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[Elias Caldera]

18th Day of Spring, 515 AV

With each passing visit to the Institute for Higher Learning, Elias Caldera had quickly come to understand not just what it meant to be a practitioner of magic, but also a true wizard in both name and act. The dedication to the art of magecrafting in particular was, more than anything else, the reason he had ever truly aspired to be the sorcerer he was today, and so one could only imagine the giddiness he felt when ever given the opportunity to further both his knowledge and his skill in the craft. He may have explored a few other magical arts here and there, perhaps even grown comfortable with a few others, but it was his passion for making the mundane magnificent that truly propelled his deep desire to learn and master the arcane ever forward.

Magecrafting however, had brought about a rather interesting, if not morbid realization; death was inevitable. Though he craved them both like any sane man would, 'knowledge' and 'power' were just two pointless words if a man was never going be remembered for having had them in the first place. Elias understood, perhaps better than most these days, the limits of his own mortality, and so it was to no one's surprise that such a prospect worried him greatly. Yet, even before he had been pushed to such brinks and dark comprehensions, his ultimate ambition had always simply been to be remembered. Magecrafters and their works had defined history in centuries past before the Valterian, shaping empires and cities with glorious and powerful items whose might and majesty evoked the names of the great men and women who had created them eons past. Even today, enchanted artifacts of exorbitant fame -or infamy, elicited prestige and awe for their makes. One day, Elias dreamed that when he was dust and ash, that such a fate would be his as well.

It was a bitter sweet dream to say the least, but it was the one he clung to dearly none the less.

Striding into the classroom, the young man cast his gaze about the room into in search of Thadeus Lazarin, his magecrafting instructor and cherished slave driver these past few seasons. Their time together were fond, if terrifying memories to call back to, but the Elias had no the time to delve into it now. Caldera found that the room was laden with tools. A plethora of ornate and differently sized hammers arranged meticulously in order of height caught his attention first as it always did. Curiously, his gaze drifted off the familiar sight to all the other wide variety of tools and workstations within the lab.

Lazarin... Wasn't here?

Am I early? Oh Gods... am I late!? Such an oversight would have surely been the end of him, and in his spooked haste, Elias scanned the room for some sign that he wasn't actually tardy. Djed, bubbling within, sprung to life as he anxiously called it into the action. The magic flowed into his eyes and smashed into his senses unceremoniously, the entire room subsequently doused in the whirring colors of their auras as the mage activated his auristic sight beyond sight.

He had no idea what to expect, or how to react. Lazarin was a harsh master and a man that asked of much from his pupils. Despite hating him, Elias constantly strove to impress the wicked taskmaster, if only because in disappointing the paladin, he disappointed himself as well. Strange how the cantankerous old man had become so frustratingly integral to Elias's own self respect when it came to his favorite world magic.

Thankfully, it didn't seem like he would be starting this day by infuriating his professor. His senses told him of nothing out of the ordinary concerning the levels of djed in the room, which meant if there had been an experiment or smiting session going on, it hadn't happened recently. The air was quite still and void of any abundance of magic use, and the smell of glyphing paint was still contained to just the cabinets where the vials were contained in storage.

Elias sighed, relief flooding over him like a wave...

It was quickly replaced with an irrational level irritation.

"That old bastard, where in Hai is he?"

[Clyde Sullins]

18 Spring 515 Clyde usually tried to keep busy. His duties as a member of the Ebonstryfe, while in Ravok, tended to be straightforward. But then, his duties tended to take him out of the city also where his job was much less constrained. And more interesting... So it was a somewhat nice break in the monotony when he received a messenger from Lazarin, his old Magecrafting instructor, requesting him to substitute as a instructor for one of his classes. Apparently he was needed for another task, what he did not say, and so could not instruct his lesson. That was where Clyde came in. Unfortunately the specifics of the planned lesson where not given, except that it was to be held in the lab. Clyde assumed that meant it was to be a practical lesson. He had no knowledge of the student or students, and so would have to figure things out on the fly. But then perhaps a bit of uncertainty was good, to set those involved out of their rote action and patterns. Clyde walked into the classroom greeted by two things. A student complaining of his teacher not being present, and of a pressing upon his aura. Not his specifically, as he'd only come in, but a pressing on other things. One couldn't focus their aura sight on everything at once, but on one or two things specifically, more as one grew more skilled. Clyde could feel it though, the brushing upon the air, the buzz of djed. More by instinct and muscle memory than by conscious thought he willed his auristics to rise, concentrating on his own aura and expanding it, latching out and onto the single source of the djed, the student in the room. He gracefully slipped his own awareness over the persons aura, out of himself and Cha and over the boy. He imagined it as a wave of air brushing over a stone, feeling it, sensing its outlines, getting an assessment. Clyde could tell he was the source of the buzz, of the magic, clearly using some form of magic. Not as subtle as his own finessed touch and examination, but of the same type. He sensed nothing immediately but his image and the djed common of a living person. He himself in turn likely would shine with power, carrying two objects of Magecrafting on his person. Cha in his hand, his Magic Staff, along with the robes upon his body. Both works of Magecrafting, though only one made personally by Clyde. The initial assessment took but a few moments, the time it took to walk into the room and see the person with his physical eyes, little more. But then, it was but a very cursory examination of a single aura, something quite simple with his skill. “I'd not let him hear that. Talking behind your betters backs, not a good idea, least of all when that person is a Chaon.” Clyde smiled at the boy/man, and shook his head. He'd never had made such a mistake. If he'd been Lazarin, and not himself, the student would have been in quite a bit of trouble for such mouthing off. Clearly the boy was an Aurist, along with being a Magecrafter. Though he had no idea of his skill in the latter. However considering this was their first meeting, and the clear rudeness of his assessment of his normal instructor, Clyde didn't feel like having the mage magically grope him. For that need, something he'd been playing with within Auristics came into mind. He'd recently learned he could suppress his aura. And before that, he'd learned while being initiated into morphing that he could alter his aura. If he combined the two in a manner of speaking, limited what could be seen to what he shaped and created, he could present an interesting visage while not giving the boy an opportunity to read him any further. Cha in hand, Clyde focused on his own aura, pressing upon it with his will. Pulling it in. He focused on the image of a wave sweeping back and forth in the tide, and did the same to his own aura, pulling it in close to him and pressed flat so as to not present anything to latch onto and read. In, and out, sweeping as water, fueled by djed, he compressed his aura inward till all but nothing radiated outward. Then he let a small trickle flow free, releasing a small bit of what was suppressed to flow out. However he didn't stop there. The bit he let flow free was the basic sense of his body. How one could see or sense a person with Auristics without using their mundane sensing, its physical properties. It was his body, a understanding and sensing of it. The look of his body, the smell of his skin, the mundane sensing and that alone. Using the technique he'd learned by morphing, he then took this extrusion in hand, and began to mold it. He pictured this bit of his aura as clay, and djed as both the heat and his hand. Adding heat to it he warmed it, made it pliable and easier to shape. Then he molded it, turning his normal physical visage into something else. First was smell. He recalled the smell of burning wood, of flame, and shaped his scent into that, mentally molding it and willing the change into existence. Next was touch. For this he recalled the feel of stone, its firmness and hardness, and its cold unmoving nature. Cool and smooth. Taste he suppressed, taking away any flavor, not even as much as plain water. Sight was his main focus, and what he changed the most intricately. After all, it was the first thing most would look upon. For many Aurists sight was not only a necessity, but also the most instinctive thing one could grasp. Holding his own sight in his mind, he began to shape it, willing the djed to mold into his aura and bend and remake it, at least within his aura. Physically and in reality he'd look the same as normal. Over his body he swept a layer of flame, stripping away his flesh and replacing it with fire, ever burning. His hair was curls and sweeps of fire, messily laid about his head as his true hair did. He didn't change the outline, that would be complicated, instead only changing the substance and sight. His nails where shards of glass, and his teeth were steel. For his eyes, he pictured an open void, a pair of portals into nothing that he could make with his voiding, and left them as two swirling black holes. Of course, if the student didn't look upon his aura, he would see none of this. But if he did, Clyde reasoned, it would be his own fault for looking without permission. “I am to be your instructor for the day. Master Sullins. Clyde Sullins. And who are you?”