Introductory thread to the Strawgoh universe, based on the still-running Ars Longa, Ludum Longlore campaign.
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A thin, androgynous figure with hair the color of dandelion fluff sits beneath the shade of a towering tree. A small but well-maintained dirt road snakes past, winds up a hill, and halts a polite distance from the gatehouse to a great castle. The tree itself would be an impressive landmark, enormous as it is, but it is overshadowed by the castle, which can be seen from leagues around on a clear day. Its residents, the dandelion-haired one among them, might describe it as "looming comfortingly." Visitors unfamiliar with the castle might merely say that it looms

"Liga vulnere," enunciates Steorran, carefully, tracing a line on their palm. They watch intently as the small scratch on their palm knits together, all but vanishing. A faint trace remains, twinkling faintly like the trail of a comet. Steorran watches it for a few moments more, to be sure. Corpus spells such as this were outside their usual focus, and such spells could be tricky to learn. Steorran had originally planned to stick to the Mentem and scrying lines of spells, but the Consummatus Fumigans had access to such useful magic that Steorran simply had to learn a bit of it. 

Steorran considered the spell a success, though not their best work. Their long study in the Technique of Creo had been helpful in learning this magic - at second magnitude, it was unusually difficult for an introductory spell. Given the rather niche focus of the Consummatus, though, and the sheer usefulness of even temporary healing spells, Steorran supposed it was worth the extra effort. It was a pity the spell wouldn't last, but like most magic taught by Strawgoh, permanent healing was a serious and resource-intensive challenge even for the greatest of magi. 

Unfortunately, Bind Wound was one of the harder spells to practice, requiring as it did a wound to practice on. Luckily tiny injuries counted; Steorran did not fancy having to practice like Nemed Fomorach, drawing blood with every incantation. Though perhaps Steorran could talk him into letting young Consummatus learners practice on him? Or perhaps not, Steorran mused; Nemed unnerved people even more than the typical Perdo Perdo house member. The fact that he and Ives went around with a levitating crown of blood over their heads didn't help much. 

Steorran returns their attention to their studies. Some spells were far easier than Bind Wound. Steorran glances at the pile of straight branches of varying lengths at their feet. Successful castings of creo virgam, most of them. (Steorran refused to use the formal name for this spell; they respected the founder of the Contsummatus Fumigans house immensely, but the man had an odd sense of humor. "And Carry a Big Stick" was a terrible name for a spell.) The conjured branches could be used as firewood or staves or even building material, but they would disappear with the setting sun, as conjured objects were no more permanent than healing. Steorran had at first wondered why someone would want a spell that conjures a stick, but one had to admit that a long staff could be quite useful, especially when exploring the castle.

They settle in for a bit more practice before sunset. 

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A cat wanders over. Most animals are put off by magic and by mages, but cats are strange creatures, some would say half fae. This one is a touch lean, hungry after the long winter. It's affectionate enough, weaving between Steorran's feet a few times as they cast. This cat is friendly enough to try and get a few scratches out of the mage. It'll call persistently, nudge Steorran's legs, wander off briefly to return with a dead mouse, and generally make a nuisance of itself. The cat's got an odd fur formation too, a band of white around its face and silvered streaks on the tops of the ears. . .

And, a heartbeat or two after the sun dips below the horizon, the cat begins to grow and stretch into a human form. Pale hair and a delicate jawline, it's like Steorran is looking into a still pool of water. That could be almost any of the shape-shifting Empty House, but from the pause before the second transformation it's probably one of the fellow students. 

"All work and no play makes you easy prey in the prank war you know." The voice sounds different coming from someone else than it does from Steorran's own throat, but the giveaway is the tone of mischief. "There was a lively discussion in the hallways over how best to get your blankets to tip you out of your bed tonight. Being of noble intentions, I thought I'd offer you the first chance to buy my services, maybe send them down back corridors."

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Steorran more than tolerates the cat, cheerfully offering scratches and cooing appropriately over the dead mouse. When the cat transforms, Steorran grins and graces the newcomer with rapt attention. 

"But the pranks are always so interesting..," replies Steorran, voice soft but earnest, meeting the former cat's eyes. A quick Lesser Legilimens - still and silent of course, this is Steorran's specialty - is aimed at perceiving Not-a-Cat's identity. Steorran likes knowing to whom they are speaking. "I rarely get to see such creative uses of magic... Last month, someone from Gryphem turned Matthias into a pig in his sleep, then turned the pig into a mouse so that when they went to get it dispelled, they wound up as a pig. The month before that, a Perdo student figured out how to hide every image from a chamber pot except the smell. Within a week of Master Moreau teaching creo virgam for the first time, someone had propped up the master's own bed with sticks that vanished with the dawn. I would hate to spoil such a chance to see what the brilliant minds of Strawgoh can come up with." 

Steorran's own eyes twinkled a little as they spoke. Steorran, of course, has a decent idea who was behind each of these pranks. But it is neither kind nor necessary to expose them, so Steorran leaves out the names. 

"I do know some excellent back corridors, though, if you want to show someone around." 

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The lookalike snorts. "If we just cared about the brilliant minds, we'd hardly need all five houses. I'd be more concerned about what the bravest hearts would come up with- someday someone is going to shift something actually dangerous. I hope your thought watch spots them in time." The traditional student's counter to Legilimens is, of course, to habitually make one's thoughts themselves a problem to observe. Steorran can narrow down their interlocutor to one of two or three possible shapeshifters, but whoever this is hasn't had their own form since daybreak. The dopleganger's present thoughts are mostly about how distracting Steorran looks.

"Ooh, good corridors? Pray tell, the last new one I found had an entire apple tree in it. Best apple I ever had."

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Steorran has noticed that rather a lot of people find them distracting. In fact, it was a couple years of mental note-taking before Steorran realized that not everyone found everyone else utterly fascinating. 

"I found a fig tree once on the fifth floor," they reply. "But the figs tasted oddly dry. There's a fizzy fruit juice fountain behind the Mount Whipplesdorf painting on the eighth floor that might be more to your taste. At least, it was there three of the five times I've checked." 

Steorran stands, brushing leaves from their white linen robe. "You make a charming cat, by the way." 

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