The Guests in The Main Hall

The walk to the Main Hall was lonely, Aaralons footsteps echoed back at him from the empty classrooms and hallways. He guessed that the other students and staff had all headed to the Main Hall as well to welcome their “Guests” in a manner he found far too easy to imagine.

That guess was proven right as he got closer to the hall, as more and more students and staff began to line the hallways. All with that same dead eyed stare as they looked towards the doors to the Main Hall. Nearer the doors the crowd became thick enough that Aaralon had to shoulder his way through. A task that proved strangely easy, as the other students parted like stalks of wheat in front of his hands, some seeming to move before he even touched them.

The doors to the Main Hall where mostly closed, with only just enough space left for Aaralon to squeeze inside. The crowd was even thicker in here but from his slightly elevated position on the steps of the door he was able to take in the scene.

He had been right in his hunch, the Incubus had called the students of the Young Women's School of Magic through the Mirror and now they stood in a huddle in the center of the hall. Surrounded on all sides by empty eyed young men.

From here it was easy for Aaralon to tell that they had not come under the sway of the Incubus just yet. Standing in the gender destroying grey smocks and hats that was the uniform of that school, the girls were giving nervous looks around at the silent crowd.

The Young Women's School of Magic was a different beast from that which taught young men in the ways of Magic. If a young boy showed any kind of talent he was usually shoved in front of a Wizard at an early age. If he passed a few tests, tests Aaralon had hardly had to think about, then he was sent packing off to one of the magic schools. The Wizards took the burden of the costs, an act of charity that they only bothered with because letting untrained magic users do what they wanted had brought an unexpected end to more than a few of their lives.

For girls however it was another story, when a young girl showed talent there were two paths that her future could take. If she was lucky enough to be the child of someone very rich then she would be shipped off to a school like the Young Women's School of Magic. A place where she would be taught just enough about magic so she could hide her talent from prospective husbands whilst receiving an education befitting her status. If she was unlucky enough to be born poor then, depending on her age and talent, she could expect to either be beaten, shunned or driven out all together.

On a unrelated note, the most common cause of **** among Wizards is actually being killed by a Witch.

So it was that the young women, and even the smocks could not hide that truth for some of them, standing in the Hall where about as magically threatening as a kitten. The Young Women's School of Magic must have been a finishing school. Even from here Aaralon could see they were all easily as old as him. Everyone of them trying to put on the air of someone allowing their inferiors to be near them in an effort to hide the nerves.

The women who stood at the front of the group was another story altogether. The Grand Mistress of the school was not totally unlike Mistress Pathfoot in her looks and bearing. Standing maybe a few inches shorter she made up for the shortcoming in other places. Unlike the stick thin Pathfoot this was a woman who had been gifted with curves and decided to make the most of it. Her Grand Mistresses gown clung to her form in a way that suggested both the help of a corset and some magic.

Even from here Aaralon could feel the power that she sent out in waves and it seemed like they were all being directed towards the figure sitting on the Grand Master's chair.

The Incubus was wearing all black, his head hidden within a cowl, in the embossing dark wood of the chair he looked like a dark lord. The Grand Mistress had stopped a few feet from him, regarding him with an expression that he could not make out from here.

Come. Here.

The words jabbed into Aaralons mind like knives, making him wince. He looked at the Incubus and knew that it wanted him to come stand beside it. His legs began to carry him down the steps towards the chair before his mind had a chance to tell them. Again the throng drew back and he quickly marched up to stand beside the Incubus.

Closer now he saw that Pathfoot was standing on the other side of the chair, staring straight ahead, her eyes empty. Turning towards the Grand Mistress Aaralon felt the tiny hope of a saviour, a hope so foolish he had not even admitted it to himself, die.

Her eyes where the hollow husks of Pathfoot and everyone else in that damned place. The Incubus had taken her mind through the Mirror and now she was hear to deliver her wards into his tender care.

As if on cue the demon suddenly stood up, his long black robes flowing around him as he reached up to grip the sides of his hood.

“My Daughter's!” The Incubus voice boomed across the room as the young women watched on in confusion. “Rejoice! For you are to be the mothers of a glorious new world.”

As the last word passed his lips the cowl was pulled back and Aaralon felt the full strength of the Demons power unleashed.