For a time, the watchful tension continued. No dramatic entrances, no suspicious 'mon trying to seem inconspicuous... Then again, would this Covenant force, a secret faction within a secret faction, really send amateurs?
The bustle continued, marked by the occasional bold declaration from a Castform operating some sort of machine that created localised weather to precise specifications, amplifying their natural talents to summon tiny thunderclouds above the heads of onlookers, and whip miniature clouds to spell out numbers and letters.
At last, the campus clocktower rang out the hour. It was nearly time. Then came Betel's voice...
Wayfarers, be on your guard!
While I cannot discern powerful auras from within a crowded space, there are nonetheless aura fluctuations in your vicinity that suggest the use of battle techniques...!
They
were here. Concealed? Disguised...?
Sparkwright took the stage. He hummed into the ornate broadcast mic on the podium to test it, adjusted it, and then spoke. His voice reverberated with staticky speakerphone graininess even more than it usually did, but his enunciation made it through all the same.
"Good day, esteemed colleagues and gentle guests. Allow me to introduce myself, and welcome you to this fine institution of learning, innovation, and artifice. I am Howard Sparkwright, founder and provost of this college..."
The fan-Rotom paused for a moment, as if uncomfortable with opening remarks or discussion of himself.
A tiny thunderclap from the Castform jolted him from his hesitance.
"Ah— I am not one for, hmm, pleasantries and oratory ornament... so I shall come directly to the substance of my address. I am here today to debut the first meaningful, practical achievement in synecheiomorphic diastrophotopology—"
There were widespread groans and mutterings at this tongue-twister of a term. Sam, over to the side, rubbed the back of her head in secondhand embarrassment.
"—that is to say, the, ahem, study of spacetime rifts, known commonly as Mystery Dungeons. I suppose it isn't the most succinct nomenclature... Synecheic diastrophology, perhaps? Ahem... Gentle 'mon one and all, please observe as I demonstrate the mending of this localised rift, a false-dungeon, by artificial means!"
The wooden cabinet accompanying the Rotom and his machine on the podium was an obvious antique, intricate and richly-varnished. It also displayed clear signs of dungeon distortion, its panels and drawers and glass faces all seeming to suck one's vision into an implausible spatial tolopogy within. Bigger on the inside. More drawers and shelves and hinges than could be possible.
But as the Rift-Mender hummed and crackled with electrical power, the cabinet shifted... Like an optical illusion that fades if stared-at overly long, the interior of the cabinet aligned itself. The distortion gone, it looked... ordinary, if ornate.
"Stratospheric!" exclaimed a voice, through the ensuing, hearty applause.
And with that, the room filled with a thick, nebulous fog – almost like a smokescreen...
Materials & Meteorology filled with fog!
Electromancy Exhibits filled with fog!
Rift-Mender Demo Stage filled with fog!
