Priscilla gave the guest an approving nod, and spun to the door they had just come through. With the casualness of someone who's dealt with something peculiar for years, she turned the knob and pushed the door open- revealing her room. "Fun fact: this Tower actually only has eight short hallways total, but the spells that keep the entirety of the Tower's insides in a pocket dimension manipulate those eight halls to be anywhere from half a hallway, to a thousand. I'm sure you'll learn all about it at Whitehall. Now whatever else we need, we'll do after you do you. Whatever you decide you need, within reason."

And with that, their day trailed away...

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It was early the next morning, and there was a mist in the air.

Priscilla had showed up at Jazelle's door just a few minutes past sun-up, waking her up by some very insistent knocking on the door and giving her a few minutes to collect herself. After that, they had a quick breakfast- one that Sunder was absent from- and they found their way to the roof, all of Jazelle's things in hand.

Where Sunder sat in a rather comfortable-looking lawn chair, and a very definitely saddled and tamed wyvern sitting similar to a cat next to him, its wings acting as forelegs. Standing next to Sunder, between him and the Wyvern, stood a scarred woman, clad in complex and heavy leather armor that covered her from neck to toe, in layers that ran down her like waves. Steel studs kept the leather armor together; her hair was jet black, and just long enough to hang down to the mid-neck. Her eyes, when she turned in greeting, were an icy blue, enough scars covering half her face to make one think that perhaps a lion or some other large cat had raked its paws down her face- thrice over. Her eye remained intact, though, and she seemed even sharper for it.

"Whom am I transporting? The taller one or the one that looks out of place?"

Without a glance, Sunder replied, "Out of place. I'll tell you her origins and all I know about her later. Priscilla, you can go back to your normal duties."

With a small bow, Priscilla retreated from the rooftop, leaving the icy woman- who had a presence far taller than what her 5' 8" height- to study Jazelle.

"She has yet to choose a name. The story is, however, that she's my daughter."

The wyvern-rider grunted in response, studying Jazelle just a little bit longer.

"You may call me Rider Wyrm. My mount's name is Tyro. Sunder has... employed our services to take you to Whitehall. The Grandmaster is eager to meet you, young woman, and that's an honor very few will ever have. And, as a Rider, I will ask that you don't try to provoke Tyro. He may be tame, but he still has a temper. Sunder, you owe me. And you- come on over, I'll show you how to get on."

With that, she shot a meaningful glance at Sunder- who was too busy watching the sunset to pay much attention- as she turned back to her wyvern. With a practiced motion, she brought her left foot to a small step set into the harnesses that secured the saddle, and heaved herself up. By the time she was sitting properly on the saddle, her left foot dangled nearly fifteen inches from the ladder 'step' set into the harness.

With a glance that showed some amount of understanding and support- a surprise for him- Sunder waved Jazelle over to join Wyrm. "You'll be alright, girl. I'll be checking in here and there. Just remember that at Whitehall, they encourage people of the same year to play pranks on each other. You'll learn spells faster if not doing so hinders your freedom. Go on, now."

With that, Wyrm held out her hand. The moment Jazelle grasped it, the lady tightened her grip and pulled her up, leaning away slightly to give her more lift, and would easily lift Jazelle to the space in the saddle in front of her. Throughout it all, Tyro didn't even glance at them- like Sunder, he was nearly motionless, staring at the sunset.