Scholar’s Quarter

The Scholar's Quarter is quieter than High Street, but not by much. The roads here narrow into gentle slopes lined with old brick buildings, ivy creeping up their walls. Students from Sigerth Academy spill out of lecture halls with arms full of scrolls, arguing theory or waving half-finished assignments. Bookbinders, copy shops, and quill merchants wedge themselves into every available nook, their shelves bowed with the weight of knowledge both practical and dangerous. Walk a few minutes further downhill, and the Quarter’s cramped streets widen into the broad stone path that leads directly to the university campus gates, as if the city itself exhales before handing you over.
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  • Scribblestone
    A stout little man with a bald head that seems entirely too large for the rest of him, greets you as you enter. Quintus Quibble has been the owner of Scribblestone for almost three decades now and in that time has grown quite used to getting stared at by those who haven't met him before. Standing on a box behind the counter, it is quite obvious that the man suffers from stunted growth. When he moves, it is with grunted effort and the use of a cane. The exact magical malady from which Quintus suffers remains a mystery, though rumour has it that it must be something dark and severe to have such lasting effects. The small spectacles Quintus wears exaggerate his unfortunately round and bulbous head, but he always manages to smooth over the initial shock with his warm and genuine attitude. Quintus is a craftsman through and through and a master calligrapher whose knowledge of ink, quills, stationery, and other writing implements is unmatched. Rumour has it that Quintus owns an extremely rare phoenix feather quill, and when asked about it, the learned little man smiles knowingly, before quickly changing the subject. Note: students are advised not to inquire about cheating quills if they wish to remain welcome at Scribblestone.
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  • Sigerth University of Applied Sorcery
    At the end of Scholar’s Row stand Sigerth’s front gates, a pair of wrought-iron archways that remain open except in cases of emergency. The gates are tall enough to frame the distant river, yet narrow enough to make the campus feel deliberately set apart from the bustle of Brynwell. Lanterns hang from stone pillars on either side, their light steady even in bad weather, a charm older than most of the university’s buildings.
     
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