Charis - School of Magic
General Summary
As you step toward the grand stone building, its arched entrance and towering columns hint at what it once was—a place of learning, wisdom, and scholarship. The worn inscriptions above the doorway are barely legible now, weathered by time and conflict. The double doors, once a gateway to knowledge, now stand cracked and splintered, hanging open just enough to reveal the darkened interior.
Stepping inside, you find yourself in what was once a foyer, a grand entry hall meant to welcome scholars and students alike. The remnants of what once were elegant wooden benches line the sides of the room, many now shattered, their pieces strewn across the floor. Tall bookcases, likely once filled with tomes, stand against the walls—many of them toppled, their contents now nothing but charred scraps and ashes. The scent of burned parchment and old dust lingers in the air.
At the center of the room, a barricade had been hastily constructed from desks, chairs, and bookshelves, a last, desperate attempt to hold the line. But it was not enough. The makeshift defense has been smashed apart, pieces scattered and burned—the scars of battle evident. The walls and floors are scorched black, the jagged, twisting marks of fireballs carving deep into the stone. Here and there, you see the remnants of arcane wards, their protective sigils burned away, unable to withstand the overwhelming force of the attack.
Among the wreckage, the fallen remain. The skeletal figures of students and scholars lie where they made their final stand, many still clutching wands, staffs, and spellbooks, their brittle fingers wrapped around the tools of their trade. Some had fallen in defensive stances, their bones still angled toward the broken barricade, as if even in death, they stood to protect those behind them. Others are huddled together, as though they had tried to shield one another, their last moments filled with desperation and fear.
A few bodies near the walls suggest some had tried to run, but scorch marks on the floor tell a grim story—the flames had reached them before they could escape.
As you press deeper into the school, the signs of battle only grow more evident. The hallways are now silent tombs, lined with scorch marks, shattered stone, and the brittle remains of the fallen. Some doors remain ajar, others have been blasted off their hinges, leaving rooms open to the decay of time.
Lecture Hall
You step into a vast auditorium, its tiered seating designed to accommodate dozens of students, all once gathered to learn spell theory, magical history, and arcane philosophy. The chalkboard, covered in faded arcane symbols, still stands at the front, though its wooden frame is charred and splintered.
Here, a handful of skeletons remain—huddled in the back row, as if they had hidden, hoping to escape the fate that befell the rest of the school. Their brittle remains lean against the walls, some still clutching small trinkets—a broken wand, a tattered spellbook, a locket with a faded portrait inside.
Library & Archives
The library, once a sanctuary of knowledge, has been reduced to ash. A massive pile of burned books sits in the center of the room, their pages long turned to blackened scraps. The once towering bookshelves, now half-collapsed, are stripped of anything of value.
A few surviving tomes lie scattered, some partially singed, others still intact but covered in dust. The faint scent of smoke and old parchment lingers in the air. Whoever did this didn't just ransack the library—they deliberately sought to destroy knowledge, ensuring nothing would remain.
Spellcasting Practice Chambers
The reinforced training rooms still bear the scars of countless magical duels—and one final, desperate battle. The walls, once smooth arcane stone, are cracked and scorched, some with deep gashes from spells gone wild.
A few training dummies, enchanted constructs meant to withstand magic, remain toppled and broken, their once resilient forms shattered beyond repair. In the farthest corner, the skeletal remains of a student lie slumped against the wall, their robes still bearing the faintest shimmer of protective enchantments that were not enough to save them.
Potion Brewing Lab & Alchemy Wing
Long wooden tables stretch across the room, cluttered with shattered vials, dried herbs, and the lingering stains of long-evaporated potions. The acrid scent of alchemy still clings to the air, though dulled with age.
A row of cabinets lines the back wall—reinforced, locked, and still warded with arcane sigils. Their golden runes glow faintly, untouched by the devastation around them. Whatever remains inside is still protected, though whether by the school's faculty or those who ransacked the place is unclear.
Faculty Offices
These once proud offices, where professors and scholars once worked, now lie in ruin. Desks are overturned, their drawers pulled out and their contents scattered across the floor.
One desk still holds a cracked teacup, as though its owner had only stepped away for a moment—before never returning.
Headmaster’s Chambers
The headmaster’s quarters were meant to be a place of authority and wisdom, but now they stand as just another reminder of the school’s fall. A large oak desk, now covered in dust and abandoned documents, sits at the center of the room. A once-grand fireplace, now filled with ash and debris, remains cold.
Infirmary
Lining the walls of this once sacred place of healing are wooden cots, their linens long since dried and stained with old blood. The cabinets, once stocked with healing potions, bandages, and salves, have been emptied, their doors left hanging open.
Scattered across the room are medical notes, some detailing patients who never left. Some of the skeletal remains here are curled up in beds, as though even in death, they still awaited a healer who never came.
Dormitories & Student Living Quarters
Rows of simple wooden beds fill the room, many now overturned or broken. Personal belongings—books, letters, small trinkets—are scattered across the floor, untouched for decades.
The remains of students who sought refuge here are scattered throughout the dormitory, some still huddled together, as if they had tried to find comfort in their final moments. Others had made futile attempts to barricade the doors, but it was clear—nothing was enough.
Report Date
22 Mar 2025
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