Wearing his old sweater for comfort, the man finally closed off the circle of salt in his office, and pushed himself back up to his feet, flicking his wrist and dispersing the now empty jar. He looked down at his handiwork as he ran through his mental checklist. Circle, check. Sigils, check. Food and water, check. Emergency boat, check. Just one more loose end to clear up.
A letter is left behind in the Mage’s Guild hall, eventually to make its way into the hands of the Archamge(s). As is tradition, the entire thing is written in green crayon.
“This is primarily for Zahrer, but I guess it’s applicable to Eliza, too. The main point is; I’m leaving, and if all goes well, I’m not coming back. The reason is; I don’t need to. I’ve always felt obliged to make sure the future is secure, that I left this place better off than it was. Thing is, I’m pretty comfortable with how things are looking right now. The few concerns I had, about things that I could change, have essentially all been calmed lately. I’m really happy with how the future generation is set up. You’ve all done great.
That’s all I really wanted to say, I guess. Thanks for sticking with me this far. Keep it real. Zahrer, you’re in charge of Mesarthim”
Steven Vega Novokain Valnelis Naromis Iyliar Regis”
With that taken care of, he was back in his office, stepping into the center of the ring of salt. Sitting down, he began to chant. Where one might expect doubts or concerns to run through his mind, there were none. And as he reached the last verse, a little smile crossed his face. One last phrase did run through his mind as he wondered where chance was going to take him, sigils alighting and blinding the room. His brother’s voice.
“Go with the flow, Steven.”