In the world of Nanakal, nine countries rule the rest of the world. These mighty countries form the basis of all civilization, and their politicians and military might are legendary. Smaller countries rise and fall in their wake, or are assimilated into the whole of their being. Of these countries, Belladon is the greatest. While those living there are restricted under the thumbs of their magic-using nobility, lacking even the basest of education... their nobility and their army is the strongest in the world. Using magic to rip creatures out of other planes of existence, they bolster their own forces with the people of other dimensions, ravaging any that would oppose them. Their forces teleport into enemy territory, often bringing with them horrible monsters that destroy simply with their existence. All fear that the magic-clad country will turn it's eyes upon them. Far to the east is Belladon's opposite... the free-thinking series of city-states referred to as 'Pokiel'. Considered an enlightened rule by the Archmages, even the Mag-Null (magically inept) are exposed to magic on a regular basis, where other countries treat the Mag-Null as little more than slaves or untouchable. In Pokiel, they are offered friendship and a way to live happier lives, and has become a destination of many escaped Mag-Null. It offers education to all, though the greatest of those magically capable are sent to the mage-village of Rohtal. Rohtal is actually a rather simple-looking village from the outside. There are no great spires, just a vast plain of green grass, and the dome-shaped houses of those that live these. A steam winds it's way through the middle, and many bridges allow one to cross the gap to wherever you would need to go. The breezes are cool and mellow, and while it does get extremely hot in the summer, it doesn't really matter to a village filled with mages. The pride of the village is it's school: where the many gifted children from around Pokiel learn to become mages - as well as the children of those living in Rohtal. Fitting in with the enlightened rule of the Archmagi, students only sign up for and study in the classes they wish to go to, and there is no stigma attached to those who switch courses. While it is harder to get in to some courses (the Necromancy courses, for instance, are only held after dark - and only to those who have not been revealed to have an 'antisocial personality'.) It is in Rohtal where this story takes place, in fact... ----------------------------------------------- It felt good. Running from rooftop to rooftop, eyes alight and body brimming with magic... the rush of air as he lept, the feel of his muscles flexing and the burn of energy as his spell worked exactly as planned. It was inevitable, then, when he made a slight miscalculation in his next jump, crashing against the dome of a building and tumbling off of it to the ground. With a 'thud', the lynx lay upon the ground - panting. A grin finally stretched the feline's face, and he began to laugh... as his body shifted, returning to that of his original form. He still lay there, laughing - despite the thought that his ribs may in fact be broken. Gingerly raising a hand to prod at himself... no unusual pain, so he expected he was fine. He sits up quickly, elven ears wobbling a bit before the quick movement makes him dizzy, and he immediately lays back down. With a chuckle, he slowly sits back up. The man's dark skin and ears made it clear he was an elf. In fact, those 'in the know' would glance at his handsomely angular face and white hair and identify the man as a dark elf. He didn't seem uncomfortable in the temperate climate at all. Truth be told, it felt fantastic not to dress in five layers of furs every day. He instead wore a tight, sleeveless shirt over his slim body, and fitting pants. His shoes were leather, and around his wrists he wore seven brown beads and a white one: a symbolic gesture. Brown, the color of transmutation, and white - the color of abjuration. The man was a specialist... in particular, shapeshifting. Stretching out a bit, he gets a confused expression, looking at his hands - which hadn't transformed back yet. With a snicker, he fixes the problem, walking in the direction of the school. His name was Reeve... a decidedly human name, but it was certainly better than any dark elf name he'd come across. Offering a whistle to the winds, the rather cheery individual walked into the front gates: it was almost time for lunch!