24 [M4A] The Archmage's tower

This time there was just the dead earth, a rumble of thunder, and the inset if that interminable light drizzle from the north-east by which so many if the world's most momentous events seem to be accompanied. The storms of the day before, and of the day before that, and the floods of the previous week, and now abated. The skies still bulged with rain, but all that actually fell in the gathering evening gloom was a dreary kind of prickle. Some wind whipped across the darkening plain, blundered through the low hills and busted across a shallow valley where stood a structure, a kind of tower, one in a nightmare of mud, and leaning.

It was a blackened stump of a tower. It stood like an extension of magma from one of the more pestilential pits of he'll, and it leaned in a peculiar angle, as if oppressed by something altogether more terrible then than its own considerable weight. It seemed a dead thing, long ages dead. The only movement was that of a river of mud that moved sluggishly along the bottom of the valley past the tower. A mile or so further on, the river ran down a ravine and disappeared underground. But as the evening darkened it became apparent that the tower was not entirety without life. There was a, single dim of red light guttering deep within it. The light was only just visible - except of course that there was no one to see, no witnesses, not this time, but it was nevertheless a light. Every few minutes it grew a little stronger and brighter and then faded slowly away almost to nothing. At the same time a low keening noise drifted out on the wind, built up go a kind of wailing climax, and then it too faded, abjectly, away. Time passed, and another light appeared, a flickering candle, carried by a cloaked figure, heading towards the tower

When the door opened man slowly turned in his chair, away from the desk weighted by scrolls marked with arcane runes and heavy spellbooks showing their use. Sitting, it was clear he was a towering individual, somewhat tanned skin stretched over sharp cheek bones. Draconic horns emerging from betwixt golden strands of thick hair. And a pair of deep crimson eyes piercing into the darkness, spotting who opened the door.

Archmage Avezax was a known figure, some considered notorious, in the arcane magic sphere. He was known to be undoubtfully powerful, someone who rarely took students and would never share his research.

Avezax's hand raised from the arm rest, his wrist flicking in the air causing a shimmer in the air. The entire room felt energized until the moment a white ceramic pitcher of tea popped into existence on a nearby table, accompanied by the sound of a cork being pulled out of a bottle. "Tea for my guest?" the deep, smooth voice echoed in the chamber.

If this sounds familiar, it's because part of it is taken straight out of one of my favorite books of all time, "The long and dark tea time of the soul", i thought it would be a good fit to start an interesting exchange

The setting is meant to be in a fantasy medieval setting, your character can be anyone from a gifted individual seeking to be trained by an Archmage, someone seeking help on their quest, or just someone lost in the swamp.

Please don't jump straight into the roleplay, I'd like to talk for a bit and learn about your preferences and ideas for this exchange before we begin

All characters are of course 18+