>>5902259>>5902280>>5902341>>5902382>>5902392>>5902421>>5902436>Call out for your master’s name.>Stop and search the room. If we can say for certain it's master's we could just sit and wait.“Sigrid..? Lady Sigrid..?” You try to keep your voice quiet enough to avoid any unwanted listeners but loud enough to permeate through the slapped together walls. It’s very difficult. “My lady, it’s Snuff..?”
You wait a beat–no response.. perhaps she’s out of audible range? You instead turn your attention back to the room. You begin to pick through it with a bit more care, paying heed toward the little trinkets littering the shelves and the labels of the books spilling off tables.
You find a few notable odds and ends–a steel rack on the wall that would do well to hold a gun, a few grass-stained gambesons and scarves hung up in the closet, and a banister labeled with a gold A and C pinned up like a curtain–the symbols of the conservatory. You feel it confirmation enough–this must be your master’s quarters!
You sit yourself down on a (very small) chaise in the corner of the room and fold your hands. You need only stay quiet and your master will turn up soon enough to her room. Your eyes wander the room as the minutes tick by, one by one, picking up the labels of certain books you’ve read and admiring your master’s.. less than conventional organizational system.
You start at a creak at the door–your master, certainly..! You begin to move up to greet her, but..
The door swings open to someone who is not your master: no, a veritable mountain of a person ironclad in tan armor, a red cape and shield as paraphernalia. You freeze. The mountain freezes. And in just a second’s breadth, they burst forward like a steam train, their gauntlet around your head as you might pick up an apple.
“What are you doing here?” The knight demands, steel helmet staring into you, only the black pinprick eye holes of the helm meeting your gaze. You instinctively reach for your wand, but the knight’s hand shoots out and clenches your fist before you can. You get the feeling they could mangle your hand into a pulp of bone and flesh should he choose to. Do injuries carry over in memories? Oh god, you hope not. “Why are you in this room?”
>You’re a family member of Lady Sigrid’s.>You’re a visiting classmate from St. August’s Conservatory.>Try to cast a spell anyways.>A thief?>Sigrid’s boyfriend?>[Write-In.] 