Arcanum Tales

The rune-wrought and windowless tower of Simeon Tor rose severely from the heart of Tulla, City of Mages, a black pillar etched harshly into the twilight sky, and it was within this tower that the young mage Perriman Smythe found himself, nervously awaiting his appointment.

Prepared for a journey, he was dressed in a well-worn greatcoat signifying his rank and college of study, a pair of sturdy wool pants and a thick shirt. A small, wooden-handled bag, packed with items he deemed necessary, rested at his feet. Because he'd never been beyond the walls of Tulla and had been unsure as to just what exactly was necessary, he'd brought most of what he owned, and, being a newly raised mage, that was very little. Beyond a few books and his favorite mug for morning tea, the bag was empty.

He was seated on a padded wooden bench, in a thickly-carpeted waiting room of sorts, under the painted and sculpted gazes of the master mages of ages past. The room was diffused in soft light, and all was silent save for the quiet murmuring beyond the great wooden doors framed in the opposite wall.