A loud rustling sound can be heard from the edge of the forest along with a few choice words. A short incantation is spoken and a tall figure appears outside of the trees with a series of pops and sparks. His star-touched hair is slightly singed at the ends and his blue-trimmed cloak looks all the worse for travel. A sword is slung across his back along with an engraved shield depicting a blue dragon.
He stands proudly, facing the town with a raised chin and squared shoulders… A sudden yelp escapes his lips and he begins to frantically stomp out a small fire that has sprung at his feet… or perhaps he is dancing? One can only guess as he calms after a moment to resume staring at the town. His gaze flickers over the familiar sight, lingering shortly on the demolished tavern before moving on and finally coming to a halt at the mages’ tower. He rubs his hands together gleefully, a smile crossing his face. “Ah yes, I think it’s time I reclaim what is mine.”
Astrum hefts a worn walking stick and meanders towards the tower. The occasional hop or cartwheel interrupts his trip and often he appears to be falling, only to stop an inch from the ground and float for a moment. Each time he does this a giggle escapes his lips and he comments on his own genius. A constant muttering can be heard if one listens closely.
“… earthquakes and whatnot. Hmph. If I was running this town things would be different that’s for sure. What do you mean I’m incompetent? I’ve half a mind to set you aflame you arrogant rabbit. Now, where IS that blasted fairy. Tricky little buggers. One bit my finger once you know? I have the scar to prove it too. All for one measly piece of candy. How was I supposed to know it wasn’t free? Mad they are! No telling where she’s gotten to. Or that damned alchemist for that matter. Nearly blew me up one time he did! Potion of flying indeed! Speaking of which, did I tell you about the time…”
His rambling continues as he approaches the door of the tower. Without missing a step (or a moment’s rambling that matter) he pops out of existence leaving the grass at his feet singed. A similar pop can be heard on the other side of the door along with the familiar rambling.
“…silly things; doors. A waste of space if you ask me. I can remember when…”