[center][abbr=#B8041A | Alt+0248 for ø][img]https://i.ibb.co/wY7GYz8/Kaspar-Header-2.png[/img][/abbr]
[hr][color=#B8041A][b]LOCATION[/b][/color][b]:[/b] The Arboretum
[hr][/center]
The flowers of Ersand’Enise were lovely in a way that could never fully translate to paper. Of course, the beauty of any plant couldn’t be contained in a charcoal sketch—or Kaspar was not yet skilled enough to capture it. Despite that, he still tried. 

A breeze pulled lightly at the edges of his cloak, sprawled across the grass beneath him, and carried away some of the heat that lurked beneath the heavy fur. It was impractical to wear in this weather, but it was a symbol of his house and his homeland, so the Helbahnese boy kept it on. Or, that was how he kept himself from thinking too deeply on the sense of comfort it brought, and the pricklings of anxiety that ran beneath his skin when he was without it. 

He sighed, thinking to the plantlife he’d drawn in the gardens of Wentoft and the Elstrøm Estate, some that had been there long enough to have years of growth chronicled in his sketchbooks. For too long, the plentiful corridors and greeneries of that place had felt like a cage and a punishment. The life of a noble chafed on some, and it was harder when one was so heavily confined to solitude. But it, like everything else, became familiar. 

[color=#C6E6F5]”Are you hiding from your teachers, even now?”[/color]

He glanced only briefly over his shoulder at the jest, nodding to the figure who approached. She was older, of light complexion and graying-black hair with hard silver eyes. She was a sharp thing, with a fondness for the young Elstrøm that did not translate to leniency. 

[color=#B4081A][b]"Only from you, Master Willa,"[/b][/color] he called, returning to the lines of his sketch as she laughed. She stopped, lowering herself to the ground beside him, and tilted her head at his sketch, glancing between it and the subject with a critical eye. Finally, with a sigh, the woman retorted, [color=#C6E6F5]”I’m no master to you anymore, boy.”[/color]

Kaspar scoffed, stopping his sketching to look at her. She met his gaze, raising an eyebrow, and he shook his head. [color=#B4081A][b]”You’re no Zeno, but you’ll always be my master,”[/b][/color] he replied, eliciting another chuckle from her. After a few minutes of companionable silence, he murmured, [color=#B4081A][b]”Won’t you be missed, when the rest of the caravan returns home?”[/b][/color]

[color=#C6E6F5]”Your parents enlisted me [i]eight years ago[/i] to look after you. I can’t very well do that from three countries away, and neither can they,”[/color] Willa replied sharply. [color=#C6E6F5]”They’ll see it as a disobedience at first, but in a few short weeks they’ll be glad someone they trust is here in the city. They love you far too much to stand differently.”[/color]

She continued to watch Kaspar sketch for some time, pointing out any lines she thought were misshapen. The boy often lightly slapped her fingers away with his charcoal-covered hands, but it did nothing to deter her from trying.

Willa finally departed as the sun began to set, turning her own feet towards the Merchant’s Quarter. Kaspar watched her leave, brows furrowed in thought as he clutched his now-closed sketchbook. When she was gone, he reached forward and gently plucked a petal from the flower, holding it in his palm. Slowly, a rough rendition of the familiar stream-and-storm emblem of the Elstrøm family carved itself into the delicate surface, the soft edges curling away from it.

Kaspar swiped a thumb across his palm, and the petal was gone. 

[center][hr][color=#B8041A][b]LOCATION[/b][/color][b]:[/b] Noble Dormitories, The Forked Tower
[color=#B8041A][b]INTERACTIONS[/b][/color][b]:[/b] Ayla [@Ti], Jocasta [@Force and Fury], Yalen [@pantothenic], Ysilla [@Pirouette], Zarina [@YummyYummy]
[hr][/center]
Kaspar slept when the sky got dark. In Helbahn, he may have studied or perfected drawings by candlelight, but he’d been sleeping more heavily since his arrival in Ersand’Enise. Not more soundly, perhaps, as he was still adjusting to the different sounds of night here, but this academy was certainly working him harder than his tutors had—and they’d not exactly been easy. 

The tapping on his window went unnoticed at first, as the noble curled into his blankets and, in his sleep, ignored what he thought was the worsening of rain. It would take several more minutes for him to stir, finally awoken by the peculiar noise, and glance blearily to the window. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, pulling the covers off and trying to make sense of the dark shapes on the sill. He peered through the glass, before opening the latch and looking curiously at the pair of ravens—or near enough—staring beadily up at him, one of them clutching a paper in its beak. 

He read the note, taking a few deep breaths to send oxygen to his half-asleep mind, and muttered a thank-you to the avians before turning away and gathering his clothes. He fastened his dark leather vest around the thin red tunic and ensured his black pants were tucked into the high leather boots. The red-eyed boy forwent digging for any of his rings, tucking his cherrywood wand into an inner pocket of his vest and pausing by the door to grab his thick cloak. Fingers buried in the fur, he decided it would only serve to be soaked in the rain, and there could be nothing easy about a nighttime journey at the behest of a bird. 

By the time Kaspar made it to Hugo’s study, having taken a little longer to assess the bricks than he was proud of, the sleeves of his tunic were damp against his arms and his brown hair clung wetly to his face. He tossed his red gaze around the room, noting the odd dimensions and apparent lack of the storm that had battered the academy. He also saw a selection of students whom he’d met on occasion and the Hugo Hunghorasz himself. He felt small stirrings of reverence, tempered by his nature, and nodded, murmuring a quiet, [color=#B4081A][b]“Paradigm,”[/b][/color] before taking a seat. 

The only one of these figures he was truly familiar with was Ayla; the girl also had an interest in art, and though their mediums differed, Kaspar found there was a peace of its own kind in creating alongside a companion. She was, perhaps, the closest thing he’d had to a ‘friend’ in many years, assuming she wasn’t being paid by his parents. Zarina and Ysilla were not strangers, but he’d interacted with them only sparingly. He knew the puppeteer had a more reserved demeanor than her sister, but did not mistake it for a sign of her abilities—none made it to Ersand’Enise for a lack of skill or ambition. The elder Al-Nader was well-talented in her own right—in both magic and dance, as he heard it—and had the air of a leader. 

He was silently studying Jocasta and sipping the coffee offered by Zarina, glad to have something to add a sharpness to his mind at this hour, when Yalen arrived. The only thing Kaspar truly knew of the priest was his commitment to his faith, though he admired it—even if he didn’t share it. Yet it was his arrival that started the discussion, which the Helbahnese boy followed silently. He noted Jocasta’s concerns and Hugo’s assurances, willing to follow the girl’s interests so long as there were no immediate threats. 

Pushing to his feet, he gave another nod to Hugo before stepping after his companions, through the rift. 

[center][hr][color=#B8041A][b]LOCATION[/b][/color][b]:[/b] Torragonese Desert
[hr][/center]
Surrounded suddenly by the cold desert air, Kaspar found himself grateful for the sort of chill he’d not yet found in Ersand’Enise, a temperature more like that of his homeland. Then it set into the dampness of his clothes, and he cursed it quietly in his mind. Suppressing the urge to shiver, he traced his eyes across their surroundings to get a feel for their environment, noting it was unsurprisingly comprised of sand. Thank the Pentad for his high boots, then—he’d have to be knee-deep before the granules filled them. 

He heard Jocasta’s warning and turned in the direction she indicated, sensing for the first signs of the approaching Halassa. Kaspar had few martial skills, but doubted any he could’ve learned would’ve been much use against their thick-armored opponents. He would have to make do with something else, but straightened his spine and let the familiar confidence seep through him. 

Ayla was the first to dart forward, and he smiled a soft thing at her eagerness. He observed the striking of her inks, formulating his own counter against the beasts, and moved to position himself against the far left of the coming herd. Hearing the laughter of Ysilla’s jester, he deepened his stance, sinking his feet slightly into the sand and reaching out with his senses toward the nearest Halassa, slowed by Ayla’s assault. 

[color=#B4081A][b]”Into the fray we go, it would seem.”[/b][/color]

Kaspar took a deep breath and pulled at the sand beneath its feet, feeling the matter vanish as his manas took in the energy. He drew down, hoping the fluid nature of sand would work in his favor, and felt the familiar press of contained energy. He was skilled at drawing, but the boy had never used it on a scale like this—it would be a challenge, but he knew he was capable of it. 

Yet, the energy would need to be released, too—he couldn’t hold it forever, and certainly didn’t want to damage his mana capacity so soon in the mission. 

Pulling his cherrywood wand from the pocket of his vest, Kaspar pointed it toward the Halassa and imagined a barrier of stone in front of the beast, halting its progression and being drawn into it by the collapsing sand. The matter emerged, layer by layer, as sweat began to bead on his brow. He switched again to drawing, breathing deep and heavy. This was not an easy task, and certainly not at the speed he was trying to do it, but he hadn’t spent years honing his drawing to be incapable, and had no intentions of dying so young to an overgrown turtle. 

He could do this. They all could, in their own ways—and they would have to.