Raemillin considered them all in turn. He scoffed, and turned away. “Bellami,” He said. “Apologize to the young half-ogre.” An elf appeared, and bowed to Bin. “My apologies. I didn’t look where I was going.” Bin stuck his tongue out at Bellami. “How quaint.” She said, before walking away. “There’s been an apology. I hope you forgive her rudeness,” Raemillin said, though his head was directed to Nutrose rather than Bin. The elf moved closer,

Bin had heard of the dreaded time of adolescence. When young mages of all races established their hierarchy. They made deals, clung to those with power, and dominated anyone who seemed even the slightest bit subservient. All in the name of social progress. But the Circle of Bel Haven was not like that, supposedly. Beyond Bin, all of the apprentices were supposed to be mature students of the art of magic. Each individual was hand-picked

Bin was falling asleep again. He wasn’t bored. Mister Path’s lectures were exciting, especially in his class on artifacts and the effect time and legend has upon them. They were full of stories, and debates on the very matter of magic, something the young ogre mage desperately wanted to know more about. In fact, Mister Path was in the middle of one such story now. “Imagine it, if you will. The great armies of the