[Finally continuing on with the story… Prime Dean Marthis sits in his study and ponders the crew he will take with him…]
Jeramiah had written the five names and key information about each student rather elegantly on the thick rolled parchment. The reason it was so stiff and heavy was due to it being expertly culled from the skin of a large oxen, and it still smelled slightly of dank old leather and ink. Considering the teachers heritage, he had a surprisingly fine script that was almost better then the Dean’s own writing. However he was able to write so finely with his beastly claws was none of his concern.
Five names. And with the cryptic prophecy it seemed the Dean was only supposed to pick two of them to go with him… or was it three? He was rather certain the dragon said only three of them should leave, but did that mean three of the students, or three in total?
His head was already throbbing. He drank back another long glass of Nebula wine and pondered the details closer.
Tanis Hawthen. Age 17. The youngest on the list that was certain, but excelling in physical magicks. He would probably be pretty useful if things were to get messy. He apparently showed little success in theory work, and had been written up twice for not submitting thesis work and refusal to attend the quarterly health assessment.
Roden Draper. Age 26. This was apparently his first year. He seemed to be an interesting one who came through the school on a special sponsor by the Crestfall Guard. Apparently they thought him special enough to pay for a years scholarship rather then have him continue with his military work. This must mean that he showed some sort of talent, right? Unfortunately there wasn’t much in the way of notes on what skills he showed yet.. but he would have some basic combat experience as well so that definitely helped his chances.. the Dean’s chances that was. After all the mission was simply to find and subdue a thief – how much skills did they really need? And he was certain that the Crestfall Guards at least had -some- knowledge on how to track a felon on the run.
Ghav Tarr’en. Age 20. Marthis snorted simply reading the name and looked no further down the notes. This would be an automatic no. The Tarr’en name was one that he knew well and he was already in deep enough troubles for that nonsense. That was an Elven bloodline from somewhere near Kingswood, and if Marthis had dared to get one of them killed his reputation would suffer immeasurable damage. Sure, they weren’t Highborn – but any Elvish blood was far too political. Let alone the mess it would make with nasty politics and a lot of paperwork from the Elven courts. He didn’t care how bright and shining their nomination might be – there was absolutely no chance he was getting them involved especially when he needed this matter to be kept close to his chest.
Maude Lucane. Age 19. Although there was little in the way of background information, her skills in Resonance Magick made him pause. It was even underlined. He vaguely remembered hearing about a rather excellent student who the late, now non-deceased Jen’Rar spoke of. Someone who had the potential to rival even her adept skills one day… was this her? He wished he had paid slightly more attention to the daft old woman now. Although Jen’Rar was horrid at moving objects and transporting them – she was quite good at finding them, and someone highly skilled in that branch of magick would make identifying the real artifact far easier.
Last but not least was the name: Cleo Denwater. Age 63. 63?! Dean Marthis rolled his eyes and grunted loudly. How on earth did Jeramiah come up with some of these names? He expected him to bring a wet-nurse along with him while he was trying to track down a thief! What would she be able to do? Knit him a bloody sweater?
She was definitely out. At least that was another easy one.
He rubbed his eyes and grabbed a hunk of cheese rather unceremoniously and jabbed it into his mouth. He wished he was in a better mood to enjoy it’s rich creamy flavour – but he tried to all the same. After-all, it was expensive.
“Fine.” He mused when he’d finally swallowed the cheesy lump. “He said two will remain, so I leave the Elf and the Hag behind.”
He raised his glass mockingly towards the names of those he would bring. “A toast to whichever one of you fools gets killed off. Cheers.”