Veilward Missive Recommending Disbandment

[Animael 1500]

<A missive only posted within the Veilward for the purposes of those students and teachers that remain>

Dear students and faculty,

 

I regret to say that the potential outpost attempt failed miserably. The mages who stepped up in order to guide you where I could not - have been reportedly executed or chased off. Thusly, I cannot in good conscience recommend sticking together. I have been informed that Noragami lost her life during this venture, alongside a handful of others.

I hereby recommend full disbandment and to seek lands that you are capable of existing within. Whilst I remain at the Veilward until its ultimate demise.
 

Do not create tears, or otherwise perpetuate the reasons that magi are prosecuted. Just live long happy lives with one another. Ultimately I am unimportant in the grand scheme of things, so please focus upon yourselves when deciding what to do, and think not of anything other than your own survival.

 

• Architect

[Spellblades 749]

A Mali'ker received the missive from a friend, looking it over from a clinic bed as he recovered from a fight beforehand.

 

"Be safe, please." Vesryn bid to nobody in particular.

[TrueValkonen 65]

Saddened by the news, a small poppy  is left on the step of Ark's abode,

wishing her peace, and of remembrance.

[Riot 743]

Korvath Returns to the Mages guild with what remains of a fellow atronach. as it reads the missive, grabs its things, and leaves

[Morigung-oog 5697]

"Too little, too late." A frigid commander-turned-inquisitor mocked as they added another notch to a thanhic polearm-- one of many that lined the weapon's haft.

[SirBlocklips 192]

Dugan Frostbeard sat alone in his clan hall, consuming a chicken wrap gifted to him by a wee goblin lass in the lands of the Uruks. He reads over the missive, and rubs his face, leaning back in the mahogany stool which creaked under his heft. He thought of his time at Veilward, short as it was, and his endeavors there. To his kin, he was Elder of the Noble Clan Frostbeard, Speaker of the Squall to the Cult of Wyrvun, aspirant to the Clan Throne as well as Jarl of Rhorheim. To the Veilward, he was but an observer, not even a student for the years of persistence the dwarf had pressed on with. So it was, for the dwarf, burning with ambition, had many centuries before him to achieve greatness for his clan.

 

He thought back to one of his favorite lessons within the magi's enclave. As he sat within the less-extravagant chairs in the libraries of the arcane school, using pillows to prop himself up to pour over dusty tomes many might find moot, he learned in the passings and goings of those whom he thought his peers, enrolled as they were, in despite of himself. The existence of arcane metal and how to forge it, the beings above it all that called themselves gods. The preference for breakfast by cursed children. While watching many enthralled eyes study the trickery of the Master of Illusion's class, Dugan thought to himself a poignant thought.

 

He could wait.

 

He returned back to himself, in that clan hall. It was still empty. With powers clandestine did a ball of snow conjure before him in the air, hues azure brushing hues of cold light across the living canvas of his stout features. As the arcane bulb orbited afore him like a dying sun, the Azwyrtrumm looked down into his gnarled hands, scars and calluses retelling battles fought, and battles lost. A deep scowl marred the Bearserker's face in morose fashion as the blessing of Availer faltered in his strong heart. Dugan thought to himself a poignant thought.

 

What was to show for any of this?

 

Edited March 15 by SirBlocklips

[Frisket 4537]

"Hmph...."

The High Witch scoffed, seeing the chance closing. They lost the chance to put down an iron fist into the land, now Veilward stands in the same bobble of dust as the Mages guild. Yet in time, newer more esteemed enclaves shall rise to the occasion. Though the wind stirred. 

Where are Magi meant to go if even she cannot open her arms to welcome them faithfully?

 

[Digit___ 1224]

A young man looked over the missive with a prismarine-toned gaze, a somberness overtaking his usually demeanor.

 

“A creation destroyed before it could be fully realized.” He hummed and rested the missive within a drawer of his bookshelf, yet another thought overtook his mind. “Guess I shall be in need of a new mentor. . .” That Petrine sighed, having naught one lesson in the arcane or been connected to the Void.
 

Thus, he rose from his bedside, putting on his emerald-green jacket and wondered from his home and into the city.

[Martino 27]

*The man cloaked in a gold cloth would pack the rest of his belongings. His dorm left empty behind. The new missive on the board falling into his line of sight*

[!] He would step forward lighting his last cigar. His horse patiently waiting for the departure. His eyes glancing on the paper, the content intriguing him.
    As he read it his hand of silver rings ,some with a strange aura, would start to grasp the paper. The thought of ripping it off crosses his mind but he decided                against such.

"What an unexpected end." He'd utter in an ironic tone. "Maybe I should search for some fellow magis who could help with my doings, the family would need some more researchers and scholars..." His words stuck to the bottom of his throat like lead. Turning around as to not waste more time. "We will see... Architect, it was an amusing time old friend."