[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/Jxwk7L6.png[/img]

[h3][b][u][color=Goldenrod]The Heir to Thunder[/color][/u][/b][/h3]
[sub][color=DarkGreen][i]Prince Faen Lokison[/i][/color][/sub][/center][hr][hr]

	There is a townhouse at 177A Bleecker Street in New York City's Greenwich Village. While from the outside it appears to be no more than a perfectly normal, if slightly archaic, building, it is in fact the Sanctum Sanctorum for earth’s Sorcerer Supreme, a place where the ley lines of mystical energy that weave through our physical world meet, serving as a focal point for all things supernatural. In the past it has often been the first line of defence against any otherworldly foe that would seek to invade or destroy earth. Today another struggle takes place upon it’s ornate steps of granite, though this one is a little less epic in scope than the ones that came before it.

	[color=DarkGreen]“Get your hands off me, you glorified thug! I am a Prince, dammit, not some common squatter to be handled like a sack of refuse!”[/color] A young man, tall, lean, dark haired and dressed in casual three-piece suit, was being ‘escorted’ from the premises by an elderly Asian man. From the tired, almost bored expression on the older man’s face, it seemed that this was a task he had to perform often. With a light push the younger man was sent stumbling a few steps into the street, though he managed to keep his balance and stay on his feet.

	“Please, ‘Prince Faen’, Dr Strange and I are getting tired of finding you skulking about the Sanctum’s libraries. The next time you try it, you might trigger the houses defences, and they will be far less gentle with you than I.” There was only the merest hint of an Eastern accent to the older man’s voice, as if he had kept it by choice as a tribute to his heritage. The younger man used his hands to dust himself down then straighten his slate grey jacket before responding.

	[color=DarkGreen]“Pah! As if those paltry hexes could do anything other than mildly inconvenience me. Besides, surely the fact that I continue to get past them should be more than ample proof of my credentials to your master. If he would just agree to teach me then I wouldn’t be forced to continue sneaking in!”[/color]

	The older man shook his head gently before turning on his heel and slowly shuffling back up the steps towards the house, showing the weight of his years now more heavily than he had been when he had forced the younger man out. 

	“You are skilled, yes,” He called back over his shoulder, “but you are not ready to be taught. Perhaps you never will be. Goodbye, young Prince. Please use the doorbell next time you come visiting. It will save us all time.”

	Faen stood staring up at the townhouse for some time after the door had eased shut, alone with his thoughts. After twenty minutes, had passed, when it had become painfully apparent that he wasn’t going to be invited back in, he cursed softly under his breath.

	[color=DarkGreen]“Tomorrow then. I’ll be back tomorrow.”[/color] He promised, before setting off down the street, long legs eating up the miles. His quick pace was a shame really, because he had nowhere to be.