[center] [b]Sigmund[/b] [/center]

"It's cold up here." said Sigmund O'Welles, to no one who was really listening.

Indeed, despite the thick blanket wrapped around himself (and a generous few drops from his flask), a chill wind seemed to seek every nook and cranny it could dig it's icy fingers into.

It had taken a lot of consideration and a touch of trial and error to even get as far as he had. The old man had told had told him many times that the academy was 'up in the clouds', but Sig had always assumed that was a metaphor. It had at least presented an amusing challenge.

This is how it came to be that he was lashed by a rope around his waist to a padded upholstery chair many hundreds of feet in the sky. The chair was in turn crudely bolted to what appeared to be the repurposed top of a very large dinner table. 

The whole slap dash mess was born aloft by roughly a dozen mostly translucent, roughly humanoid figures. They shimmered a pale blue, featureless upper torsos that trailed off into drifting mist at the waist. They floated along with a stately grace, but the blank faces of the specters managed to give the impression of a group of much put upon servants.

The floating pieces of land did cut an impressive figure on their own, but...

"It wouldn't hurt to take a bit [b]more[/b] of a look, eh?" He said, but the spirits had no opinion.

He closed his mortal eyes, took a single deep breath, and opened his Third. The islands erupted into a swirling mass of psychedelic colors and shapes. No matter how many times he saw such wondrous things, it always stole his breath for a moment. 

A smaller, open area a bit below the academy proper seemed to contain the most dreamy madness. Fantastical beasts, demonic figures, animals and many other strange things seemed to caper and dance in his augmented sight. 

It was in a curious, dreamy trance that he floated down until his platform hovered roughly four feet off the ground. He sent a ripple of will to his spectral entourage informing them that their task was complete. They vanished with a tiny sigh of relief, and Sig had a fraction of a moment to realize he had not instructed them to [i]gently [/i]put him down. He dropped the last handful of feet and landed with a thud, jarring him out of his trance. 

"Lord! What a show." he said, rubbing at his face as he closed his third eye. 

He looked up and frowned in mild confusion. Had he not actually closed his sight...? But no, there was the menagerie stood in the flesh in field before him. 

He turned to his left to see he had landed not far from a dark skinned young woman.

[i]a cold soul[/i] whispered a tiny voice in his mind.
[i]half in, half out[/i] murmured another in a disapproving fashion.

"Hello there!" He said, undaunted by the warning spirits. "All that over there is [i]real[/i], isn't that something?"

Sig disentangled himself from the heavy wool blanket and moved to stand up, but the forgotten rope harness tugged around his abdomen and caused him to sit back down hard. 

"Piss!" He snapped, and began to fumble at the knots with cold numbed fingers. The dead sailor he had manifested down on the ground had been very helpful for tying the knots, but Sig had left that particular shade behind, and hadn't the foggiest idea how to undo them.

"Say there," he said to the vampire, "would ya be so kind as to cut a poor fellow out of his flying chair?" 
[@AbandonedIntel]