[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/pAh29Xn.png[/img][hr]Jocasta [@Force and Fury], Yalen [@pantothenic], Ysilla [@Pirouette], Zarina [@YummyYummy], Kaspar [@Wolfieh][hr][b][color=7ea7d8]Event:[/color][/b] Invitation to Ersand'Enise [b]| [/b][b][color=7ea7d8]Location:[/color][/b] Varrahasta, Torragòn.[hr][hr][/center]
The strongboxes are locked tight as the canopies are brought down, and the crash of the shutters ring around the port. The merchants and traders are done for the evening, packing away their fare, as the bustling streets are soon to be emptied. Ayla refers to this moment as the calm, a period of respite for nature to claim as its own as the Gulls, Rolieiro, and Skua sing their chorus to their heart's content. After the calm is over, the nocturnal storm begins as the taps at the drinking establishments are in full flow as the morning's catch is put to the grill.

Unsurprisingly, as the sun sets, the roar can be heard outside of the house, and surprisingly, within the household as well. A messenger has arrived from Torra Corda in the eve carrying a important message for Duarte, one that travelled very quickly through the walls of the household. Torragòn has been instructed to pay the mage price to Ersand'Enise, on the apparent orders of a Paradigm Hunghorasz, and the Arslan family were dutifully assigned this privilege from the Iron Throne directly.

The young play in the streets to the tales of Ersand'Enise, it is every young magi dream to be recruited to the Academy of Thaumaturgy. The reputation and prestige alone is said that being called, no, becoming the chosen of Sipentia, is clearly a sign of divine intervention and a sign that your family is on the ascendance, as the roar her ancestor, ‘The Lion of Torragòn’ can be heard across this world.

If this is the case, why are the faces of her family sullen and downcast, why is being chosen seen as such a burden that even the most hard-hearted of nobles can be seen distraught. Reality can be different to flights of fancy. A dynasty can end because of the many accidents and incidents lurking behind those walls. Only a family with much to gain risks sending their heir into the heart of the academy, for there is lots to be lost as they always return changed, different, a far cry from the selective grooming and education afforded over the years. Those from very prominent positions risk their secrets, skills, techniques, and strategies, falling into the hands of their political enemies. A war can be decided, lost or won, on the very choice of who is sent into those hallowed halls.

If the choice is based on magical ability alone, within her family it would be clear. Her eldest brother, Jorge is said to be a magical prodigy with his natural aptitude, along with his handsome looks, physical prowess, and charm, her father has groomed him carefully and manoeuvred him politically to the extent he is curated as the "Lion Reborn'' within Torragonese circles. He has been afforded every opportunity the influence the Arslan name has to offer to secure a very promising future, rumoured to have already reserved a prominent position within the next Torragonese campaign currently kept to a select few on parchment and ink to accrue accolades to accelerate his career.

The front door slams as she peers out her bedroom window in curiosity, seeing Jorge briskly walking towards the docks where his friends were already kept waiting for him. Whatever frustrations burden him appear to be quickly dissipated as he walks off with his companions, the outcome seemingly accepted without any significant resistance. She hears the hushed tones of her mother, Azahara as she struggles to keep her emotions in check. [color=f49ac2]“Dado, you cannot be serious, she won’t… …”[/color], the voices seem to come to a pause, a silence settling only to be interrupted by the sound of boots making their way down the corridor to her chambers, growing heavier and heavier. She knows what was discussed has been decided and there won’t be any alterations, her mothers’ wise words can no longer hope to help sway the decision when it has reached its conclusion. Her role as the daughter now was to soothe her father’s mood as she awaits the verdict of the outcome.

Ayla places the flauta by her lips. The gentle fluttering of the notes resembles that of a songbird as her father makes his way through the door. In a typical fashion, as if always caught off guard, he pauses as she is found playing, deciding to pull along a cushion to sit patiently for her to finish. There were unusually many Rolieiro found this evening, an omen perhaps, as her eyes are remarked to resemble the brilliant blue feathers, its brown-patterned cloak drawing parallels to her brunette mop of hair. As she draws to a close, she places the flauta upon her lap, [color=7ea7d8]“Da, it seems the Rolieiro are out in orchestra today”[/color]. Duarte’s hardened features betray the emotion being bottled inside like a pull of a harp string, the suppressed rage flaring through his body language, an anger directed towards himself, a confession of a betrayal, a death sentence. He composed himself before speaking, [color=ed1c24]“You’re to go to Ersand'Enise. Your possessions will be packed for the Galley in short-order.”[/color] With the words, short shrift, he turns to swiftly exit the room and disappear within the darkness of the house.

Servants come and go, collecting her possessions, few rarely spoke and only for directions and advice on how to handle her belongings as her life soon only consists of what is contained within these boxes. The atmosphere of the house is sullen, a house in mourning, few that past lower their head, the words [color=fff79a]“Dami guide you”[/color] muttered in passing for the deceased relative that must have lived within. Her father had been recalled to Torra Corda, her brother Jorge in tow, and her mother has been noticeably absent as she attends to the affairs of the household. It was only at the farewell her family returned from hiding, her mother and siblings weeping tears of sadness, promises to write, blessings being cast and prayers offered to the five gods. As if coincidence was to strike again, she boards upon the galley ‘Rolieiro’, the cracked blue paint giving it a majestic appearance from the docks. She picked up her flauta and played once again.

[hr][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/cNtrvII.png[/img][hr][b][color=7ea7d8]Event:[/color][/b] Ersand’Enise [b]|[/b] [b][color=7ea7d8]Location:[/color] [/b]Academy of Thaumaturgy, Ersand’Enise.[hr][/center]
Upon her arrival, Ayla has been settling into her room. Fabrics drape, cushions adorn, incense burns as the spartan room is transformed into something that resembles a homely Torragonese interior. Time passes quickly as four weeks later, the absence of a letter from home was noticed, but Ersand'Enise Academy of Thaumaturgy has kept her more than a little busy. What drew her attention was the myth and legends, and how, with some amusement, that the majestic place gave birth to many storytellers’ flight of fancy. She remembered the tales of the great white Roc, a favourite of hers, its bronze beak terrorising the first years, especially those who are malicious in their intentions and ill wishes She now often feeds bread crusts to the ‘Roc’ of the Arboretum lake as it honks about excitedly, to the chagrin of others now pecked incessantly for their lunches. She heard about the secret school of magic, Sigma, and how it keeps the academy at the fore-front of magical knowledge, however in reality, it is a standard deviation. As for the magical hand, don’t get caught in a bout of rock, paper, scissors if you desire to win. However, the tales of magical flying rugs and cleaning equipment, dragon mounts, personal yasoi handmaidens, and sorting wizard caps were all fiction. Life at the academy was remarkably normal, for what she would assume an every day educational facility would be like, with the exception at least something goes bang, whiz, pop at least once during each of the 25 hours.

Her introduction was shared with a couple of merchant girls also summoned to the academy, tall and beautiful, Zarina and Ysilla. When fighting the aftermath of the journey involving excessive bouts of seasickness, sea shanties, and the smell of rotten fish, she spent time making considerable efforts attempting to become familiar with the pair, soon finding herself interacting with them separately for reasons she understood very little about.
Zarina was a girl who lights up the room, though sometimes less of a candle and more like a destructive pillar. She was a dancer, and through the art of music had opportunities to perform together with aggressive tempo, sharp staccato, and loud crescendo. Zarina, becoming familiar as Zaz, was fond of a brewed brown bitter elixir which she calls coffee, generously serving those around her. Without moderation, Ayla soon found herself restless, irritable, gasping for breath, and excused herself as she found herself temporarily bedridden through exhaustion.
Ysilla was comparatively a calmer character, giving an attentive appearance as they partook in art together as Ayla played a lively melody upon her flauta.
In her classes, Ayla also came across a boy who is both studious and devoted, in books and his faith, Yalen. Thankfully a patient soul as he showed great patience in responding to her questions of what must be trivial matters and information for the boy.
Kaspar was often by the Arboretum lake, known for its pleasant views. She had met the boy whilst he was sketching in his charcoal, often concentrating on his work. One afternoon, she could not help noticing the boy peering often in her direction, towards the gorgeous orchid between them. Finding the opportunity, she starts to gently make her way towards him, looking towards his sketchbook as he works. [color=7ea7d8]"Drawing me like one of your Perrench girls?"[/color], the girl offers him a warm smile, watching the faint blush appearing upon Kaspar's cheek, as he grows flustered and momentarily lost for words, [color=#B4081A]"I’m not accustomed to portraiture, but I can try if you’d like"[/color]. The pair started to meet up during lunch to share discussions on their art.

Ayla, like the others, found themselves making their way to Forked Tower, and Hugo’s Study in particular. The scattered students are being pooled together like an untapped resource, ready to be exploited. After arriving, they are soon greeting the others in a warm manner, familiar greetings to Zaz and Ysilla who were already settling in their seats. She takes notes of those lessons known to herself as she identifies the older gentleman as the legendary Paradigm. She slowly makes her way before him, head bowed in polite revered greeting, as she takes a hold of his hand in Torragonese style, [color=7ea7d8]“Paradigm.”[/color]. Ayla also notices the pigtailed girl in the rollerchair, approaching her with a more friendly smile rather than one of reverence, lowering herself slightly so she is eye level with the girl, taking one of those mitten gloved hands within her own, fingers squeezing upon it, [color=7ea7d8]“Ayla, pleased we have met.”[/color], withdrawing politely after the greeting as they were being ushered into taking their seats. She gracefully glides to place herself between the sisters, knowing the preference for distance between the pair, a somewhat futile effort to help as they could easily look over her head with the height-difference. The document lands upon the desk as she holds to examine the page written in Avincian, as she takes in a deep drink of the brewed elixir. During the heated exchanges, she cannot help feeling moved by Jocasta’s spirited words and passion, resonating with the emotions expressed empathically, recognising the actions of others who seek ‘protect’, a word more synonymous with ‘prevent’ from experience. The wise words of the Paradigm interrupted with their gentle conciliatory tones, and soon the unexpected occurred before her, a gateway seeming to show the beautiful night skies of her beloved Torragòn. She anxiously starts to follow as her fellow students make their way through the gateway, seemingly stepping through as if entering a new room, beckoned and encouraged to make the journey.
[center][hr][img]https://i.imgur.com/acCZCUg.png[/img][hr][b][color=7ea7d8]Event:[/color][/b] Hugo's task [b]|[/b] [b][color=7ea7d8]Location:[/color][/b] Torragonese Desert.[hr][/center]
As she walks through the gateway, she feels her hairs standing upon their ends, goosebumps along her body are raised prominently as she feels her body assaulted by the experience of temporal energies and then met with the cold air of the desert at night. She shivered as she started to wrap herself up by placing her hands around her body, dressed completely inappropriate for adventuring out into the desert in the middle of the night. As she is still trying to gather her bearings, stroking her hands up and down along her arms, she starts to hear Jocasta calling out with concern. Others start to prepare to defend themselves as she starts to gather her belongings from the satchel, dropping a couple bottles of her ink into the sand. She could feel her hands shaking, and this time, it wasn’t a result of the coffee. She was pushed backwards as she must have been in the way, falling down into the sand. She could hear the screech of the Halassa at this point, a cry that was guttural, a clear contrast to the sweet sounds of the song birds that populate Varrahasta. The sand sticks to her face, smudging the delicately applied makeup as she starts to sit herself up.

Ayla thinks back to the first time she performed for guests, and how it was a nerve-racking experience, how her fingers missed the holes, releasing an ear-piercing shrill, the pained look on their faces. She remembers an older gentleman, a name never provided, came over to speak to her as tears ran down her face. He came up towards her, crouched down before her, as he offered what appeared to be a pepper, [color=82ca9d]“Nothing’s as bad as Virangish pepper.”[/color]. Before she realised what happened, she found herself chewing upon it. The heat just travelled through her mouth, coughing, choking, her face turning a bright shade of pink. House servants rushing to bring her water, scolding and laughter heard around the room at her reaction. As she was starting to slowly recover, the man bravely spoke loudly amidst the protests, [color=82ca9d]“My child, now you know, no matter how bad you play that instrument, there is something far worse.”[/color]

Ayla grit her teeth as she recalled those words, [color=7ea7d8]“Nothing’s as bad as Virangish pepper”[/color]. She finds herself renewed with energy as she pops the top of the ink bottles and grabs a hold of the Flauta. Others are already making their way to confront the beasts, but she will get there first. The open ink bottles soon show their role as Ayla plays her melody, the shifting tempo and swings of the note, drawing energy from the sound. This energy is transferred through to the ink as it appears to start behaving as if it is being charmed, luring it through the bottle openings as if they were watery pythons. The long snakes mix into a ball and soon disperses into five streams as the hues shine and bend, becoming the five primary colours of the gods as they whip through the air like the darts towards the Halassa. Those at the front may feel the sudden gust as the inks find their marks, individual splish, splash, splush, splesh, splosh can be heard as each of the Halassa are now adorned proudly with a distinctive colour, and if fortune has favoured her, reducing their vision temporarily to support those at the front line. As the Halassa moves within the reach of her drawing, the flute plays an accelerating portamento. The air starts to grow very still and quiet, an unnerving experience as Ayla starts to draw upon the kinetic energy of the rampaging beasts, vibrations start to fill the air, the sand shifting underneath their feet as a disorientating zone of control is established through her casting. The Halassa start to slow from the drawing, their primal aggression becoming more sloppy as those agile seem to dance and flutter around them like butterflies, or moths to a naked flame, as the beasts are finding their senses becoming overwhelmed by the vibrations and effectively blinded.

Ayla has now done what she can as the beads of sweat are adorning her features. She tries her best to maintain that field for as long as possible, taking short intervals to refresh the drawing and casting of the magic, trying her best to maintain that disorientating field to support her fellow students… no… her friends.


[hider=TL;DR Summary]
Introduction to Varrashata, Ayla and the circumstances around her admission to Ersand'Enise. She was chosen as the family felt they could not afford to send Jorge, the Arslan Heir. Invitation comes with high risks, they might have sent Ayla to her death.
Ayla shares some of her early experiences, some introductions with her fellow class mates prior to Hugo's Study.
The class is dumped into the middle of the Torragonese desert with no supplies, getting attacked straight away by a herd of Halassa.
Ayla plucks up her courage with a tale about how there is nothing worse than Virangish Pepper.
Ayla marks the different Halassa with ink, colour coding them for tactical identification. She uses area of affect magic with her flute (sonic attacks) to slow the creatures down and make them disorentiated. This would allow her allies the opportunity to exploit the Halassa's weaknesses and show off their talents.
[/hider]


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