Lightning illuminated the dark storm clouds above with vibrant blue light. Seconds later, peals of thunder rolled across the tops of the snow-covered conifers only to immediately echo back as the sound bounced across the valley's walls. As quiet returned to the small glade that housed Summit Academy, a fine, light snow began to fall.
Hissing softly, a match sliding across a roughened and unshaved face suddenly sparks to life beneath an elm some distance from the cobbled pathways and brightly lit lanterns. Its owner, a serious-looking man of middling years, uses it to light his tobacco pipe, the flickers of light illuminating his dark eyes and fur-swaddled body. With complete disregard, he flicks the match into the snow causing it to die before it reaches the soft white powder.
For long, silent moments, the man watches the small academy as it moves through its evening hours. Snow hides the pathways and darkness claims the windows of the surrounding houses as he watches the few denizens that meander on their errands. Every now and again, he tilts his hat to dislodge any accumulated snow from its oiled leather brim. He is as silent as a mouse, his dark eyes noting everything that passes.
At long last, a single light remains in the academy: the light at the top of Sylinar's Spire. Pushing himself off the tree's trunk, he emits a soft, low whistle. Figures slowly melt from Rumor Woods, ominous and silent despite the newly fallen snow. The man doesn't wait, doesn't even look back to see if anyone has heard his call, but simply moves with easy strides to the doors of the tall spire and knocks only once.
The door opens a crack, a long finger of light falling upon the man, and an aged voice inquires who has come to visit.
"I've come to collect a debt, Sylinar," the man says. His voice is gravel and brimstone. The door opens enough to allow him entry, and as the man steps through, the figures turn their backs to the spire to form a ring around its perimeter.
~*~ Thandiwe ~*~
ASGM of Events
