Conference Chambers – Caroban Hall

A rainbow of robed figures cluster around in a large table of heavy wood, myriad mages of many disciplines seated in high-backed chairs. Others who seem less inclined to participate in the discussion, but wish to listen, sit in risers surrounding the table. A large scrying pool stands nearby… but unlike most, its bowl is standing on its side. Somehow, the crystal clear water stays in it, the whole thing used for presentations of import.

"This meeting of Caroban alumni and faculty will come to order," says a Rhian in dull gray robes. "Minutes will be kept, but the nature of this meeting is speculative, to discuss theoretical futures of the Guild and organized magic, and thus is informal. Offering us insights from the Sphere of Earth, Journeyman Envoy of Caroban." The Rhian gestures with a large hand at the aeolun.

The white and gold colored (and robed) alien nods when introduced.

"And representing the Sphere of Spirit, Master Qing of Nagai," The Rhian gestures with his other hand at a pallid serpent coiled near the table, one of the high backed chairs scooted aside to make room for him to coil nearby. The snake nods curtly.

The Rhian continues, "In place of Master Sharif of the Khattan Emirate, and representing the Sphere of Fire, Journeyman Kessler of Rephidim." He waits a moment, and adds, "Mage Kessler's training spans two spheres, and his insights should be especially valuable for what we'll discuss today."

The robed keiltyn inclines his head to the gathered mages, taking a moment to ease his hood back. Like many keiltyn, he's a quiet sort, unused to so much attention and scrutiny. The hood is less about style than shyness – so many important eyes on him makes him want to lurk in the relative dark of his own hood. It's comforting.

What can be seen of the keiltyn's face is a mix of contrasting colors. Fur-dyed patterns, an extension of his circle and art, cross his forehead in complex patterns. Black on pale yellow, framing his gold eyes.

The Rhian, who introduces himself as Senior Instructor Coschler, Dream Mage of Rephidim, continues down the table, acknowledging the mages that have convened to offer their opinions. Once he's done that, he settles into his chair at the head of the table. "To begin with, the order of the meeting… though Caroban's official stance remains unchanged from its transition from the Collegias, there are concerns of stagnation and dwindling membership. While the many conflicts over the past years are an obvious factor, our recovery, and the consequences of our diminished numbers, have made some suggest potential new approaches."

Coschler folds his hands together, resting his elbows on the table and setting his chin on his knuckles. "The table is open for statements, comments, opinions."

Hesitantly, Mage Kessler extends his hand up. "I would speak, Senior Instructor," he murmurs.

"You have the floor, Mage Kessler," says the Rhian.

Envoy turns her attention to the fox-mage.

The keiltyn inclines his head, then rises. He takes a moment to clear his throat and gather his thoughts, his gaze passing across those assembled. He doesn't really see them, but he feels the action itself is useful, and he needs the time. "As the Senior Instructor has said, I am a mage of Fire and Light," he begins, leaving a period of silence to let his words sink in. He thinks it makes him sound wiser, more dramatic – it also lets him think. "Fire," he extends a hand, "and Light," he extends his other. "Our forerunners believed these to be two of three primary elements. The ancient Olympians saw in these Spheres Primus, Abaddon and Sinai, the powers of the celestial realm. They are … " he brings his hands together, " … connected, I think." He nods slowly, then breaks his hands apart in an expansive gesture, "We have long known that our arts overlap, that there is a connection between them. Between some more than others, of course, but there are many connections."

"Like draws to like. Often, I wonder if we split our resources too thin. There are threads of connection that we might trace, like a web, to find greater connections. Within these ties, there is efficiency. We might seek how we are similar, that such overlap may not go to waste by being apart among the Spheres."

Some of the collected mages nod. Others seem to consider this with various thoughtful looks, while others appear troubled. The reaction is broad, but nobody seems surprised by the varied reactions themselves.

"If every Mage could expand their repertoire, then that could offset our diminished numbers somewhat," Envoy agrees.

A golden collie, earlier identified as Mage Lesilia of Gallis of Life, chimes in with a skeptical look on her face. "But could every mage do so? The teaching methods we've developed over generations have been put in place specifically because of great difficulty in grasping concepts outside our disciplines. Many of our number remain at Journeyman within a single Sphere as it is."

A mage next to her nods, and adds, "I'm concerned that upsetting tradition could be costly too."

"Caroban itself is a break from tradition," the Aeolun points out. "Independent of the nations who hosted the old campuses. And even those had their own traditions, did they not, Master Qing?"

The fox-mage inclines his head to Mage Envoy. "Yes." To Lesilia he says, "There are ways: the consolidation of teaching facilities for secondary training needn't be separate. At a basic level, many apprentices share similar training. Several Spheres study the basic elements, while the arts of Mind, Illusion, and Shadow invest themselves in the intrigues of perception and thought. Such connections might be exploited – by combining classes we free our members to focus on higher arts."

In answer to Envoy, the Rokuga across the table nods. "Originally, our differing traditions have been a source of division, in fact. Collegia Nagai and Collegia Babel both held… different standards than Collegia Rephidim."

"So, the time is ripe for forging new traditions," Envoy comments, then nods to the collie. "Lesilia brings up a valid point, however, in that not every student has the necessary aptitude or willingness to delve across disciplines. We still need to increase the membership itself. Moving to Caroban means that we will not be in the public eye as much as we once were, and so fewer people may be inspired to get tested for magical aptitude."

"Different leanings as well, is that not true, Mage Qing?" inquires the fox.

The pale reptile nods again, tongue flicking. "That is true, Mage Kessler. Tradition caused a leaning toward the 'intangible spheres' in Nagai. And I agree with Mage Envoy. Our isolation on Caroban affords a certain amount of protection, but we may be slowly dying in our armor, and have already lost much of our relevance in the surface areas. While proscribing a new, more generalized curriculum as Mage Kessler suggests may broaden applications of existing alumni, we may have to look toward sources of potential that we would have ignored in the past. I speak of the hedge-mages and witches that are no doubt flourishing now that our influence and abilities to enforce our edicts has waned."

Qing speaks with a certain amount of distaste at this last part, evidently a certain old guard attitude reluctant to let go.

Even Mage Kessler tilts his head at Mage Qing's words, brows raising. Apparently he hadn't considered the angle of hedge-mages and witches. "Hmm," he murmurs.

"Those that have genuine talent, anyway," Envoy concurs in a quiet voice. "Those who learned hand-me-down spells or who need to serve a broad variety of community needs may even be better suited to mastering the multi-disciplinary approach Mage Kessler espouses."

"Indeed," Mage Kessler agrees, after a moment. "I have heard of hedge-wizards who possess … I would not call it Sphere magic … but, similar arts to our own that would not be possible within our own teachings. Our education would not support such variety, yet they show us it is possible, as do our own works. The connection is there."

A human mage with milky skin, white hair, and chilly blue eyes leans forward in his seat. Earlier identified as Master Cirrus of Air, he speaks up. "As a specialist since the fractured Collegias, I must express concern that this approach would only serve to dilute the curriculum and the skill of developing mages. We've lost many of our more capable instructors in the wars, we need to build that level of expertise back."

"Consolidation would allow for greater coverage by our existing instructors. In time, such extension may bear the fruit you seek," Mage Kessler offers. "When I was but a boy, I attended many such classes. Now, I am the apprentice of a single mage. Should this continue, instruction will be limited to available masters and handful of minor classes. We must expand our ability to instruct without burdening so many of our remaining members."

The elementalist of air doesn't look ready to agree, but he nods diplomatically. "Fair enough. My concern is there, but I cannot offer a better solution yet."

"It is no minor puzzle," Mage Kessler agrees, inclining his head respectfully to the mage of Air.

Qing cranes his long neck up again, peering out from under his odd hat. "I believe that a solution may be to reach out. To take students rather than wait for students by visiting the surface and demonstrating our arts and the power of classical, organized training. The sky island affords safety and a seat of power, but the idea of training magic this high up, where our power is weakened, has always seemed absurd to me."

Some of the Rephidimite alumni seem rankled by this comment, but Qing has never been known to be especially diplomatic, and the reptilian mage makes no apology for anything implied.

"A dual approach is likely needed," Envoy suggests. "An aggressive campaign to seek out and recruit new talent, and a program to share and generalize basic training across the Spheres to accommodate our temporarily reduced faculty. Such classes could be led by alumni and journeymen, while the masters focused on the advanced studies within individual Spheres. We cannot afford the luxury of one-on-one Master and Apprentice style teaching anymore."

Mage Kessler bows his head, primarily to hide the slight crease in his muzzle. His masters had always told him it was to hone his skills, so he never expected a senior Mage to call high-altitude training "foolish."

A worried look crosses Lesilia's face. "Would this mean relaxing our laws against the undisciplined practice of magic? We don't want to look as though we condone dangerous dabbling."

"A desperate luxury," Mage Kessler agrees. "We cannot hope to educate the next generation if we maintain a one-on-one relationship. I would suggest a committee be organized, to examine what links exist between our Spheres, and to what level we might consolidate them, that we might address as much as possible." He glances at Mage Lesilia, then at Mage Envoy, wondering what her answer will be. He has never been quite certain of Exiles, and mage Envoy is more Exile than most.

"We don't condone it, we simply… provide those who did not have the luxury of a formal Collegia education with the opportunity to refine their knowledge," Envoy suggests.

The Rokuga shakes one of his hands as if swatting away a fly. "Not to mention, while we have every ability to crush any coven we find, a dozen return in its place. Sinai was too vast to police even before we blasted ourselves into irrelevance."

"I wonder if we were too public, too many, and obvious. When legends speak of mages, it is often the individual mage that is remember. The founders, the great magi, the Necromancer King – individuals. We have a place in the collective imagination of the world. Perhaps it is time we used it. Perhaps we may be unable to police the world now, perhaps we never could, but we might appear to be. We might … reinvent ourselves, even as we reorganize," suggests Mage Kessler."

"We've been spending the last few years building this haven of ours," Envoy adds. "It's time to go back out into the world and remind people we are here and that we can accomplish things of note."

A round of murmuring goes around the table. Most seem to think that this, at least, is reasonable. Mage Coschler, at the head of the table, nods as well. "I don't think any of the Council intended a policy of isolationism… more that we simply ended up that way while we were looking inward."

Mage Kessler inclines his head in agreement.

Mage Cirrus rests his chin on his knuckles, arms propped on the table. "Then we should be sure that representatives we send out understand they are not to present an air of permissiveness or encouragement to shoddy magicks, but rather an air of tolerating a sub-standard method."

Lesilia nods, and adds, "With an aim to improve it, I assume."

"To the world at large, it may have appeared that we retreated into our ivory tower," Envoy says, then pauses to smirk at some private irony before continuing, "and abandoned them when things were going bad. Granted, they were going bad largely to us, but still, it is the impression and not the reality that people seem to cling to. And we've built something truly remarkable here, too. Anyone who visited Caroban today would want nothing more than to be a Mage, I think. A little offer of amnesty to bring out those who operated outside of the Guild into the light, and a bit of razzle-dazzle up here on Caroban to seal them to our bosoms, so to speak, could go a long way."

Lesilia perks her silky ears. "Then perhaps having representatives offer supervised visits to Caroban to demonstrate the potential of classical training?"

"It would certainly spread the word out, wouldn't it?" Envoy agrees. "And we still have the old campuses… well, minus the one in Babel… that could stage special events and organize the visits, perhaps."

"We might draw insight from their hedge-magic, even as we teach them our ways. Surely their magic is flawed, but even a flawed work may carry innovation. Such as their … 'cross-Sphere' … workings," Mage Kessler puts forward.

Mage Kessler turns to regard Mage Envoy for a moment, allowing a private smile to cross his face. "A Mages' Day, perhaps? An event, a spectacle … " The mage brings his hands together in a pyramid, looking up as if envisioning the day. "A festival, in celebration of the great mages of old – and a chance to draw in great mages yet to be. Hmm."

"At the very least, having them explain their techniques would keep the School of Chaos busy for a while," Envoy says, not-quite-jokingly, being a regular visitor to that particular school.

Master Cirrus chuckles. "To admit the possibility we could learn from the methodless rabble stings the pride," he says, giving Qing a meaningful glance. "But it may be time to swallow our pride."

Lesilia tilts her head, lolling her long collie tongue at the mention of the festival. "It would be nice to have something positive associated with us," she says.

"Such a 'holiday' may be a long time in coming," warns Coschler. "We're still rather busy recovering. But perhaps sometime in the near future."

"We have much to celebrate, besides. A day in our name would not be undeserved. Have we not taken possession of an island in the sky, and made of it a great city? Did we not lose so many of our friends, and yet survive? Have we not a great history, stitched fast in many a tale and song? For all these reasons and the ones before: a celebration." Mage Kessler inclines his head to Coschler. "Of course, Senior Instructor. All things in time."

There are a few calls of "hear, hear" at Kessler's points.

"The effects of the celebrations would be worth the efforts, I think," the Aeolun says. "A bit of spectacle is always good advertisement."

Coschler laces his thick fingers together. "I'll see about bringing it up before the Council. So then, while we aren't all necessarily agreed on establishing a new curriculum, I think it's fair to say the idea of taking a more active role outward is appealing to most?"

"Risky," says Lesilia, her long face still worried. "But I suppose we can't just mind our own anymore."

"I am certainly willing to do my part away from Caroban," Envoy says. "It will be pleasant to see buildings that were built without my having to stand around for hours on end chanting with a hundred other apprentices." She smiles as she says it though.

"I too will do my part. I hope to return to Caroban when my tour of duty with my Master has completed. There is much to be learned between the Spheres, I think," says Mage Kessler. Another private smile.

Qing reclines into his coils with a sense of finality. "Perhaps a small, experimental contingent first, then. To be assured that our results are consistent and measurable. If this chore bears fruit, perhaps the Council will be more likely to adopt new policies."

Mage Kessler lifts a hand. "I will volunteer myself, then, when I am freed from my duties."

The Rhian at the head of the table nods. "I'm sure Master Sharif would be agreeable."

"I am due sabbatical," hisses Qing. "I will return to Sylvania with our meeting in mind, and report any progress."

Envoy gets an odd mental image of Qing – not the most personable of reptiles – trying to entice a witch out of her hovel with promises of education and candy. At least the overcast skies will be easy on his eyes though, she reckons.

Mage Coschler gives the pallid reptile an equally dubious glance, but merely nods.

Uncertain just what Master Sharif will say, Mage Kessler merely nods. "The specter of war remains. Master Sharif and I will venture upon several contracts before we return. Time, then." A pause, and then the mage's ears perk under his hood. "Ah yes: while we touch upon the subject, and as I have time, Master Sharif has suggested an expansion on research into two-Sphere magics. For those interested, I would meet with you after this council." And with that, Mage Kessler returns to his seat.

"Very well, the invitation is out there," says the Senior Instructor. He makes a sort of whinnying cough, then glances around at the assembled. "If there is no other business, I will collect the minutes and consider this meeting adjourned."

"There is the issue of disposing of the old temporary dorms," Envoy notes. "Since they are mostly giant pumpkins that have been hollowed out, some of the younger apprentices have suggested rolling them off of the island to see them smash onto mountain tops."

Cirrus rubs his white eyebrows. "See, this is exactly the sort of thing we're NOT supposed to be known for."

"Well, the other suggestion was to breed some giant hogs to eat them," the Aeolun notes. "I'm sure the Council can suggest something less extreme though, if you brought it to their attention?"

"I have to agree. It would be in poor taste to exercise such silliness in these times. Pumpkin pie may be more appropriate," offers Mage Kessler.

"Everyone likes pie," the Aeolun concurs. "Well, most everyone."

Coschler gets a somewhat exasperated expression, but clings to the pie notion as the least silly. "Right, right. Mage Envoy, if you could grow us several hundred pounds of cinnamon, I think we'll go with this option."

Qing hisses, "I'm done," and begins uncoiling to slither off.

"I'll… see what I can do," Envoy replies, trying to look confident about it.

Mage Kessler taps his steepled fingers together. It was unexpected, but he managed to arrange some pie. He does so like a good pie.

---

Though Master Sharif is a mage of the Fire Sphere, his one-time apprentice has been told that he is, as is often the case, over in the Earth campus, specifically near the greenhouses. Though the Khattan sheik has said he prefers the gardens over the Fire campus for meditation, ('Who can think with all that booming and whooshing?') those in the know would cite a fondness for fine tobacco and other 'herbs' that the Earth Mages cultivate. Rather than being considered a nuisance, lavish gifts have made him a popular guest among the Earth Mages, and many of their greenhouses have been made with glass he heated.

A plant shaper confirms that Sharif has occupied his favorite garden, the mycon cave, dug partially into the island itself. A beaded curtain hides most of the entrance, but a little wisp of smoke creeps from between the strands.

"Ahh, the master is here," the Fire Mage Apprentice murmurs as he steps towards the curtains. There once was a time when Samael wore the clothes he does as a convenience, but he's long since taken a fondness to them, as well as the culture they belong to. He's garbed in Khattan styles robes, having left his armor in his room, hardly expecting battle in the center of Caroban. That he carries his sword is a matter of style and culture, and as his master has told him, it never hurts to remain armed. War mages are all too few these days, a fact the two mages know well. "Master Sharif, I'm here," he calls inside as he brushes past the beads.

The Khatta's voice has a 'thick' quality to it, but then, so does the rest of the mage. His voice echoes from inside the cave, "Ahh, Samael! Come in, my boy." The air is sweet with the scent of burning leaf.

Samael muses on the scent in the air. He remembers a time when he'd walk into rooms such as this, and end up coughing, with watery eyes, even as he tried to remain dignified. I remember it amusing the master greatly, he recalls, thinking he must have looked quite amusing at that age, with how serious he was. He proceeds inside, saying, "I return from the meeting, Master Sharif. It says much for these days, that our ideas were given such weight."

The beaded curtain rattles as Samael passes through it, arriving in the underground garden. The light here is dim, but comfortable enough, coming from paper lanterns around the ceiling, washing the cavern in their warm yellowish-orange glow. Mushrooms of gargantuan size rise from rich, black soil, and pathways are dictated by flat stones hemmed with lush ferns. Sharif is seated on a particularly large mushroom, a broad spotted specimen that seems to support his weight handily. Despite the Khatta's hefty girth, it's a testament to the mage's coordination that he's managed to heave himself up there. He sits cross-legged, his zolken clothing and fine jewelry sparkling in the dim lamplight, lavish even by mage standards, his neatly buttoned vest and a broad sash disguising some of his paunch. A caftan covers his ears, and long cheek ruffs spread out to cover his thick neck and a double chin, though some jowls are still evident around his muzzle. Though the embers from his pipe don't cast enough glow to pick out more details of his face, his pale yellow eyes are bright enough not to need any extra light. "Very good, very good. Come, sit with me, share some leaf. I had the Earth Mages grow them from some seeds I had imported from Abu Dhabi, makes for a very fine blend. Sit, sit! Make yourself comfortable and tell Sharif what he missed."

"Of course, Master Sharif," the fox mage replies. He pauses a moment to pick out a mushroom near the Khatta, then proceeds to climb onto it before kneeling down. The mage adjusts his scimitar, keeping it from cleaving into the giant fungus. "Primarily, we discussed the need for better education methods. While this is hardly a new topic these days, we did branch on to several interesting paths, I think. Expansion and revision of existing Spheres was discussed, as was seeking recruitment among the hedge wizards and clerics. As I said, interesting times." The fox, like all those of the keiltyn race is nocturnal, and his eyes reflect much like those of his master. While Samael is often formal with the senior mage, he really considers him as much a father figure as his adopted father, and can rarely remain so formal with the man for long. Of course, around Master Sharif, he can rarely avoid intoxication or sedation for long, either. The old master does enjoy his leaf.

The master mage taps the bowl of his long pipe into the palm of his hand, grinding the hot ashes out on his pawpad and carefully sprinkling them into a pouch apparently prepared for such beforehand. He wipes the soot off on a handkerchief, careful not to mar the garden with any of it, and reaches into another pouch for a fresh pinch of herb, tamping it down into his pipe with his thumb. "Mmm, beating that dead Rhian again, eh?" He shakes his head, then sticks his finger into the bowl of the pipe, until the contents start burning, then shakes his hand and puts his fingertip in his mouth. Tss. He offers his old apprentice the pipe for the first pull, speaking as he does so. "Well, I suppose it's about time. Don't like the idea of picking through the riffraff, but what can we do, ah? Who was in attendance? I don't want to look like I was shirking." He laughs slightly, letting out a small gust of smoke. "Even though I was."

The pipe is accepted, and the fox takes a languid drag. This is another custom he came into slowly over the years, starting with the very first pipe offered to him by none other the Master Sharif himself. He was just a young boy then, and choked before dropping the pipe and setting a cushion on fire. Samael avoids admitting to any recollection of that memory. "The exile, Mage Envoy, was present was the Imperial Master, Qing, Master Cirrus, and Senior Instructor Coschler headed the meeting." The pipe is offered back to the Khatta, and Samael smiles one of his subtle smiles. "You have the right to shirk, I think, master. You have fought long and hard, and I with you. We fight still, even here."

"Hah! That we do, my boy, that we do," laughs the Khatta. He rubs his nose with the back of his hand while Samael enjoys a puff. The herb seems to go right to the head, giving a pleasant floaty feeling and a sensation of warmth. Things are a tiny bit more funny. "Well, you fight, anyway… fighting is for people more young and less fat than old Sharif. Ah, I should have gone to say something, but I am sure you said it as well as I could. You're a mage in your own right. Was some receptive people, yes? Anyone have any good ideas, or was it the same old stuffed shirts? Qing, he's a stodgy one. Don't imagine he was any fun."

Samael laughs too, caught up in the humor and the herb. The older fire mage has been key to Samael discovering the ligher part of himself. Growing up with his adoptive parents, he felt loved, but never quite that he fit in with them. They are big people, soldiers, practical and earthy. Sam was introspective and bookish as a child, fond of comfort and night while his parents were roudy and diurnal. It wasn't until he met Master Sharif, and shared several nights of herb and embarassment, that he started to let go a little. "You will be surprised by this: Master Qing suggested we look elsewhere, to the hedge mages no less. The exile was as odd as exiles are, but her even more so – still, she offered an openminded view that helped the arguement. Master Cirrus protested, unwilling to open either our ranks or our schools. Still, I think when Senior Instructor Coschler reports to the Council, we may see some change. Perhaps." The fox mage shrugs a little, taking another puff before returning the pipe. "Of interest, I think, was the discussion to open the Spheres – to expand education along the lines of similarity and synergy, that we might find common ground among each other and the hedge."

"You don't say?" Sharif strokes his whiskers, tufts over his eyes rising up. "Next you'll be telling me Qing took up smoking. He could use it, I think, if just to take that horrible chemical smell off him. Phew. Envoy too, eh? I like her well enough, pretty one, and not averse to helping an alumnus out. Ah, I'm getting off topic, aren't I?" He accepts the pipe back, taking a long and thoughtful puff, and speaking through an aromatic cloud on the exhale. "Well, I'm glad there was some movement. Unfortunately, where it really counts is the Council. I don't know if we could expect such an open discussion amongst them. In the end, it's all just talk."

"Pretty? Hmm." Samael rubs his chin, considering that. "Exotic, I think." Private, and often shy by most standards, Samael rarely opens up to women. Few have heard him comment, and Master Sharif is one of these people. Indeed, Master Sharif pressed and goaded so long, the younger fire mage couldn't help but remark. Now, Samael freely speaks about such things to the older man. After listening, Samael inclines his head slowly. "It is enough to drive a man to smoking," he offers, holding out a hand for the pipe. "As it is, I have insinuated myself into these plans. How often have I spoken to you of the correlations and similarities between Fire and Light? It was you who helped me see the Fire in Light – it is no coincidence that my spells hold as lanterns about my head. Yes, I am thinking of pressing this advantage, and exploring it in depth."

Sharif waves the pipe, ribbons of smoke spreading around in the air, which is starting to get a little hazy. "Exotic is a kind of pretty. Exotic things are some of our main imports from Khattan lands. Exotic things that aren't pretty and don't sell get a different name: weird." He laughs to himself, belly shaking, and passes the pipe back. "Yes, very good! It's high time somebody did, my boy. In fact, I think it's high time you went out and about. You're not an apprentice anymore… as I say, you're a fully capable mage. Don't want to be one of these bookworms who wastes his life and his art here on this rock." He thumps his chest, and coughs a little. "We are of Fire! Fire moves and spreads, by Dagh. And you need to put steel to fire to temper it." He waggles chubby paws. "And all that wise mentor, blather. Ho ho, not much for it, really. You know well enough."

After taking another puff, the fox laughs. "Wise as the desert is dry, yes? When I speak of Master Sharif, I shall say he is that." Samael laughs again, then shakes his head "Think you have corrupted me long enough, do you? I suppose that's true, and you will never tell me the secrets to your greater spells, nor your leaf, nor daughter. I must then be off." Samael laughs again, takes another puff, then returns the pipe. he waggles his fingers through a smoke ring he blows, stirring it. "I am thinking I shall make it simple. Fire is light, and Light creates heat. Oh yes, it isn't proper Light – but it is Light. Above us, Primus gives me ideas, and whispers secrets to me. I shall form a plan to gather much light, and make of it an assault of light sufficient to sear the sands."

The portly Khatta smirks. "Dry, anyway. At least until I get into some wine. Tah, I knew I forgot something. Well, no matter." He points at the mention of secrets, the laugh on his face as if he were catching someone in conspiracy. "Ahh! I knew you were after everything I hold dear! Well, have no fear, my boy. As long as I'm still burning, you can come back to me for spells… when you're ready to keep from crisping yourself. And Merise, I can't let her secrets slip, she's more dangerous than fire. The herb is all I have left!" The sheik grins, and rests his elbows on his knees. "But yes, I think your plan has merit. No one would argue our giver of light, Primus, is not also hot, yes? Ah, it's too much for me to learn at this point, I'm too set in my ways. But you… I know there are still many things on our wondrous world that treat magic differently than we do. Old secrets out there, more valuable than my spells or leaf, more dangerous even than my daughters."

"Ahh Merise, now she I will miss – even if she would never take my offers. And do not chastise me on that, or think to do so! It was you who started that, yes? "You are young, my boy? Do you not like women? Take my daughter, is she not lovely? Come, look, look! Ah you blush!"" Samael coughs a laugh, accidentally choking on the smoke for a moment such to make his eyes water. He clears them, then insists, "And I have not singed myself since I conjured that phoenix from the flames. Lovely bird, but none too cuddly, I think." Samael then nods, taking the pipe and shaking it like an old man might shake a finger. "I cannot think of a magic more dangerous than your daughters. However, however … " Samael pauses a moment as his thoughts rush away from him in a momentary haze of leaf.

"Ah yes! Primus! That is what I was thinking, and this is the whole of it: if we are to research the connection between our Spheres, I shall first use my two, for I know them best. Once I am satisfied, I will share my findings, then seek further connection in other Spheres. I am thinking, there are common threads, and I shall pick at the tapestry until we see them."

Sharif nods, a little distant, his smile a bit silly. "Mm, good, yes. Good. You will stay in touch, yes? Light mages are good at that. I will want to know what you are learning, and so will Merise. She does not admit it, but I think she finds you interesting. I spoiled the girl, pff." He holds his hands up, spreading his fingers out. "One day, got it in her head to marry a prince. Poof! That was it. Maybe you'll find some land to rule over, while you're out, ah? Nagai's all broken up, they wouldn't miss a chunk or two for you to be a prince of."

"Ha! Prince Samael Kessler, an orphan king for an orphan land. How fitting!" The fox mage blinks a little blearily, then smiles a little too widely. "Merise, she will never have me. She will tease, and smile, and dance before the fire, and whisper with her sisters, but it shall never be." Samael closes his eyes, leaning his head back as smoke trails from his nose and muzzle. "Ahh. You shall never be rid of me, Master Sharif. You need only call me, and I will come. And, I shall send you letters on fiery wings in scripts of light." The fox blinks his eyes open. "Or on parchment, I think. Yes, parchment. Where was I? Ah, magic. I would show you, but I am seeing haze."

Sharif is a bit giggly, his husky chuckles echoing off the cave. "The - sniff - mushrooms, I think they're just as potent! The spores, I hear… but then again, the… heehee, the smoke isn't… whoo! Not clearing up at all… " He slaps his knee, setting his belly quaking. "Ah, once you're back here with a harem, she'll be jealous! That's the way of women, my boy. Don't want it till they can't have it!" He slides to the edge of his mushroom, and gingerly feels for the ground with a toe, as if it's looking more out of reach than before. "Mmph, but enough of that. Sharif listens to his wife first and his stomach second, and his stomach says it is time for a snack."

"Yes, I think that is quite in order." The fox mage blinks, then chuckles. "Order, yes? As in food? Ah, the wit of the Collegia is beyond the ken of mere mundanes, truly." He pushes off, letting himself slowly slide off the mushroom until his feet hit the floor, which sets him stumbling. "Were I an Earth mage," he wheezes, "I would set the firma- … firmament to be not so difficult. Sand, it is softer to land on."

The master mage staggers a little, but keeps his balance partially by clapping a hand on Samael's shoulder, and he begins winding his way a little unsteadily to the beaded curtain. "Ha, yes! Well, it takes a mage to appreciate mage humor." Not that there was anything especially magical about the conversation, but Sharif seems in high spirits. "Well, they won't mind us visiting the… the Earth mages I mean, they won't mind us visiting the, um… food place. That they have. Oh, but it's all vegetables, isn't it? Isn't there a… a meat tree yet?"

"A meat tree," Samael says in the air of someone suddenly dawning upon a great idea. "I shall add that to my research, Earth and Life together! It will feed nations!" He gets up from where he had fallen to his knees from supporting Master Sharif, then dusts himself up with a great amount of care for someone so disoriented. "I am not fond of vegetables, this you know, master. I say we seek our tower, and further, the spit. Perhaps I will dazzle the apprentices with my fire, perhaps not, but food there shall be."

Sharif nods with an air of wisdom, probably the only air around him right now, though he's making progress toward the curtains. "Yes, I am a genius… geniuses. We are, I mean, not just me. A meat tree, they'll thank us. And it'd be kebabs with the stick already on. Genius!" An Earth mage eyes the two as light floods in and smoke pours out, but satisfied that none of the fungus or ferns are on fire, she says nothing, merely nodding respectfully. "Yes, your plan sounds good, my boy. That's enough meditation for today."

"Much wisdom to mull over," Samael agrees. Smoke trails from his nostrils and mouth, making him look literally like a mage of fire. "But I say, to the spit. Tomorrow, I will conjure the sun."