix is yelling something, but not doing anything. Kiraen rush Gretas aid, but around the frozen patch (if possible). She tries to cut one of the leg joints.

Zix’s voice boomed over the chaos, issuing commands in an attempt to turn their disjointed efforts into a coordinated strategy.
Greta’s thick brows furrowed. Retreat? Defense in depth? She was no stranger to strategy—football had its own formations and tactics, after all—but she didn’t appreciate being micromanaged in the middle of a fight. Worse, the way Zix barked orders irked her. She wasn’t about to let some shapeshifter tell her how to handle herself.

"Nah," she grunted, lowering her stance. "I’ll just hit it harder."

With a powerful push, she charged at the mimic, shoulder braced to tackle it. But she hadn’t accounted for Dorian’s force barrier. The moment she made impact, the force field repelled her with a loud thud! She staggered backward, shaking her head as if she had just rammed into a stone wall. "The hell?" she muttered, dazed.Meanwhile, the gnome, wide-eyed and jittery, barely processed Zix’s shouted instructions. Critic flapped its wings, trying to herd the panicked student toward the exit, but the gnome’s feet wouldn’t cooperate. Instead of running, he scrambled in place like someone trying to move through deep mud, tripping and landing flat on his back. He let out a helpless squeak, arms flailing.

Marlena heard Zix's guidance—impossible not to, really—but she was already working on something else. She was able to build a magic hand cannon. Her hands worked with near-inhuman precision, carving Excidium runes into the barrel. A weapon designed to rot organic matter, perfect for attacking a creature made of living wood. She grinned to herself, eager to prove her inventions could succeed where the grenade had failed.Meanwhile, ignoring the frozen patch and Zix’s yelling, Kiraen dashed around the slick floor and went straight for the mimic. She quickly closed the distance. With a swift, calculated slash, she sliced clean through one of the mimic’s legs.

A guttural screech echoed through the hall as the creature stumbled, its balance thrown off. One limb severed, it swayed violently, trying to stay upright.Zix’s plan had crumbled before it could take shape, but Kiraen’s instinctive strike had drawn first blood.

Now the fight was truly on - the half-drow thought.

---

Complications and injuries
Chair mimic: Severed leg (Major injury, D8)
Nervous gnome: None
Room: Slippery floors (D6)

Assets and bonuses
Chair mimic: Force field (D6)
Nervous gnome: Mirror images (D6)
Greta: Enhanced strength (D6) None

Dorian sees Greta falter and he decides to help her. First, he stumbles backwards, waving his arms. "Hey, buddy, are you ready to RECLINE and ROCK like a CHAIRman of the board?"

Dorian’s words rang out, laced with magic, and Greta felt an immediate surge of power coursing through her muscles. Her limbs tingled, her stance steadied, and suddenly, she felt stronger. A lot stronger.The force field had stopped her once, but now? That was just a warm-up.

Greta clenched her fists, rolling her shoulders as she adjusted to the newfound strength. Her boots dug into the floor, and a grin—wild and full of challenge—split her face.

"Oh, hell yeah."

---

Complications and injuries
Chair mimic: Severed leg (Major injury, D8)
Nervous gnome: None
Room: Slippery floors (D6)

Assets and bonuses
Chair mimic: Force field (D6)
Nervous gnome: Mirror images (D6)
Greta: Enhanced strength (D8)

"I've done it!" Marlena opens up a hatch on the top of the hand cannon and slots a small, round chunk of obsidian into it. As the cannon accepts the obsidian, the runes along the barrel gradually light up with an eerie dark purple, almost black, glow. She quickly rises to her feet and takes aim, trying to draw a bead on the mimic.

Steady... Steady... Now.

She pulls the trigger. A blindingly quick bolt of decaying magic blasts from the hand cannon.

Kiraen is in very close combat with the thing so she slices at another leg

Kiraen gritted her teeth as the mimic's jagged teeth clamped down on her shoulder. Pain flared through her, but she refused to let it slow her down. With a sharp breath, she twisted her wrist and slashed at another of its legs, aiming to cripple the thing and force it to release her.

But the mimic moved in ways no proper chair should. Its wooden limbs scuttled unnaturally, bending at sharp, unnatural angles. Kiraen’s blade cut through nothing but empty air. Off-balance from the failed strike and the weight of the mimic still latched onto her, she stumbled, her boots skidding against the floor as she fought to keep her footing.Marlena snapped the hatch shut on her hastily assembled hand cannon, the eerie black glow of its runes intensifying as it charged. She barely had time to aim—Kiraen was in too close, but the mimic was wide open.

Steady... Steady...

She pulled the trigger.

A bolt of raw decaying magic howled from the barrel, searing through the air. It struck the mimic’s warped wooden body dead center, burning into its structure. The creature let out an ear-piercing, unnatural shriek as the corrupting energy ripped through it.

The force of the impact sent the mimic skidding backward while cracks splintered across the force field protecting it and then ... Snap! The shimmering energy surrounding it was gone.

---

Complications and injuries
Chair mimic: Severed leg (Major injury, D8), Burned (Minor Injury)
Nervous gnome: None
Room: Slippery floors (D6)
Kiraen: Bitten (Minor Injury), Unbalanced (D4, temporary, roll only once)

Assets and bonuses
Chair mimic: Force field (D6) None
Nervous gnome: Mirror images (D6)
Greta: Enhanced strength (D8)

Zix decides to not spread out the effort as much this time, and try again. Everyone except the gnome seems to be doing fine without further advice.

No, trying again is not an option with the gnome already on the ground.

And so Zix would try to manoeuvre through the room, avoid bumping into anyone or anything, and help the gnome get up and retreat.

Dorian tries illusion magic this time, setting the battlechair up against a great cat with huge, upholstery shredding claws that need oh so much sharpening.

Kiraen stabs again, but then retreats from the creature. She is not happy with the bite that she got

Dorian took a step back, adjusting his cuffs as if preparing for some grand performance. He swept a hand through the air, murmuring the arcane syllables of his spell. Shadows coiled at his fingertips before unraveling into the shape of a massive feline—a sleek, predatory beast with fur like shifting velvet and wickedly sharp claws that glinted in the library’s dim light. It stretched luxuriously, its tail flicking, its golden eyes locked onto the mimic with the kind of patient hunger only cats possessed.

The mimic looked at it and did not, in fact, react with terror.

It did not recoil.

It did not freeze in place.

It did not even hesitate.

Instead, it lunged—straight at the illusory cat—before promptly slamming right through it like a particularly aggressive ottoman.

Dorian’s confident smirk faltered. The illusion flickered and the cat, which had been poised to pounce, suddenly distorted, its elegant form warping like an ink stain soaked in water. Its once-imposing claws wavered, turning into oddly shaped blobs, and its golden eyes went comically cross-eyed before the entire illusion imploded into a mess of swirling, nonsensical colors.For a moment, the battle seemed to pause. Even the mimic hesitated—not because of fear, but because whatever Dorian had just conjured looked so absurd that even the chaotic monstrosity seemed confused.

A long, awkward beat passed.

"You and I have very different definitions of fun, dwarf." Marlena's heart is beating like a rabbit's. That whole ordeal was a lot to take in, but despite that, she felt proud. Her prototype ice grenade had at least functioned, even if her throw was off, and she'd built a hand cannon on the fly. She looked down at the gun in her hands. Dark purple vapors still drifted from the end of the now misshapen barrel. It surely needs more work, but for now, she's just happy it helped bring the mimic down.

She heads closer to Greta and Kiraen, weapon gripped tightly in case the mimic's just playing dead. However, she realizes it's definitely gone, so she relaxes her grip. Her eyes are drawn to Kiraen's injured shoulder. "That looks awful. Do you want me to patch you up? Find you a healer?" She offers quickly.

Is anyone else hurt? Kiraen climbs into a chair, an ordinary wooden chair and assesses her own injuries.
This was not fun, but I'll manage.
The shoulder needs some attention, yes, see what you can do Marlena. But first: Could you get me some of that ice from the floor? She points at a block of ice from a water pitcher that was shattered in the frost explosion. With some discomfort, she raises the knee on another chair and uses the ice to handle the swelling.

"Everyone's fine, thankfully. Strange how a mimic popped up out of nowhere. I suspect foul play."

She fetches the ice for Kiraen, then starts to dress the bite wounds with emergency supplies from her satchel. As she works, she calls over to Zix. "Zix? How's the gnome?"

Zix looks around just in case, and then turns and silently points towards the exit the gnome ran to, and finally turns again to face Marlena.

Dorian cringes at the lack of his magical ability. At least Greta seemed to benefit from it, but it was his strongest talent, apparently. "That cat was beautiful, for a moment." His cheeks burn red with embarrassment, but he follows the pointing finger of Zix with his eyes.

"A hearty battle, my friends, well done. I wager it was a test by some mishief-making, um, upholsterer."

Only now did Zix realise that both of them made fools of themselves a bit. And yet both did make themselves useful. Zix turned to the companion.

"Oh. Dorian. Yeah, sure was. Also, thanks for replacing my enchantment with yours when mine faltered. I . . . I think I may have overextended myself when I saw that the initial chaos didn't subside and decided to do something about it. Thankfully seconds later everyone managed to do the right thing anyway. It was unwise of me to step into the spotlight at a moment like that."

Dorian looks at the others appraisingly. "I'm sure I have no shortage of enemies if this was a targeted attack. Although, it did not seem to be interested in me at all."

He thinks of his nemeses who employed the dark arts in his presence, but this doesn't seem their style.

"Yes, Professor Starforge. I believe you were going to delve into the process of course selection."

Marlena can't help but scrutinize her seat thoroughly. Deeming it suitably inanimate, she sits down and puts away the weapon she made, pulling out a leather-bound journal in its place. She's ready to take notes, but she notices the gnome has not returned. Perhaps he doesn't know it's safe now?

She figures he is probably nearby, so she gets up and leaves the lecture hall to look for the gnome. She doesn't intend to spend too long searching, but she feels it'd be a shame if he missed important information.

As Marlena rises from her seat and leaves to look for the gnome, her eyes flicker to the remains of the mimic. A slick, black residue clings to the surface—oily and unnatural. Her brow furrows. Mimics don’t usually leave traces like this. She pushes the thought aside for now. There’s still someone who needs help.

Slipping out of the lecture hall, Marlena moves through the quiet corridors of the Biblioplex. The usual hum of studying students and rustling pages feels muted in contrast to the chaos from earlier. She scans the shelves, her instincts guiding her toward a secluded corner.

There, wedged between towering bookshelves, she spots a small figure. The gnome is huddled against the wood, his red pointy hat slightly askew, his denim jacket pulled tight around him as if it could shield him from the memory of the attack. His wide eyes dart up as he notices her approach.

Marlena carefully walks up to the gnome. It is not her strong suit, but she tries to appear comforting. "Uh, hey there. The mimic's dead if you want to come back to the lecture hall. Professor Starforge is just about to start going over about course selection. If we hurry back, I doubt we'll miss anything too important." She smiles, holding out her hand out for him to take if he wishes. "Oh, sorry, where are my manners? I'm Marlena," she adds quickly.

Dorian sits without checking to see his seat is real. It's an appearance thing and worth the risk of a bit o' bite to the bottom.

Just as he sits and crosses his arms, determined not to take any notes as per his bag boy image in development, Marlena spots a hidden gnome. Marlena speaks to him gently, which prompts:

"Watch that one. Just because he's small doesn't mean guess not the villain in this grotesquerie."

The gnome hesitates. His fingers still twist at the frayed edges of his sleeve, his eyes darting around as if expecting another attack. Finally, he exhales a shaky breath and mutters,

"Name’s Rylek. Rylek Timbers." He glances at Marlena, then quickly looks away, his voice still hushed. "I, uh… I didn’t mean to cause trouble." He adjusts his pointy hat, still fidgeting as he speaks. "I just—y'know, sat down like normal, and next thing I know, it's trying to eat me." He swallows. "I swear, I didn’t do anything to it."

---

Meanwhile, Kiraen poked the chair. Other than the weird, dark, oily residue, there's nothing there. Just a normal chair, albeit now worn from the fight.

Soon, Professor Starforge began. Behind her, a magical display appeared, projecting glowing symbols of the eight magical schools, accompanied by lists of mandatory first-year courses.

First semester - Mandatory classes

"As first-year students, you’ll all begin with a well-rounded curriculum to introduce you to the fundamentals of magic. By your second year, you’ll select a specialization within one of the colleges. Think of this year as a chance to explore—to discover what truly resonates with you."

The students murmured amongst themselves, excitement mingled with a touch of nervousness. The professor continued, pacing slowly across the stage.

"Now, when choosing your electives, remember: balance is key. Take a course that challenges you, and pair it with one that nurtures your natural strengths. For instance, if you’re drawn to Illusio, you might also benefit from a grounding course in Excidium."

She gestured toward a list of upcoming advising sessions displayed on the magical screen. They would choose their electives there.

Zix walked to the free chair and examined it before setting. It sat down and began making notes, in direct opposition to Dorian's flair. Zix occasionally glanced at the noble with a touch of light-hearted envy. It's not like it didn't want to take on a scandalous and attention-grabbing persona too. But given how bad 'Zix the Leader' went minutes ago, and how 'Princess Lyandra' fell flat by the end of the gambit, it decided to metaphorically stay a grey mouse for a while. Such a persona was not without merits, and would allow better contrasts against other, more flamboyant personas.

Zix writes down a preliminary schedule, but leaves a couple of lines as a reserve, still unsure how things will go.

"What? None of this is your fault, Rylek. Some idiot had already transmuted your chair into a mimic. I doubt they were targeting you specifically though; they just wanted to stir up some trouble. Don't worry, the arsehole behind it will be caught before long. Now, why don't we return to the lecture hall? I've got your back if any more mimics show up. Okay?" Marlena smiles.

When Marlena entered the lecture hall with Rylek following her, Professor Starforge was gesturing toward a list of upcoming advising sessions displayed on the magical screen. She continues:

"After this session, you’ll meet with your assigned academic advisors to craft your schedules. Don’t hesitate to ask them questions—they are here to guide you. And remember, even if you’re uncertain now, that’s perfectly fine. Magic, much like life, is a journey of discovery. But before you leave, I wanna call my esteemed colleague, Professor Cyril Everyquil, Dean of Amplico, for a short lecture on University Policies and Codes of Conduct."

---

Professor Cyril Everyquil, the esteemed Dean of Amplico at Misthaven University, is a middle-aged elven scholar with an air of quiet authority, his silver-threaded dark robes impeccably tailored. His piercing, blue eyes seem to read students' intentions before they even speak. Though his demeanor is stern, there is wisdom in his measured tone, and on rare occasions, a glimpse of dry wit.



"Misthaven University is a place of wonder, but also one of rules. For magic, as you will learn, thrives within the bounds of discipline and respect."

He waved a hand, and glowing runes appeared in the air, listing key university policies.

"You are all here because you have potential. However, that potential must be tempered with responsibility. Let me make it very clear: misuse of magic, whether for harm or mischief, will not be tolerated. Our Code of Magical Ethics exists to protect not only you but everyone in this community."

His voice softened slightly as she continued.

"This university is also a place of great diversity. You will encounter individuals from countless realms and walks of life. Treat your peers, your professors, and the staff with respect. Misthaven thrives on collaboration and understanding, and it is your duty to uphold those principles."

The floating runes shifted, now displaying examples of prohibited behaviors, including unsanctioned spellcasting, the creation of dangerous magical items, and violations of dormitory rules.

"To that end, familiarize yourselves with the student handbook, which you will find in your dormitory rooms. Ignorance is no excuse for infractions."

As the session drew to a close, he offered a rare smile, small but genuine.

"While rules may seem restrictive, they are the framework that allows us to build something extraordinary together. Embrace them, and you will find your time here to be as fulfilling as it is magical. Welcome to Misthaven, and may your journey be one of growth and discovery."

As the students poured out of the hall, they were handed enchanted parchment scrolls with the available schedule. Groups began forming naturally, some students debating which courses to take, while others discussed the strictness of Professor Everyquil.

In the courtyard, Zix, Dorian, Marlena, Greta and Kiraen lingered by one of the glowing fountains.

---

First-year classes
Below are listed the mandatory and elective classes during your first-year at Misthaven. Mandatory classes are listed with their benefits, while elective classes are used for roleplaying and to justify increasing one or more related skills by spending XP.

First semester - Mandatory classes


Electives (choose or roll)

---

You now have 10 time slots, each lasting just under two hours, to structure your daily schedule. These slots represent your active hours for learning, working, and engaging in extracurricular activities. To ensure your well-being and magical proficiency, students are advised to dedicate at least 2 slots to rest and sleep. Additionally, it is highly recommended to set aside at least 1 slot per day for self-study, allowing you to prepare for exams and deepen your understanding of magical concepts.

Sample schedule:

Marlena’s search for an extracurricular leads her to The Arcane Crucible, a slightly chaotic workshop guild near the Biblioplex. This group is a haven for tinkerers, artificers, and arcane engineers who seek to push the boundaries between magic and technology. Housed in a small building near the library, the Crucible is a sprawling laboratory filled with half-finished constructs, suspended spell cores, and shelves stacked with glowing blueprints. The air crackles with latent energy, and the occasional small explosion or burst of rogue magic is considered a normal part of the creative process.

Joining Requirements:
Students must present a functional (or semi-functional) prototype of their own design. It doesn’t have to work perfectly, but it must show ingenuity and an understanding of magitech principles. Marlena's recent hand cannon might make for an excellent entry piece—if she can stabilize its barrel before presenting it. ;)

Is Marlena interested?

Marlena is very interested. This is exactly what she's been searching for! Becoming a member shoots to the top of her priority list. Privately, she works on making her Excidium hand cannon presentable. The glow of her tools intensify as she uses them to make repairs and adjustments. She's reducing the firepower in exchange for more stability.

Dorian Hatteras getting a job but with his father's displeasure he no longer has unlimited funds with which to apport his life. It's a strange thing, but he takes it as an opportunity. With his vast network of contacts in the upper strata of society, he takes on a role assisting Misthaven in seeking sponsors and donations, and obtaining political allies.

Similarly, he seeks out the true powers at Misthaven: not those who make the rules or control the timetables or grant funding. No, he looks for those who play their fingers in the pulse of society itself and measure trends, influencing them.

As to classes, he really wants to study illusio and is left with one choice: journalism. It's not what he would have expected, but then again in the back of his mind he sees the twinkling of an idea.

After becoming acquainted with the options, Zix adjusts two entries in the preliminary schedule, picking diplomacy, persuasion, and magical journalism.



In the courtyard, it would observe those present, watching and listening to their chatter, in search of people in the kinds of situations that might provide work opportunities.

Zix's ideal of freelance work is being a discrete substitute. Taking place of a client for the time of a public performance because while she's a great violinist, she's crowd-shy. Acting as a client's much-talked-about but fictional significant other. Meeting a delinquent client's a parents as the client's prim-and-proper friend. Being seen at a specific place and time to provide an alibi for the unfaithful client.

Of course, one needs to be careful, to avoid crossing the line of law when engaging in such activities. And identification system of the academy means that substitution is not possible in certain circumstances. And finding clients can be a tricky matter, and requires observational skills, singling out people who seem to have such needs. Or, perhaps once the overall web of intrigue of an institution is clear, spreading the word to the right ears. Finally, the Critic could provide assistance as, while not unseen, at least not as noticeable eyes and ears.

Dorian had never concerned himself with the inner workings of Misthaven University. That changed when he found himself navigating the bureaucratic labyrinth in pursuit of a job, a task he had reluctantly undertaken in the face of financial necessity. His father’s purse strings had tightened, and while he despised the idea of working, he recognized an opportunity when he saw one.

The university, he quickly learned, was not a monolithic institution but a web of colleges, each with its own domain. Chronicle Hall, or the College of Lore, housed most of the university's records and administration. Yet, it was the Arcane Eloquence Institute, the College of Enchanted Expression, that held the treasury. This revelation was as intriguing as it was unexpected; there, magic and rhetoric intertwined, shaping the flow of wealth and influence within the University as much as any noble’s decree.

The Arcane Eloquence Institute was a study in contrasts, a reflection of the two deans who shared its administration: Professor Cyril Everyquil, Dean of Amplico, and Professor Calien Mirthwhistle, Dean of Illusio. Between the two of them, the treasury of Misthaven was both protected and manipulated, a dance of numbers and influence that fascinated Dorian more than he cared to admit. It wasn’t just about funds; it was about shaping the university’s future through strategic persuasion and calculated moves. The weight of it settled in his mind as he stood in the grand office where these matters were debated and decided.

He soon learned that, although small in the grand scheme of things, the position of treasury assistant was more than just bookkeeping—it was an intricate balancing act between the ambitions of the deans and the financial health of the university. Dorian would be expected to liaise between the two, ensuring that the funds flowed to the right departments, persuading benefactors to part with their wealth, and, most importantly, navigating the sometimes clashing ideologies of Everyquil and Mirthwhistle.

Everyquil would demand efficiency, precision, and unwavering discipline. He would expect Dorian to maintain strict records, analyze expenditures with a critical eye, and uphold the integrity of the treasury. A single misstep under his watchful gaze could mean the loss of credibility and trust.

Mirthwhistle, on the other hand, would likely treat Dorian as a player in one of his elaborate games, offering him insights wrapped in riddles and teaching him the subtleties of persuasion. Influence, after all, was just as valuable as gold, and Mirthwhistle understood that better than anyone. Learning from him would mean mastering the unspoken rules of power, understanding when to push and when to retreat.

The offer was no longer just a matter of employment. It was an invitation into the depths of university politics, a chance to gain firsthand experience in the art of influence and control. It was, in every way, a test.

The question remained: would he take it?

For Zix, finding clients was always a game of subtlety. A professor’s mistress who wanted to be seen with a "respectable" partner in public. A young noble who had bragged about a betrothed that didn’t exist. A student who needed to appear at two places at once. These were the sorts of problems Zix could solve, for a price. But finding those in need of his services required an inside man, someone who knew which doors to knock on.

It wasn’t until now, as he considered his own need for connections, that he realized that Dorian, having just received a job offer at the administration and joined The Society of Subtle Truths, might be the perfect solution to that particular problem. He was a man who knocked on many doors.

Perhaps they should discuss terms?

On later, while Zix contemplated seeking out a pact-mate for the sake of easing the job networking, it realised that there was another problem the pact could help with. And so it rushed to the workshop, and knocked on the door before opening it.

"Uh, Marlena, hi. May I come in? I know I made a bad impression back at the gnome and the chair incident, but maybe I could display more humility this time. If I may, could I ask for a favour, and perhaps an opportunity? You see, in our travels, Dorian and I encountered a rather interesting piece of artisanry and enchantment, a puzzle box meant to store something secret. Back then we joined our fortunes to buy it from a remote companion on the road, with the intent of seeking out a solution to this puzzle once we got to Misthaven. Perhaps you would have both the interest and the inclination to examine it, and unravel the mystery?"

The workshop is buzzing with activity as Marlena steps inside, The Decayer resting in her hands. Fennick Blazewright, a senior student at the Chronicle Hall, peers over the rim of his soot-covered goggles, a spark of curiosity in his eyes.

"You’ve got something to show us, I take it?" he asks, gesturing to the testing range.

Marlena nods, stepping forward. The Crucible members gather around, some skeptical, others intrigued.

She takes a steadying breath and levels The Decayer at the reinforced target across the room. With a pull of the trigger, the modified runes ignite, sending a precise, decay-infused shot through the air. The target withers instantly, the decay spreading in controlled fractals rather than an unpredictable explosion.

Drek Ironvein, second year student at the Elemental Academy, grins. "I can think of a few combat applications for that. You ever consider making something armor-piercing?"

Before Marlena can answer, Blazewright claps his hands together. "A remarkable prototype! Stable, practical, and inventive. Congratulations, Marlena—you’ve earned your place in The Arcane Crucible."

The room erupts into cheers and claps. Marlena beams, gripping The Decayer proudly. She’s in.

The next day, Zix shows Marlena the Pandora's Box.

She soon discovers that this is not just a simple trick or an ordinary incantation. It resists everything she throws at it, as if it were specifically protected from tampering. Marlena will need more information. If she can study similar artifacts or trace their origin, she may be able to uncover the method behind them. The Biblioplex should have something. If not, well… you might need an expert.

You'll probably be able to do more after a few classes.

While a man who prides himself on his playboy, don't really care attitude, in truth he had an innate knack for numbers. Given his father's legendary mercantile empire, he'd have to have been born without any senses at all to not pick up more than most usurers learn in a lifetime. It would be worth Evryquil's excessive diligence to gain access to Mirthwhistle's political accumen.

He gladly accepts.

---

As to Pandora's Box, Dorian accepts Zix's lead in the matter, and doesn't bother trying to be a part of that. To Zix he says, "Take the lead on that my friend. Let me know if she's able to assist in any way."
He definitely pursues an application to The Society of Subtle Truths - this is exactly the sort of thing he wants to be a part of. To him, that sort of thing is most fashionable.

Marlena's Schedule

Zix returned to Dorian, a bit disappointed, but still hopeful.

"I've talked to Marlena, and she seems to have some ideas about how to approach the box, but unfortunately this will take a lot of time. No instant answers for us. But at least the first step seems to inspire optimism. Meanwhile, I have another endeavour that I'd like to discuss.

You have seen me improvise substitution for another, perhaps fictional, acquaintance of yours. Though by the end you seemed not entirely happy with what you saw, there are many people who would deem such a level of performance sufficient for their needs. Needs that may be rather varied, and may be questionable yet not outright illegal: having a rival-like figure spotted doing something unsavoury (even though the identity is never confirmed for sure), experiencing one last (or not so last) visit from a long-dead lover, and of course having a lookalike go to a boring, uneventful social commitment to free up time for something more exciting.

You seem to already know many people who might enjoy such services. Would you perhaps also enjoy pointing them in the right direction, for a symbolic finder's fee?"

Dorian listens to the long speech from Zix, uncertain where it's going until nearly the end. "You see to the heart of it. Your skills, if they are truly available for hire, will aid me in finding my way into the dark underbelly of Misthaven. It seems for all my misadventures, I've not yet learned to stay in the light. But, as you say, not everything is as it seems."

He steps forward and says softly, "These people will not care for they lives and futures of a few students in pursuit of their wicked goals."

Zix's face looks slightly confused. "Now I'm not sure whether I am conveying myself clearly each time we talk . . . But yes, my skills are out for hire. That being said, you are making this sound darker than it usually is. Most clients are people such as lazy nobles who would rather skip on a boring social obligation, or wealthy merchants wanting me to take on the shoes of the One That Got Away for one evening. Wicked schemers in pursuit of future-threatening goals are relatively rare among them, and usually are mired in rivalries with their own alikes.

But the question is, would you be able and willing to use your already quickly growing web of contacts here act as intermediary, helping to get the clients in touch with the service-provider?"

"I agree, fair Zix. I only mean that being an intermediary to find clients for your skills will assist my own quest for more contacts."

"Ah, thank you. In that case, next time I'm in posssession of a bottle of wine, I'll drink to our fruitful cooperation."