[Tiyribi Andares]

“Enter.” The words were concise and to the point, each consonant cutting the air with the razor edge of a knife. Clearly the Common Tongue was not the speaker’s native language; a slight lilt on the vowels and a harshness on the ending syllable lent that much information even to the most unobservant of ears. Still, the voice was feminine…and slightly sensual. The word was as much of a command as it was a desire.

As the door to the classroom opened, very little light left the interior to meet Archalen at the doorway. Any sunlight that might have dared to enter by way of the small square window on the opposite wall had been purposefully diverted with a navy blue cloth draped over the glass. The other walls were completely unadorned, showing only the plain, simple building structures that made up this particular Arcane academy. They were, after all, in Vortex, a city not known for its architectural style.

Underneath the window sat the singular furniture and figure in the room. Even in the shadowed light of the room, one could easily make out the elegant silhouette of one of the race of Elfs sitting quietly on a chair, her long, thin legs folded delicately one over the other. Tapered fingers curled over each other and rested on her knee. Straight strands of pure white hair fell over both shoulders just to the gentle curve of her chest. But her most striking feature was, indeed, the fluorescent eyes glittering amongst the dusky grey of the room. Oh yes, she was a Vysstichi – and she knew it.

She didn’t move as Archalen entered the room. She simply stared at him, watching his every move with the instincts of a predatory cat, as if, upon visual inspection, summing up the Esh’lahier’s strengths and weaknesses. She didn’t smile, either. “Sit.” Finally a long hand moved and outstretched before her. The lone chair in the room was currently occupied by herself, but she didn’t seem to care much as she made her demand.

“I don’t care much who you are or why you’re here,” her words cut the silence once more, harshness taking form in every abrupt syllable. “I don’t even care if you succeed. But you are here, and you seem to be intent upon learning the art of Mysticism. So we shall begin.”

With one graceful movement she stood, allowing the black silk of her robes to cascade over her equally as dark skin. A hand moved to push some loose hair back away from her face as she walked quietly over to Archalen’s position. “I am Mistress Iranca. And I am about to Unbind you. This process cannot be reversed. It is the breaking of the mental barriers in your mind keeping you from seeing and understanding the power of this world. If the process fails, you will die. If it succeeds, you will suffer horrible pain as your mind fights to adjust.”

Her hands outstretched to opposite sides of the Esh’lahier Thane’s head, fully pulled to their full width. They didn’t quite touch the student’s hair, but they were ever so close. Allowing her eyes to flutter shut, she whispered, “Are you ready?”