Professor Hoad

Durgen

Nestled betwixt twin peaks, hidden yet sprawling, lays Durgen. The academy proper is built into Consequence's side, a scale grand both on and beneath the surface. Built from bricks weathered and worn but have yet to show any signs of any real decay.

It may not be as shiny and prestigious as many of the other facilities of its scale, but the knowledge you can learn is the kind you can't really get anywhere else. Bell towers reach into the sky at every step, spires that climb nearly a quarter of the mountain's height. When they all ring at once the sound is... just as bad as you're imagining. And likely thrice as frequent. Below, halls run deep through stone like roots through soil. This underground area predates Durgen, and much of mankind. Mount Consequence's arteries.

On the opposite side of the river is the town area of Durgen, closer to Cause. Residence, markets, a whole-ass ecosystem. Despite the isolated location, there are still many who make the pilgrimage. Some for knowledge, some for profit, a few even choose to live there.

Archprofessor Thorbin

"Whaddaya mean I ain't allowed to drink lidium in front of the students? Bad example my ass."

Niskel Eradatus Thorbin, Archprofessor. An expert in many life-related magics, including but not limited to: traditional healing magic, spirit sensing, bodily enchantment, and just a touch of caromancy. He's Hoad's direct superior and just about the only person who can handle her. Perhaps it's because he's just as brazen. But unlike the ghoulish gal, he's a suave old smooth-talker. Pepper hair is styled differently every day. Permanent stubble.

Deep in the mountain, where few are allowed to tread, there exists a room he... borrowed. Spends much time in there. In the red hallway, through an opaque crystalline door, locked with key but no magic, that's where you'll find his chamber of reflection. It is a private area that he allows nobody to enter.

Professor Hoad

Antula Hoad, Professor of Caromancy. Infamous amongst members of the academy for the discomfort her presence bestows. Her classes are filled with frequent and brutally raw demonstrations. What happens when a raptoad gets turned inside out? A flock of krines get their bones turned to goo mid-flight? She's always trying to outdo herself. But even still, for a practitioner in her area, she's actually... relatively normal. Her employment remains for good reason. You'd be hard-pressed finding anyone else capable of explaining such high-level topics with any level of cohesion.

Often alone. The only thing Hoad knows is doing magic and trying to impress people—sharing her knowledge. Likewise, she's just as fascinated by the feats and wisdom of those outside of her area of expertise. It's not about any academic pursuits or noble sacrifice. There's no ambition. It's all just a game. She knows how fucked she is and doesn't give a shit. Her voice is slow and awkward. Occasionally forgets her place mid-sentence.

The professor's hair is midnight black, a wild storm that has likely never seen scissors or a brush in its lifetime. A void from which nothing escapes. Rumours say people have fallen in but never escaped. Huge green eyes to match the strange scaled growths on her cheeks. There's little meat on her bones — built like a praying mantis, or perhaps some kind of hobgoblin.