Cold Open – From the Desk of Nora Rabe von Queef

"From the desk of Nora Rabe von Queef." The voice arrives without warning — a magically-encoded announcement projected across the old stone of the university like a sermon echoing from the walls. It crackles with prestige and polish, stitched together with Centrum-approved optimism and played on loop across half the continent. A pep talk from a place already falling apart. > "Welcome back to Von Queef University. Magala tells us that we are in for an eventful semester. > > Von Queef University has been a home for arcane adventurers and scholarly sorcerers for centuries, accounting for the education of more than half of the Centrum." A soft ambient underscore hums beneath her voice now — plucked strings, slightly out of tune, like a harp being tuned mid-spell. Hopeful. Straining. > "We encourage you to embrace the challenge… and become the future of Jericha, rather than a cautionary tale. > > Whether this is your first — or your last — year at VQU… > > Make it a great slay or not… > > the choice is yours." Then: a pause. A mechanical click, like a spell faltering mid-sustain. The frequency glitches. And something else gets in. The next voice is wrong — closer, louder, _furious_. Not part of the spell. Not part of anything scheduled. > "I’m not a cautionary tale, Nora… > > I’m a breakthrough." The voice hits like a punch to the solar plexus — warped by raw void magic and rawer pride, trembling with god-complex certainty. Every word is too loud, like it’s being whispered directly into the listener’s bones. Then silence. The static flares one last time — sharp, furious — and collapses in on itself. And across the quad, down the dormitory halls, above a thousand cluttered move-in rituals, a new line is whispered by a half-broken announcement charm: > “Episode One: Welcome to Von Queef University. > > Try not to die.”