He played with the pouch that contained the skeletal knuckle through the pocket in his floor length dark blue cloak, rolling the bony artefact around and around with his fingertips as he leaned against the wall of the entrance hall. He was still dressed in the same clothing he had trained in. Black mid-calf leather boots, black leather pants with his knife belt ridding low on his hips, the white sash of his rank laced securely around it. The metal hilts of his throwing knives glittering softly as the tops of them brushed against the hem of his black linen, sleeveless tunic, leaving his arms bare and free. In the centre of the tunic, splayed over his lower chest and abdomen was a large embroidered silver quill, the emblem of House Eruditio. He had stopped here after leaving the combat rooms to gather his thoughts, knowing the shadows he had wrapped around himself would keep him hidden from the eyes of others. How had a lich entered the academy, did the masters know, should he cross Achrynoth and tell them, who was this Mai. Thoughts and questions tumbled through his head, one after the other.
So preoccupied was he that he didn’t notice the entrance of a stranger, not till he breathed in the faint yet pleasant scent of male mixed with the tangy scent of the sea. He opened his purple eyes just as the young man called out, making his presence known. IstaunVal studied the new arrival with interest, the worry over Achrynoth momentarily forgotten, as he took in the torn clothing, haggard look and salt encrusted appearance of the stranger. The guy seemed forlorn, lost and worried. He debated with himself whether or not he should let his presence be known or to let the fellow make his own way. He smiled to himself and dissolving the shadow spell around him he stepped forward.
“Greetings and welcome” he said with a slight nod of his head, his eyes alight with wry humour and curiosity, his unbound shoulder length white hair framing his face, a sharp contrast against his dark skin and purple eyes “ This is the academy, there is always someone awake…somewhere. I am IstaunVal’Imar…” he stopped as he realised the person before him was a drow or at least half drow. Half, full, whatever, it didn’t matter, drow was drow, caution was necessary He narrowed his eyes in suspicion as he studied his fellow countryman, the iris of his eyes glowing a soft lavender as his fingers slid up and down the length of the dagger at his hip.
“Who are you?” he asked the stranger softly