Alicia Blackwood—Grand Hall

Thank goodness for the fact that she was looking down as she prepared to carve some additional roasts for Brenton, or else he would have seen Alicia's eyes widen. Alicia, for her part, barely paused in choosing a blade and the cuts of meat she would plate for the Nord. "The noble house of Blackwood is one of the few to still uphold the tradition of prima nocta, or the Right of First Night, as this one believes it is called in your homeland," she said evenly, and without a trace of irony. Indeed, only by couching her complaints in such a way could she even begin to inform others of the cruelties of her House without significant fear of reprisal. "This one was born from such a tryst, and was given as tribute to the House of Cursewrights—the changing, the changed, and the exchanged—to act as one of their many Sin-Eaters." And as she said this, she raised her wing meaningfully.

"If this one may give Master Thaine her recommendations," she began in a careful and measured tone, letting nothing slip. She noticeably plated several of the best cuts of meat from the roasts, as well as a leg from one of the larger roasted fowl. "The beef is rather tender and fine today, as is the fowl, which has been basted with butter and baked to golden perfection. Keeping your status a secret is also the most delicious dish."

Alicia handed the plate to Brenton with her head bowed, giving no indication that anything was awry at all. "Enjoy, Master Thaine. Please keep in mind that due to the fluctuating quality of cuisine in Phoebonon, it is sometimes inevitable to avoid instances of food poisoning," she said, with a mild chiding tone. "So this one advises the tall Master to be careful until his return home."

Edited by JumpingFruit on Mar 2nd 2024 at 9:25:08 AM

Menos, Grand Hall

"Who indeed...?"

She stared at the Beastman, inching a little closer. She wanted to speak to him, uncover his secrets, learn whatever he knew. And yet she stayed put. Was she scared? Anxious? She couldn't say. Perhaps she needed another drink.

"If you asked my father, he would say some secrets are meant to stay secret. Once there may have been a day I would agree. But now? Now I'm not so certain..."

She threw back her head, downing the rest of her drink in a single gulp. She did her best to stay calm and composed, but couldn't stop her hand from twitching. The more she drank, the harder it was to control herself. She reached towards the nearest serving tray, grabbing another drink. If she had an ounce of common sense she would have abstained, but she wouldn't be a proper Memori if she did.

Voron Baldesion, Grand Hall

Pheobonon was the proving ground, the vast experiment in rule not of the Houses. The Free State's fate would set the standard for any other lands seeking to shed the magocratic Houses and determine their own future, and Voron considered his presence here in Pheobonon's grand Academy to be just as much a mark of proving. He was slow entering the hall; too caught in the atmosphere and in composing a new chapter of his inevitable memoir in his head to keep pace with the rest of the eager students, even his fellow Baldesion scion had gone off somewhere to leave him alone caught in thought.

Eventually he did manage to snap out of it, coming back to awareness of his surroundings. The class had splintered off, Voron hoped not into set in stone cliques and in-groups, mostly because such divisions were frustrating enough back in his House's own studiums. Taking a look around, Voron noticed the most clear peculiarity in the room in the shape of a terrifically towering beastfolk in their midst. Tracing his gaze downwards a little he spotted the clearly robust figure of a Nordsman and someone who already looked dressed for battle. Wonderful, a cosmopolitan group to insert himself into! Taking a little jog he caught up with them.

"Ah, hello! How is the day treating you all? Pleasant weather, or used to something a little different?"

The idea was simple; Show up, don't talk, keep your head down, don't draw attention to yourself. They had dressed as plain as possible with that express purpose, almost to the point that they stood out among the more fancily-dressed of occupants.

However, it doesn't really matter how you dress or how you act when there's a bright blue monkey sitting on your shoulder waving at and greeting everyone who passed you by.

"Hi! I'm Fara! Hi! I'm Fara!" She called to everyone they walked past, with responses ranging from barely addressing her, to confused stares, to awkward and confused 'hellos' and everything in between, "Jeez, what's with these people? Buncha stiffs." Fara said with a groan as she turned to face her partner. Zephyr Kahl had never been someone of many words, especially in social situations like this, but if expressions could talk, the one they were wearing would be screaming 'Shut the fuck up' loud enough that the entire hall would be able to hear.

Zephyr took a deep breath and sighed. First impressions are everything and sacrificing theirs in a moment of satisfying but embarrassing profanity wasn't worth it. They collected themselves before turning back to their furry blue companion, "Fara, do you remember the deal we made?" They asked as calmly as they could. Fara grinned, nodded and pointed to the copper ring with a symbol resembling the silhouette of a monkey engraved into it sitting on Zephyr's right index finger. "N-no, not that one. The deal about you being able to sit on my shoulder if you kept quiet?"

Fara visibly deflated as the memory came back to her, a pouty look crossing over her face, "Well when we made that deal I didn't know there'd be so many cool-looking people here!" She rolled her eyes and sighed, "We gotta get you some friends somehow—" Her words were cut off by the sound of barking, drawing her attention to Micaio,"Ooooh! Like him! That guy knows how to party!" She darted across the hall towards him, leaving Zephyr temporarily dumbfounded as they took off following her.

"Hey! Get back here! Fa-ra!" Zephyr yelled after her in between apologies to the people they rushed past. Meanwhile, Fara had managed to leap her way up to Micaio's shoulder.

"Hi, I'm Far-HEY!" Was all she was able to get out before Zephyr snatched her off Micaio's shoulder by the scruff of her neck.

"Don't. you. DARE run off like that again." Zephyr said as calmly as their anger would allow before turning to Micaio, "I'm very sorry about her, she's easily excitable and-" they sighed the more they thought about Fara's words before the incident. Was this the 'somehow' she was referring to? They pushed it out of their mind as they extended a hand forward, "I'm Zephyr Kahl, it's nice to meet you, despite these...awkward circumstances."

Edited by bestmand902 on Mar 3rd 2024 at 7:38:22 AM

Juna Libero - Dancing Queen

Well, her impromptu partner wasn't much for freestyle dancing. Her arms and movements urged and guided his own. This wasn't just ballroom dancing she was doing, and she'd be caught dead before she would do that for herself. Her feet glided and slid over the floor, the slight glow of magical energy suffusing them. There was a crowd. A big-ish crowd. She had to show off her talent. With a jump and a pirouette, a golden, transparent circle of energy flashed into existence following the trail of her pointed toes, catching her and Yune's weight as if they both weighed nothing in comparison, now dancing above the floor. Each swing of her leg outwards summoned a new platform for the duo to step atop, the previous one vanishing in a shimmery blast. Higher and higher they danced, a rising spiral of grace and fluidity, energetic and yet smooth.

Juna's eyes wandered over the crowd as she prepared for the big finale, a grin beginning to come unbidden to her face as she reveled in it all. And then one of the other scions caught her eye. His(?) appearance made something shift within her, almost envious, the talking monkey that they seemed to care for completely passing her notice. She swung Yune down to the ground, ready to follow him with one last graceful spin.

Something within rattled its cage, images of that one other student coming to her mind unbidden. She felt the eyes upon her, aware of how they must've seen her, how she must've looked. This wasn't home. These were complete and utter strangers, the upper class, and she was...just a peasant girl. A former one, but nonetheless that's what she had only ever really seen herself as. What anyone had seen her as.

   Just another dancing girl out on the street.    The beast tugged at the bars of her heartstrings, pulling her chest tight. Her spell faltered, her foot slipped as she missed a beat, and before she knew it, she was tumbling down into what must've been a solid 7 foot spire of fur as she fell from grace and against the maned wolf beastman standing nearby, ironically now being addressed by the very source of her distraction.

"AAAAAH!" Came her cry, quickly scrambling up to her feet and bowing her head in apology to the beastman, face as red as beetroot. "I'm so sorry sir I hope you're not hurt I didn't mean to fall I just lost my step-" She didn't even pause to take a breath as she stammered out apology after apology, assurances that it wasn't intentional and that it wouldn't happen again.

Menos — The F—- Am I Doing

She'd consumed another drink when she heard it. Someone was screaming. The rationalist out front said not to worry. There could have been any number of reasons for such an ungodly screech. Nothing to concern herself with.

The lingering inebriated scraps of her bleeding heart told a different story.

"Excuse me please..."

She placed her drink back on the tray then ran off. She was almost there when the situation resolved itself. She wasn't sure who this gorgeous dancer was, but she seemed unharmed. But that wasn't the only problem. She was a hair's breath away from the beastman. A living source of knowledge, predisposed towards other ways of thinking. Filled with countless secrets beyond imagining. If only could she muster up the courage to speak to them...

"Um, hello...?"

Now she'd done it.

Edited by kkhohoho on Mar 3rd 2024 at 10:45:53 AM

Yune

This was new. Yune looked down at the platforms with some level of interest, even as the dance continued. Was this a normal thing other mages could do? He wouldn't know. Actually, could he do something similar but with plants? That was something to consider.

And consider it Yune did, as he was lowered to the floor. And as Juna fell several feet and landed on the beastman.

Ouch. That had to hurt.

"Are you okay?" Yune asked, walking up to her. "Do you need healing? I can heal."

Cecilia was in a daze as she watched the scene unfold. It seemed that as soon as the Beastman had entered the hall, it had been a signal for all the other misfits to make themselves known. She had been concerned that the coming years would be frightfully dull, spent surrounded by the pompous scions of moribund tradition. Maybe there would be some of that too, but things looked like they were going to be more interesting. Gradually she cam to realize that she had been staring for far too long. She shook herself from her stupor, hoping nobody had noticed.

"Looks like he's rather occupied at the moment, a dance probably isn't in the cards." she got up and started to walk towards the commotion "But things are looking exciting over there. What say we go introduce ourselves?".

Micaio Antero, Grand Hall

"Oh! A dance, you say?"

Micaio hadn't been paying attention to the eyes on him, whether they were gazes of simple curiosity or expressing something more hateful. He was too lost in the beauty of the Grand Hall, engaged in silent prayer to the power of creation. But he was perceptive enough of his surroundings to notice two people breaking into an impromptu dance session next to him, and he found it just as exciting a prospect as anything else here.

There wasn't much perceptible difference between Micaio's ensuing attempt to dance next to Juna and Yune and his normal mode of locomotion, such was the flailing bandiness of his limbs and his inexperience with the art form. But the point wasn't to display his skill, simply to partake. He'd never danced with humans before, and as far as Micaio was concerned, any new experience was worth having!

Fara alone wasn't enough to throw Micaio off his groove, questionable as his sense of groove was. He smiled as Fara successfully climbed what must, to such a tiny creature, have seemed like the daunting peak of Mount Micaio - then frowned as Zephyr snatched her right back again.

"Now, now, there is no need to punish curiosity!" Though he was still frowning, Micaio extended a spindly orange-and-black arm for Zephyr to take. "I have never seen such a creature, so close to the designs of nature, yet so far removed at the same time! And she comes to me, eager to make an acquaintance - mayhaps to share the profound secrets of her existence with me! And you are to tell me you think I would turn an offer to acquire such knowledge down? To partake in the exchange of ideas alien to both our experiences, expanding our mental horizons ever farther? To wooooaaaugh!"

The only knowledge Micaio has imparted for the time being is, what sound does a maned wolf-man make when another person crashes into him while he's distracted by impassioned monologuing? As he fell, the maned wolf attempted to right himself, but only succeeded in sliding across the polished floor of the Hall as his paws scrabbled desperately for a foothold. Had cartoons been invented yet, it would strike everyone present as something straight out of one. In the end, as he realised he was several milliseconds from toppling over entirely, Micaio desperately grabbed at the nearest stable object-

As he felt furry hands scrape against him, the student clad in the purple robes and book-shaped sigils of House des Valles screamed shrilly enough to shatter unsuspecting eardrums and shoved the personal space invader off with a force normally reserved for those in the process of strangling you to death. Micaio hit the floor headfirst, significantly harder than he would have if he'd simply braced for impact, letting out a canine yelp! as he did.

"IT TOUCHED ME! THE STRAY TOUCHED ME!"

The des Valles ran as far from Micaio as his noticeably stumpy legs could carry him, gibbering in genuine fear the whole time.

"It touched me! It actually touched me! What if it's got rabies? What if - I read they can turn you into more strays if they touch you! Oh, gods, I don't wanna be covered in fur! Someone help me-"

Micaio whined, softer this time, and murmured something quiet in a language none of the human students were likely to understand a single word of. He didn't look in any state to get up by himself.

Menos

Menos wasn't sure what the problem was. She had extended a greeting towards the dapper beastman yet he completely ignored her. Perhaps she wasn't loud enough? Then again there were an awful lot of fascinating people competing for his attention. In that respect it made sense. She doubted they were as smart as herself, but he was the center of attention. Perhaps it would be better to come back later—

"**MMMPHH!!!**"

Seconds later she was covered in fur. She'd been so close the wolf toppled straight over her, slamming her to the ground. She wanted to scream, claw her way to safety, but it was all she could do not to suffocate. The beastman wasn't heavy, but neither was she strong.

"H-help..."

Near the entrance hall, something was banging at the door. The sound was dull and hollow, but wouldn't cease. Whatever was making it, it was hard to tell if it was human.

Edited by kkhohoho on Mar 4th 2024 at 10:07:32 AM

Corwin Ostavia: Grand Hall

Out of everyone, Corwin—who had been extraordinarily quiet and bland during all that was going on— was among the first to spring up out of her seat upon seeing Micaio get knocked down and hit his head, and she immediately moved over to him and leant to offer him her hand.

"Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?" she asked him, ignoring the panicking scion who was fleeing like his life depended on it. Her plain eyes peered into Micaio's with concern, seeming to look past his wolf-like features out of sheer naiveté. "It didn't look good. I don't know any healing spells, if you're hurt. Someone mentioned they could heal, right?"

Rather unfortunately, she hadn't heard Menos' muffled scream, so she had absolutely no idea that she was suffering a much worse situation than a simple fall at that moment.

Edited by Enirboreh on Mar 4th 2024 at 4:09:50 PM

Brenton stared for a moment as he realized he and this girl likely had some common experiences, looking at the floor as she referenced keeping his status more of a secret. After all, as he looked up and saw what went on... The young nord's contemplation was interrupted, however, as he felt something buzzing away in his pocket. Fetching the item, he held aloft what looked like a red, glimmering pebble of some sort.

"Brenton Thaine, Brenton Thaine, please report to the Arena. Brenton Thaine, Brenton Thaine—-"

Nodding, Brenton smiled at the Blackwood girl and promptly said, "Well, whatever happens with that arse from Phenemeon over there, it's time to show my stuff. Let's hope, then, that the Sage's faith in me was not misplaced." Granted, those moments were when the sage wasn't drinking his day away in the pub, but he did plenty of sage-like things...

As Brenton left, Alfredo walked by the situation playing out and chuckled a little to himself - deciding to merely watch the situation play itself out with Micaio and the des Valles heir.

Marah Asadi, Grand Hall

To call the proceedings a comedy of errors would do a great disservice to comedy performers. The obvious Libero causing a collision was not unexpected, but to somehow drag the representative of Animus into it was impressive.

Then Menos got herself trapped under the thing. Marah winced, both at the unpleasant pile-up, and also at the piercing shriek of the des Valles boy, who proved to be exactly as intellectual as his house was known for.

Stepping forward, Marah swilled her drink, keeping one arm folded. Her long braids melded into her shadow, and the resulting smudge of blackness moved, forming a parade of dark hands, which hefted Micaio to his feet and supported him, while simultaneously pulling Menos out from under him, elevating the Memori heir as well.

The shadow-magic of the Asadi had an odd feeling to it. The hands were there, moving things, yet they had no scent, made no sound beyond the faint movement of the air, and felt like nothing to the touch. Nonetheless, they were strong, at least in the numbers Marah had conjured.

"That one mentioned healing." One of Marah's braids became another shadow-hand and pointed at the boy from before. "Asclepia, I would guess. And the dancer who started it all is no doubt Libero. The screaming infant is des Valles, and may safely be ignored. I apologize for his inane drivel; his family is stricken with foolishness."

She looked Micaio up and down for injuries. As opposed to des Valles, Marah was utterly unbothered by the maned wolf's appearance, looking at him with genuine concern. "You struck your head quite hard." Her shadow split, a tendril snaking out to pull a chair for the lanky beastman. "You might want to sit down."

Edited by kagescorpionakki on Mar 9th 2024 at 12:25:20 PM

Alicia Blackwood—Grand Hall

Alicia smiled timidly back at Brenton and dipped into another curtsey as politeness dictated, but social obligation alone did not compel her to add a quiet "Good luck," as the Nord walked off to answer his summons to the Arena. She had to spend some additional time rearranging the meats that he didn't end up partaking in after all, and hope that someone didn't end up ignoring the platter, lest its contents be thrown out eventually. Looking over at the brouhaha with the Libero and the Animus Beastman, it looked like the situation had been taken in hand by the Asadi, liberating the Memori as well. Some had gathered around to extend their sympathies, except for the Des Valles, evidently.

And the latter would not do at all.

Alicia had to restrain herself from glaring at the Des Valles as he fled, lest her Evil Eye do him unintended harm, however much she wanted to. But she did unobtrusively tiptoe over to steady Micaio with a light hand on his forearm, which was about the highest part of him she could reach easily. How awful it must be that others assume you are a blight, she thought to herself. I hope this small gesture of acceptance helps.

"Will you allow this one to fetch you something to eat or drink, Master Animus?" she said demurely, sweeping her wing towards the refreshments. "It may help to settle your stomach. This one also hopes this brief incident has not dampened the taste for dancing in those present, and offers herself as a partner, as she has been modified for the express purpose of companionship."

Edited by JumpingFruit on Mar 10th 2024 at 1:02:41 AM

Apollyon - Grand Hall

It was only the inquiry of some agreeable sort that pulled Apollyon from the rage of degeneracy, of apparent corruption. The Kinslayer’s dark eyes took a noted shift back towards the somber as his gaze jumped down to the floor, briefly closing and betraying, however slightly, the warrior’s jolted shock. It was nights awakening to artificial darkness and thrashing and beating and…better not to dwell. He was stronger than these people, better. No reason to equate them with anything that could…

“Weather…yes, it’s pleasant.”

He spoke succinctly, with little inflection and less engagement. All the same, his closed eyes opened revealing polished opals locked onto Voron’s face. Apollyon studied the man intently. Baldesions were something of a wildcard; they were a scatter-brained lot with high ambition and less-than-desirable execution. The idea was passed around that they had found something of worth I’m a recent expedition, but with the conflict between Phenemeon and Libero, there was hardly the inclination to shift the warpath.

Regardless, he ceased his inspection as the commotion of a lifetime, of course originating with the stray, erupted from the center of the room. From the point of origin shot out several chaotic points of interest, though only one was hurtling towards the Kinslayer at an alarming pace. Apollyon rose a hand as the des Valles fool neared, gripping the scruff of his neck and wrenching upwards. The elevation would cause his next step to whiff the ground, and any further attempt to flee would be met with the stopping power of a lance-arm.

“Compose yourself, boy, ‘tis not a pathogen that ails the strays. The scourge of the beastmen is abomination in and of itself.”

A disgrace, this boy was. A disgrace this entire congregation was. To create such a scene in a setting such as this, throwing to the wind any semblance of decorum or proper expression of self. The nobles of the land had all but forgotten themselves, even without the presence of the interlopers. The thump of the door did not go unnoticed, nor did the observations of one Alfredo von Dracstein. And between these two factors did Apollyon draw an unlikely connection. The weak hunk of flesh found himself discarded from the Kinslayer’s hold, lazily so and in such a way that wrong footing would bring the sniveling coward to heel. Then, with bounding but even strides, he approached the door and calmly opened it.

In all things, a warrior must project strength.

Meriam Genus, Grand Hall, On her way towards the commotion

Meriam would wince as she saw the Libero girl fall onto the beastman "That Libero should be more careful, before her impulsiveness actually hurts someone." letting her frustration be known, before noticing that her companion was more invested in staring.

A sigh. They wouldn't be so rare if they weren't repressed by most houses. This frustration she would not say knowing well that it could sour the mood, she had a whole year to do that let today be calm please. "Yes, we should at least go and introduce ourselves." and so she took her first steps towards the group.

On the way she saw Brenton and said a few words. A tongue that Cecilia would not understand, but Brenton would, and perhaps be surprised to hear within these illustrious walls, as it was the Nord tongue. A few words wishing him success within the Arena.

Yune

"...huh?" Yune tilted his head, then realized Marah was talking about him. "Oh. Yeah. I'm Yune Asclepia."

There was a prolonged silence, then.

"I know I don't look like it. I was adopted. My parents come from another country. Dunno which." He looked around the room. "My cousins are probably here somewhere...oh, there they are."

He pointed to a small group of teens off to the side. These ones looked more like they belonged in Asclepia, with dark hair, olive skin, and those same simple clothes Yune wore. None of them looked like they particularly wanted to be here.

"We don't really talk to the other Houses," Yune continued, not seeming to realize this was something everyone here probably knew already. "Outside of trade. Our only neighbor is Panopola."

He hummed, looking up at the ceiling.

"I wouldn't mind meeting someone from Panopola."

Micaio Antero, Grand Hall

It was a hard whack to the cranium Micaio had taken. Even with a whole platoon of shadowy hands supporting his weight, the maned wolf-boy wasn't ready to return to a standing position just yet - and especially not to walk, lest his perpetual appearance of being about to trip over himself become a reality. He instead allowed himself to be propped up just enough to assume a sitting position on the floor, which was still movement enough to allow Menos to escape from underneath him and to allow Alicia to rest a hand, not on his forearm, but on his now significantly more easily reached shoulder.

"Master Animus? Ah, please... my cause is not my family, let alone my name. You may call me Micaio Antero. And... I shall consider refreshments once I am in a better position to enjoy them."

He smiled, though it was a woozy smile delivered through eyes that had gone glassy and unfocused.

"Healing... would be appreciated, yes. Much thanks to you, and to you, O scion of Asadi, for your support physical and verbal. And much thanks to whoever shall dull this... pain in my head..." He clutched it and groaned softly. "I must have taken quite a fall."

Santo des Valles, elsewhere in the Grand Hall

Apollyon's strength would have easily overwhelmed most students. Santo des Valles, who if he were any weaker would be legally considered to have atrophied muscles, would have the least effective resistance of anyone the Kinslayer had ever manhandled. Not that it would be surprising - House des Valles was notoriously deficient in many areas, and physicality was one of them.

There was a tint to Santo's skin, a curled texture to his wild mane of hair that resisted all attempts to comb it into a coherent shape, that gave away his mother's distinctly non-des Valles roots. But he was still unmistakeably a genetic product of his father. The gawky look and slimy, slithering vibe that characterised House des Valles was there in abundance.

No words escaped Santo's throat as Apollyon gripped him, as much because his brain was a whirling vortex of terrified thoughts from which no words could escape as because Polly had a vice grip on his neck. But oh, the thoughts he was having! I read in the Great Library that these Phenemeon brutes are made of pure flame and wear human skin suits - what if his suit is wearing out and he's going to steal my skin - Gods, where's a bucket of water when you need one-

And then he was on the ground again as suddenly as he had been picked up. Santo had not bothered to listen to Apollyon's little speech - after all, a creature made of fire had no brain at all, let alone a brain that could compare to the natural genius of the House of the Great Library. He took a second to regain his footing and, with tremulousness to make a mouse hiding from the cat proud, tiptoed his way back to the corner of the room he had come from. Even the other students in des Valles colours didn't look thrilled to see him returning to them uncharred.

Brenton seemed to stare at the Genus girl for a moment, as if he didn't even realize what it was she said - or perhaps he did and was shocked she was saying such things here. There were a number of ways to read a look like that. But Brenton happily walked outside to commence the test that would for lack of a better word shape his future...

Meanwhile inside as the students commenced socializing and getting to know each other, it would not take long for them to see quite the spectacle result. They would all be able to see from their position the sight of the tall, impressive and obviously Nordic looking boy getting ready in the arena. Setting up across from one of the proctors.

The man who would be testing Brenton was outfitted in a form obscuring black robe and purple armored set up, a mask covering his face totally, tear drop shaped shoulder armor connected by tassels to tight and ornate purple armor on the chest. The rest of the outfit gave the impression of a robe.

An announcement - that the first test would be use of an offensive spell - or really, any sort of interaction with the adversary. The proctor would ready a shielding spell, and per the test, it was on the boy to produce some reaction in the shield.

Brenton promptly stood in the middle of the arena, clenching a fist in front of him, right arm raised - the forearm and bicep forming a 90 degree angle. He concentrated, fist tight. One might imagine some sort of sparks and gathering power around Brenton going by how intensely he was approaching this. His eyes were closed, his teeth were pressed tight in his mouth. His legs seemed like iron rods bolted to the ground...

Brenton threw his right arm back and then swung it forward as if to let loose some great and mighty force... One might be able to see an eager glint in the boy's eye. An anticipation of something great to come. Trusting the word and the promise of the man whose words had led him here, all this way from home, carrying coin gathered from everyone who had so trusted him with being the first man from their village to enter the Academy.

He let out a mighty roar as he sought to unleash this great and powerful...power...!!

...which failed to materialize.

The proctor stood there, somewhat awkwardly. Looking at the young man just standing with his arm extended to the side. A shocked expression on Brenton's face. Realizing as he stood there that nothing happened - nothing happened, after how much he believed in himself, and after how long he'd journeyed.

Inside the gathering area, one of the Archmagi (associated with the Rubengal Empire no less) watching the goings on snidely remarked to the area through the crystal viewing sphere, "Perhaps we should have anticipated rank failure from a Nord. Theirs is a people only capable of the profane. Perhaps offense is a failure. Let us see if he is capable of any defensive measures."

There was a telling chuckle in that tone, though, especially at the end.

As if what he wanted to see in such a shift in the test wasn't necessarily Brenton succeeding.

The proctor received the instruction with a sly grin under his armor.

Brenton, still shocked, heard one of the Archmagi announce more openly, "Perhaps he requires a different test to best show what he is capable of. Commence testing the applicant's defensive capability - with a fire spell."

Brenton's eyes widened in realization. He didn't even have the time to shift his stance by the time the proctor formed a swirling mass of flames between his hands. His legs, planted so in readiness for some form of spellcasting, failed to move in time.

The proctor slung the fireball full force into Brenton - which flew with unnatural force and unusual speed. The fireball smashed into Brenton's gut and exploded on impact, throwing the boy backward off his feet and crashing into the floor with a harsh thud.

Brenton, though alive, didn't move from where he'd landed. His eyes dull and registering mortification. He didn't even make a single noise. He just laid there on his back. Staring at the heavens that seemed so far away and so empty of light.

As the failure on both counts was announced loud and outright across the entire arena, the people of the Academy and the surrounding town started laughing. Not even bothering to hide it...all, except for the Cuckoo Knights. Those blue clad knights, the emblazoned image of the Cuckoo bird upon their chest, all seemed quiet.

And intent.

Unawares as to the fact that the device for speaking through the crystal ball in the gathering area had not yet moved from his space, the Archmage who had spoken earlier would audibly be able to be heard chuckling in response to all this.

Though by and large, the scene inside was scarcely better.

Large swathes of the other students took the opportunity to laugh at the sight of Brenton laying there on his back. Laid out by a simple, entry level fireball spell.

Yune

"I can heal," Yune said, and as he spoke, he knelt down next to Micaio and placed a hand on his forehead. He squinted in focus, and his hand began to grow a bright green—the color of life, as he'd been told when he'd been taught the ropes of Asclepia's magic. Micaio would swiftly feel the pain dull, then fade to nothing.

"There we go," Yune said, and stood up.

And around that point was when the blond boy got hit by a fireball.

Even as the other students laughed, gasps rang out from the small cluster of Asclepia heirs, with one or two outright standing up and rushing towards the arena. The reaction was unsurprising to those unfamiliar with the house; Asclepians were known as healers for a reason. Yune, for his part, stared at the blond, expression set in a sort of "oh that happened" slight surprise.

"That hurt," he said.

Thanks, Yune, we never would've guessed.

Alicia Blackwood—Grand Hall —> Arena

Oh, mercy me.

The cruelties of the ruling mage class were again apparent to Alicia as she stood, en pointe, peering over the shoulders of those in front of her to see poor Brenton's gaffe in the Arena. Even if she herself did not laugh, her silence was lost in the ridicule that the other students were heaping onto his head. And since nobody else wanted to lower themselves to mop up the blood and other effluvia left behind between matches and before healers arrived on the scene, that task had been left up to her. And thus, between serving the gala attendees and cleaning the Arena, she had only been able to eat a few bites of the food so far.

Nevertheless, she curtseyed again before she made her exit, and said deferentially, "This one shall keep your preferences in mind, Master Antero. If there is nothing else, please excuse this one, as she must perform her duties." And with that, she glided through the throng of guests and back outside to the Arena.

A few moments later, she reappeared in the Arena, wordlessly kneeling down beside Brenton and beginning to dab at his bleeding forehead with a cleaning cloth she had dampened with water from a pitcher she took from the party. The pitcher was still with her now, as she thought that if being laughed at made her throat dry up, it must be true for Brenton as well.

Edited by JumpingFruit on Mar 23rd 2024 at 12:40:24 PM

Juna

"No, no, I'm fine. I've had worse falls. Just a couple bruises probably. I'm just glad I put you down before you fell too." Juna sheepishly held her hand behind her head at Yune's offer of healing. The wolfman probably needed it more, and got it he did.

The words of the boy in purple robes and the Phenemeon student did more harm than any fall could have done. So what if this was a beastman? He was as much a person as any other. After the bullies had left, Juna walked up to Micaio, inquisitive.

"Once again, really sorry about that, you said you name was...Micaio? I'm Juna. Juna Libero. It's not right how they talk about you, you know? House Animus is a really sweet house, as I've been told."

At Alicia's mention of offering to be a dance partner, Juna gave some pause. "Modified for the express purpose of companionship" just sounded wrong. As if it had been decided for her. "Uhhhh, maybe I might wanna dance. Gimme a moment."

And then they had to go and show off some poor kid getting humiliated in that Arena. The laughter and jeering, the entire spectacle being made of it, disgusted her. She felt bile bubbling up in her stomach, the burning acid of anger.

"Hey, what are you laughing at?! You think it's funny watching someone be disgraced like that and mocked? I'll take any one of you on in that Arena and then see how YOU feel!"

...is what she wanted to say, to step out in front and berate them all for their behaviour, but the words stayed imprisoned in her heart, locked behind bars of clenched teeth, the only visible sign of distaste along with her clenching fists.

   Yep, nobody would think you're that tough. You'd just make a fool of yourself, little girl.   

"We...should do something. Even if it's just to get out of here." Came her stiff words. The other Libero students seemed to fit the entire spectrum of where they stood on the incident, the more selfish ones joining in the jeering, the more down-to-earth ones shaking their heads in disapproval. She turned to the small crowd around Micaio, eager to hear their input on suggestions.

"I've lost my desire to dance anyways."

Edited by UndyingPhoenix on Mar 16th 2024 at 4:08:57 PM

Cecilia shook her head. The Nord had put up a pretty pitiful show of things. She wasn't sure he even had any talent to begin with. Did he come expecting he could do magic just by wanting it hard enough? Unlike many of her fellow students however, Cecilia didn't find herself laughing, this whole thing was just sad. The fact these students felt validated for outperforming someone so weak was honestly pathetic. Irritation rose up in her, and she was never one to keep her thoughts silent. Despite the admonishment she had received time and time again she had either failed to learn, or failed to care that her words might offend others. She hollered over to one of the larger clusters of laughing students.

"Hey! Are you losers so weak that you need to laugh at a wimp like this to feel good about your own abilities?"

Edited by bobbitwormhobbitwyrm on Mar 17th 2024 at 3:01:53 AM

Menos

Menos scrambled up as soon as she could, darting as far away from the crowd as possible. She snatched another drink, guzzling it down as she sat in the corner. She had so many questions, so many things she wanted answered, but was too much a bundle of nerves to ask them.

Suddenly the door burst open. A hulking skeleton stormed through, blue shimmering wisps gleaming from its sockets. It didn't stop, even as it shambled and twitched, lumbering towards Menos without a care in the world. The reason for its presence for unknown, but for those knowledgeable in the ways of Memori, it wasn't hard to figure out the connection.

Edited by kkhohoho on Mar 20th 2024 at 8:39:53 AM

Apollyon - The Limits of Reasonability

The sight of the skeleton sent a jolt through Apollyon. He had little experience with the undead; Memori tended not to fight wars and skirmishes with necromancers were hardly worth contributing to their inextinguishable fighting force. Maybe it was that deficit of knowledge that put the Kinslayer on his back-foot, tensed up and wide-eyed as he sized the ivory golem up. As it passed by regardless of his presence, those cut opals relaxed into a neutral glare that followed the undead thrall closely, unwilling to discount the threat of such a thing but equally unwilling to perturb the sanctity of the occasion with pointless conflict.

Bang

Ash and burnt flesh filled the air. His attention was torn from the rivets on the death-walker's bones. That sacred rite by which all was reduced to it's essential elements. Those rigid laws that made sense of the unexplainable, which dictated the rise of heat and the spark of flame. Of all the mages in all the land, there was one chosen kindling. The flesh of The War-Born. And now, this sacred art was defiled in such a way that it was hardly even a coup-de-gras against a Nord. This was disrespect of the highest order, and as Apollyon watched his object of reverence be treated as a fool's tool, a rage eclipsing the heat of Phoenix Flame ignited within him. It burned all rational thought.

Past the impulse of violence, the Kinslayer sought to understand where he failed to listen to reason. He considered himself ultimately reasonable, after all, and regarded the benefits of logic and wisdom highly. Past the impulse of violence, there was the leash of reason. But Apollyon had never lived outside of a war-band. He didn't understand it was the nature of man to make mistakes. This slight was the first of many, many more. If he didn't nip it in the bud here, might it grow into the most blatant and damaging of disrespect. No. He wouldn't let this fire within him be snuffed out by submission. It burned all rational thought, and beyond that was the impulse of violence.

He lurched, strong arms shoving any in his path aside as he advanced. His body was filled with righteous, volatile venom. It built up behind his teeth, and he clenched his jaws to hold the filth from pouring forth. In battle, Phenemeon legionnaires were silent stalkers. And he, the outcaste and disgrace he was, was the avenger of her sullied pride. Alone in this den of sheep, he would make clear the defiance of the strong in the face of mediocrity, to the faces of the mediocre. And he'd use the face of the mediocre to make his statement. Without even utilizing his magic, he'd bring the heretic mage to heel. Nearing the edge of the arena, Apollyon hoisted his legs over the wall and entered the arena.

It felt right.

His mark was armored, and without any obvious instruments, that armor became the greatest tool he had. The Kinslayer's hand grasped the elaborate pauldron of the proctor's armor, heaving backwards as he sent a quick kick to the back of his knee. As far as Apollyon could tell, the mage wore no greaves, and barring that, the top-heavy design of the ensemble would allow for the easy unbalancing of his adversary. Having done so, the gaunt faced warrior would place his elbow on the ornate mask and twist his entire body into a throw attempting to slam the proctor's head into the dirt floor. Using the brief advantage, Apollyon would attempt to finish him off by punching him in the face, leveraging their opposing postures to increase the force put into the blow. Even if the mask didn't shatter, he wanted it to dent. He wanted it to morph beneath his fist. There wasn't much time, he knew, before the Knights swarmed him and his assault was over.