It would be wrong to call the Archmage old, admittedly, by count of years on the world, he was old, older than the kingdom he currently served, older than the school he had once founded, and yet, compared to some of the other talents out there, he was a youngster. He knew for a fact that one of the Seers was older than the world itself, and he knew of the dragons whom themselves were not from this realm, nor world, yet were ancient beyond measure. But himself, he wasn't old in the way that people of age became. His body was lithe, not muscular, but the lithe shape of a person who could run their prey down in the grasslands, and yet have the strength to carry his prey home. His hair was pale brown, his nose larger than average, and the dark eyes, set deep in his face were alert and piercing, yet even with his age, his skin was smooth, not even a trace of age wrinkling him, though his short stature and slightly alien looks definitely made him stand out.

While the fashions of society had always been changing, every few years a new fad would show, sometimes it was large embroidered sleeves, sometimes crested buttons and bright colours, and sometimes furs or jewels, even then, mages and wizards had always had a reputation of being backwards, stodgy old people. Large hats, robes and beards were part of societies ideas of the mage, and of course, their inwards looking society had seldom kept up with the times. Yet, the archmage wore simple clothes, fashioned from exquisite fabric, tailored professionally, yet always in the style of a peasant, at most that of a squire. More than once had he been ignored, turned away by a guard, or sneered at by a noble, and almost always had his reaction been distant, almost amused, as if smiling at a practical joke that was decades in the making.

The room he'd just entered was a mess off commotion, chairs thrown across, as if from explosion, two students heaped listlessly against a wall, blood seeping into their clothes, another wailing in pain, clutching their bleeding face in shock and pain, on the other side, the traitorous student stood, short sword in one hand, and the other holding an object, behind him two others, armed with the swords of nobles, dressed finely and sneering to the others.

"Took you long enough to come, asshole." The traitor said as he lobbed the object in his hand into the room, where it exploded with a sharp burst, spreading the room full of a glassy smell, and a scent of metallic fire. "Now that you're here, it's time for you to resign, and without your magic, you're nothing but a small old man."

The archmage looked around, and shook his head again. "I told you before, I will not be a weapon of mass destruction for someone who's unwilling to bear the responsibility of their own actions. As it looks now, you owe the world two living talents, two futures who would change the world for the better, and another life full of disdain, hatred and rage. How will you bear that?"

His ex-student raised his sword, "This is exactly why you need to retire, all those pointless words and worthless ancient philosophy", he charged towards the archmage, blade lifted in a lunge, only to be countered with a dash, and a punch to the ear, dazing him before feeling his sword beaten out of his grip. Disarmed, the archmage looked down at the sword, and up to the two young men standing behind the traitor, as they tried to gather themselves to attack, yet failing due to the mess in the room. The archmage smiled and gripped the sword again.

"Did you think I could do nothing without magic? That your paltry sword lessons as a young kid would let you overpower a mage just like that?" he shoved the traitor back towards the wall, clearing the way for his companions to come at him. "Now then, show the mage who's the better swordsman." It was a moment of hesitation, then one of them lifted his blade and stepped forwards between the rubble of chairs and desks, only to instantly be fought back, his blade deflected and a quick stab to each shoulder before sending him to the side.

The mage turned to the last one, and smiled wider. "Oh,it seems the air is getting better in here. " He snapped his fingers, a flame dangling between them, then went to the other youngster, grabbing his blade from his trembling hands and tossed it to the side, towards where the bleeding, but alive, student was.

"Now then. Why don't you go over there and take responsibility for your actions." He pointed as the girl gripped the sword, blood running from her face, hair burned and one eye clearly ruined, walking with fury, pain and adrenaline towards him. Instead, he turned, and ran from the hall, through the door, and the archmage let him.

The archmage turned back and walked over to the traitor. "See, I didn't give up on the sword. I'm not weak because I'm a mage. I'm a mage because I was too good with the sword" he reached down, and ran the tip of the blade straight through his student's kneecap, and down into the floor. "And you, will have neither the skill with the sword, nor with magic." He grabbed the other sword, running it down into the students other knee. Then he turned to the henchman, and smiled again. "Don't worry, she'll get to you." He stepped away, letting the wounded girl through, blade in hand.