Outside once more, you took a deep breath of fresh air, clearing the musty remnants of the old tomes from your lungs, before descending the stairs and stepping back onto the main street. The sun had now completed three-quarters of its solitary journey across the sky, and though it still shone warmly upon your face, in a few hours the shadows that trailed behind young and old alike would begin to lengthen, and then finally fade into the growing darkness. You hoped, however, to investigate more of the city before that time, and you thus took a brisk pace as you followed the cobblestone street past the corner of the library.

A colorful sign hanging a few yards down piqued your curiousity, and you might have headed directly there had fate not intervened -- this time in the form of a gaggle of youngsters rushing obliviously past you and into a building off to your right. Your first thought was that the building looked a lot like the library. Your second was that the building looked exactly like the library, and you whipped your neck around to make sure that the library still stood behind you. Assured that it did, you began to walk towards this new edifice. It wasn't exactly like the library, you decided, but it was undeniably built from the same plans, with only a few minor changes in ornamentation to distinguish it from its neighbor. One such distinction, were the two carved owls which rested in life-like eeriness atop the columns that framed the central doors. Another was the inscription that was carved on a bannered granite plaque between them.

Academia Physicarum
Artiumque Magicarum

The language seemed vaguely familiar, but even if hadn't, the words were clear enough, "Academy of Magical Arts and Sciences." Suddenly, the design and scope of the library made sense. What now seemed odd, however, was that a town the size of Stormpoint could produce enough students to support a school of this size.

"It's a port city," you heard someone say.

"What?" you asked, looking left right, and behind for the speaker, and finding none.

"Stormpoint is a port city," the voice continued with a hint of exasperation. "It's easily accessible by sea, news travels far and fast, people in neighboring lands learn about the school and poof send their little darlings here."

"You needn't be so gruff about the matter. It was a legitmate inquiry," another disembodied voice added, then cleared its throat. One the doors opened outward before you, and the voice continued in a more formal manner, "Welcome, visitor, to our hallowed halls, to our font of knowledge, to our ...."

"Den of delinquents," the first voice finished sarcastically as the second door opened with a reluctant creak. "By all means, come in, take a tour, take your time, take some students .... please."

You'd just crossed the threshhold when the second door slammed closed behind you, hitting you hard on the back nearly knocking you off your feet. As you regained your balance and began to take in your new surroundings, you're sure you heard the door laughing.

They were somewhat less thrilled, however, when one of the dog's legs went missing, when Lady Jarnette's collection of antique teacups sprouted wings and flew away, and when the Lord's prized team of horses was mysteriously replaced by a pack of rabid ice weasels. They therefore, after much consideration, consultation, and general aggravation, did the only sensible thing they could. They packed her trunks and sent her away. Fortunately for Marinda, her understandably frazzled parents had sufficient foresight to send her to the distant town of Stormpoint. They made this decision based upon two important facts. First, the Academia Physicarum Artiumque Magicarum was touted as being one of the finest schools of its type in the land. Second, and perhaps more importantly, Stormpoint was a good five hundred leagues from their manor in Delquin's Cove, and thus meant that Marinda's chances to wreak further havoc in her ancestral home would be somewhat limited.

Never having been away from home, the distant journey the small port town had filled Marinda with a roughly equal mixture of excitement and fear. Upon arriving at her new school, and discovering that she was not only allowed to exercise her peculiar ability, but encouraged to do so (under proper supervision), the mixture tipped decidedly in favor of the former. Given her age and often impish disposition, she continues to experience "difficulties," with the "proper supervision" requirement. It's not that she's rebellious child, she's just .... curious. And why should she have to wait about for an instructor before she can assuage her curiosity? But despite these "misunderstandings," as she calls them, Marinda is gaining a greater measure of understanding and control over her gift, and looks forward to learning more. She does, however, miss the family dog -- especially now that she's found its leg.

Having finished your tour of the Academy, you deftly avoided the swing of the grousing door and headed back to the main street, hoping to find a local taproom where you might rest for a bit.