The great book never lied, and that's why its runes shifted so kaleidoscopically, destiny was ever changing. So entailed in the most magical of tomes, destruction of the known world. Myron, under strict orders from his master, had been sent on a quest merely to stall an individual's time by any means necessary. The situation was dire, however it was not impossible, not under the headmaster's supervision. To get Myron where he needed to be, the aid of several guilds was required.

Illiam, the legendary bowman would lend his intercontinental archery to perform the shot, firing a large arrow far away, wrapped around it was a scroll with a rift rune engraved in to it. The headmaster supplied the rune, although his student, the assassin in question, was still learning how to control such magic. Once the arrow landed in the Schrade castle's courtyard garden, what followed was an eccentric scribe's introduction.

Fingers clawed at the edges of the rune, unraveling it slowly until a hand could be seen reaching out from the arrow's side. The scroll opened up just enough for an upper torso to crawl out, having slight troubles doing so after his weight caused the arrow to fall sideways. Some petty coughing and wheezing might reveal Myron's whereabouts, however he was still a sizable distance away from what would soon become his opponent. Crawling to his knees, the scribe quickly stood upright, and padded himself down, checking his equipment for losses. A few locked spell cards had fallen out of his shirt and on to the ground, he needn't bend over to grab them, they simply floated up and in to his vest pocket. Nothing else was lost; his own magical tome was locked to his right hip, and his quill wand adorned a black cavalier hat.

At least a hundred or more feet away stood a robed figure, likely the man who would accidentally destroy the world, if Myron didn't stop him. Unsure of how to introduce himself at this point of the game, Myron did what he did best preemptive the fight, distract a fellow with social awkwardness, whilst preparing their untimely demise.

"Hey you! Uhh... wait right there! I'm an... uh... I'm a caricature artist! From the future! I've come to draw you, before you uhh... win! Win what, you might say?.." Myron was biding as much time as he could, and with every word he spoke, his dexterous hands did their work. He'd quickly unclasp his tome, and pinched the feather off his hat, he'd be doodling something in his book before end of his speech. "Well you won a... free trip... to... Aure, the flying castle of flying... sod it! To hell!" Depending on if the robed figure already made offensive measures or not, Myron would quickly turn the book to face his foe, and unleash a powerful blast from a nihil rune once dormant. His aim wasn't meant for Corban, but instead for the corpses at his feet, at this distance, where even Myron's yelling might not be heard, the disintegration beam would turn in to an explosive blast instead, which would eradicate everything in a ten foot radius, and fling debris far beyond that range.

In the off chance that Myron's opponent wasn't a nitwit, Myron was mentally preparing himself to break a vial of ink for quick cover. Normally he'd prepare more runes in advance, his tactic usually relied on traps, however the severity of this situation called for such an attack. Myron had only about five more prepared beacons of nihil in his tome, which began floating whimsically in front of him. The page that once held the rune would burn up, ash fluttered by Myron's face, as the ground once beneath his foe's feet was reduced to just that.