Follow Baron Tyrus

The consideration of the immense destructive powers that were at your fingertips left you a bit overwhelmed. The fact nobody dared to come close to you as the rest of the ceremony finished up. It was... disturbing. You thought their concerns about your abilities was a bit foolish. You'd gone your entire life without somehow causing something to spontaneously combust or shoot lightning from your eyes, and you hated people before. Of course, they didn't know that, and now they only knew you as some sort of walking well of destructive mana. You'd be lucky you went through this without becoming some sort of social pariah, even if you weren't exactly meant to make friends while you were here.

Thankfully, you weren't so caught up in your thoughts that you'd miss the closing portion of the ceremony... well, all of it. There were some words about how, regardless of the talent your possessed or the power you had, all of you were expected to forge yourselves through the trials of the academy and become magic users devoted to the Tyrant King and his Eternal Empire.

What you did catch upon was her naming a number of the Academy's scholars, those that would guide you through your time here and bestow upon you the skills that will make you feared by the Alliance and its ilk. Given it was given in not quite as simplified words, glorifying the students, the Tyrant King, and the Eternal Empire as a whole more, while showing no fondness for the Alliance.

Be it through fortune or some sort of miserable twist of luck, you had no trouble identifying Baron Tyrus. He was a large, broad shouldered man of Orcish descent. He had a mane of black hair flowing back, while an unusual ensemble of red armor with bronze runes embedded into it covering his muscular form. Of all the teachers, he had the largest group, but he seemed far from pleased with it.

Once the separate schools of magic divided, Tyrus wasted no time bellowing out orders. "Listen up ya maggots! As you all can see, Evocation ain't nothin' special! Ya'll come a dozen to the bit! That's good, cause ya'll go to the front lines! Ain't nothin' special ta any of ya, cause there ain't nothin' intricate 'bout Evocation!" the man roared, his arms crossed behind his back as he paced to and fro, glaring at those gathered before him. A few seemed displeased with his words, but didn't bother to speak up.

"Oh, don't act like I don't see them scowls, ya pansy ass whelps! Ya think ya're somethin' great, but if that was the case, why are ya here? Ta get better? Maybe if ya were special in another field ya would be, but let me reiterate. Evocation is all 'bout throwin' energy at whatever it is ya don't like. Ya need a spell and mana. Mana can't be changed, if ya got a little of it, tough! Ya'll be lucky if ya can just hide behind soldiers. If ya got some though, then ya need ta learn spells. That's all ya're here for. Once I know what ya can and can't handle, ya're outta here." Tyrus explained, making his view of them much clearer.

Those that knew they had a small amount of mana quickly looked down, feeling just as small as their magical capacity. Those that were aware of their higher than normal depths seemed to grow more prideful, puffing out their chests and looking around, as if seeking attention. However, more than a few instead turned their attention to you, aware that your capacity was enormous, and thus your stay here would likely be longer than theirs, but for good reasons.

Not wasting much more time, Tyrus stomped his feet, drawing all eyes back to him. Oddly enough, he didn't bother to berate or shout at them anymore, instead turning on his heel and marching off, the expectation for them to follow him implicit.

It appeared that the Academy was used to having more students in Evocation than others and prepared one of the closer buildings for them. It lacked much decoration, simply being a large, oblong dome that had clearly seen the hands of a few unfocused students, with scorch marks and other distinctive scars marring the building.