Marah Asadi, Grand Hall

The warmonger talking down to the fool was quite funny, though she supposed it made sense. The burned soldiers were no doubt used to talking down to everyone, so of course they would target the obvious weakling.

"It is no trouble." Marah replied, offering the beastman a small smile. Both him, and the healer, who she sent an amused look. Fortunately, Yune realized what she'd actually been suggesting and healed the great wolfman a moment later.

Once the flesh golem stormed in, and it was clear neither Micaio or the Memori girl needed her continued support, she withdrew her shadows, letting her hair return to its usual texture.

She paused a moment to glance at the scrying orb, frowning at the cruel laughter that echoed. Surprisingly, the kinslayer of Phenemeon stepped in to support the Nord. Perhaps he was not completely irredeemable.

"Behold the noblest in the land." Marah said, mockingly. "See what wondrous things they do with the gift of magic."

Running a hand through her hair, she huffed in annoyance. "Sorry you had to see that. Humans can be cruel, but none so much as ignorant mages."

She offered one dark hand - her real hand, this time, showing off the intricate tattoos that ran up her skin to vanish into her dress. "I am Marah Asadi. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Micaio Antero. I hope we may learn much from each other."

Meriam Genus, Arena, Seeing the Academic lies

Merriam didn’t mind waiting and seeing the Nord fight within the arena. Though she was none to pleased with what she saw. As instead of a triumphant display of magical prowess all that she got was a pitiful display of the academy’s rotting minds perverting the ideals they hid behind. In response to the words of her conversation partners words. Meriam put one hand on Cecilia’s shoulder in a motion to shush her “You’re wasting your breath on ears of those who have already closed their hearts to others.” She’d squeeze her gently a small gesture Meriam hoped would implying to Cecila that she felt about the same, at least without the condescension to Brenton’s abilities.

“Let us go, I believe we may be of greater use talking to the faculty then antagonizing these masses.” She invited Cecilia to join her in going to the arena to Meriam hoped help defend the Nord by backing him up. Her bug creature had already left her side on a simple hand order. It skittered ahead to Brenton to help him in recovering from the spell. Though she did not check if Cecilia followed after her.

As they walked closer to the arena’s walls Meriam took out a small notepad, and writing stone, she scribbled runes into the pages. Their dull red glow letting Cecilia assume their magical nature. Merry also drew one upon her hand. This one she kept on checking with almost every step as they neared. It was a ward meant to tell Meriam if magic was blocked near or within the arena’s walls.

She noticed the hulking undead which was likely the work of a Memori Necromancer, though she had no reason to engage with it. At least it would draw attention away from the arena she thought. When Merriam reached the top of the arena’s walls, she got a good view of the inside, one that perhaps only the Archmagi sitting up above them all had better.

For a time, Merriam was distracted from the proctor by where Brenton lay. Seeing the curse ridden Blackwood, filled her with some hope that her time would not be wasted by being around only backwards minded individuals. Only when her Chimera reached the Nord with the intent to check his health and smear the healing mucus, a mixture of saliva with natural and magical healing properties, upon his wounds. This would likely not sit well with the Blackwood servant who would have likely only heard of the traveling healers of Genus, or their chimeras.

in conclusion Merriam did not see how Appolyon got so close, but she did see him bring the proctor to his knees and the beating he let loose upon the mask. She wouldn’t lie to herself; Merriam was impressed by the soldier’s action. Never would she have thought that a Phenemeon would have the guts to stand up for anyone other than themselves.

Though when it got to her actually speaking up her words would be barely audible, unbeknownts to herself she had forgotten to properly hydrate herself within the grand hall and now her mouth had all but dried out. She'd curse within the confines of her mind, at the brutality of the beating the soldier brought, that had caused this.

Edited by Faelisya on Mar 25th 2024 at 12:48:21 PM

Micaio Antero - Grand Hall

Micaio hadn't been paying attention to Brenton's disastrous showing in the Arena, distracted as he was by a splitting headache. By the time Yune's healing took full effect and he'd shaken off the last of the stars obscuring his vision, things had already moved onto the chaos that followed in its wake.

Micaio's eyes widened in clearly evident panic once he was able to fit the pieces together. The Nord, his kindred spirit in outsiderhood, was sprawled on the ground, charred and clearly in a terrible state - and half the Hall was laughing at his suffering. He only half-noticed Apollyon's violent entry to the fray, so distracted was he by the terrible thoughts that conjured up.

Was this what he had agreed to be a part of? If they saw Nordic pain as fine entertainment, how long until some hateful degenerate amused themself by filling this hall with the aroma of burning maned wolf hair? He couldn't help but gasp out something in his native language, and even without understanding the words, the humans nearby would be able to tell from his tone alone what feelings Micaio was expressing.

"...ah, my apologies, I was lost in my head..." Micaio took a little bit to remember who his conversational partners were, and quickly switched back to the common tongue of Megistos. "Thank you for your kindness, in word and in deed, Yune, Marah, Juna. At a time like this, I appreciate human support more than ever." It was true; even three humans voicing positive thoughts was enough to set Micaio's mind right back onto lofty visions of singlehandedly spurring on Beast-human coexistence. This was just a stumbling block. "But, ah..." He glanced with worry back at the crystal ball. "Would you not agree that the Nord boy is in need of aid more than I am? The healing hands of an Asclepia? Shadows to right his body? Or-" He noticed Alicia and the Genus chimera making their way to Brenton, not thrown off for a second by the unusual appearances of either. "-perhaps he is aided enough already. Too many cooks, that is how the saying goes, yes?"

By the time Alicia got out there she would be able to see an odd sight indeed - despite their rather aloof and oppressive presence in some quarters, a Cuckoo Knight had entered the arena already. She - due to proximity - would be able to see that it looked like Knight-Commander Borsalino, head of the Cuckoo Knights and clad in a more intimidating, heavily armored version of their gear, was talking to one of the Archmagi in hushed tones. But there was a distinct way he looked toward the arena.

As if there was something that had interested him in the disastrous performance by Brenton - and as if there might be some intervention by him in these proceedings.

She, the knight medic, the Genus Chimera, and Asclepia would commence healing the battered Brenton - whose worst injuries were largely related to force trauma and burns. The boy stirred back awake, and the Cuckoo Knight by his side seemed to whisper something into the young Nord's ear.

Alicia would be able to hear it most clearly; "—-We would like for this meeting between you and Sir Borsalino to be—-"

However, as much as they stepped up to help Brenton, the Knights were every bit as quick in action when Apollyon went berserk and commenced assaulting the proctor. The white and blue clad knights, armor decorated with the avaricious bird's image, leaped over rafters and walls and right as the final punch was about to be delivered...

A shield smashed into Apollyon's head, two magic-riven glowing blue swords pressed against either side of his throat by two of the knights, while the knight with the shield crashing against the Phenemeon held one of the young man's arms behind his back - deliberately twisting the arm at just the right angle to threaten dislocating the arm from the shoulder socket entirely.

All the while, the shell shocked and battered proctor scurried away like a rodent into the waiting auspices of the higher powers involved.

"Rather tactless, I'll admit," Alfredo von Dracstein commented as he walked by Marah and the others in that quarter of the hall. "But one wonders why the Nord would so readily take up the test if he possessed no gift? Questions, questions..."

Yune

"Oh. I'm not sure I need to." Yune pointed at everyone else, who had moved quite quickly all things considered. "I could, but again...that might just make things worse."

There was a long pause, after that.

"If it's not too much trouble," he suddenly said, looking right at Micaio, "could you not judge all of humanity based on this? We're not all bad."

Alicia Blackwood—Arena

Now that was strange, Alicia had to admit, as she briefly heard some snatches of whispered conversation between the Cuckoo Knight and Brenton. Whatever conspiracy was going on here, she was duty-bound as a Blackwood servant to investigate it. But if she found out about something that would harm Brenton if it was exposed, which she could then be forced into revealing by her family...

Alicia did not like that one bit. Yet, if she could help Brenton from the shadows, it was something worth doing. So, she resolved to be present at this meeting, whenever it took place.

In the meantime, she merely patted the Genus Chimera awkwardly for its efforts and stood wordlessly by, the better not to attract any attention to herself, like poor Apollyon had done.

Edited by JumpingFruit on Mar 31st 2024 at 2:41:03 AM

Cecilia sighed at the request, but ultimately relented. "You're right. They aren't worth my words." Following her new compatriot to the arena, she looked in interest as Merry began scribing. Despite being so close geographically, she had never known much about House Genus or their magic. Both it and modern Abdera were far too isolationist to facilitate much interaction. This was likely the first time she had ever seen a working of Genus rune magic, however minor it was, and she appreciated it.

Entering the arena, they bore witness to quite the scene. The lunatic from Phenemeon had made his way to the field below with astonishing speed, and had began a rather brutal beating of the proctor. Then the knights put an end to that beating, and were now restraining the boy in a position that looked uncomfortable to say the least. There was a certain absurdity to this course of events, not helped by the alacrity with which they had all occurred, but Cecilia abstained from laughing. She didn't want her companion to think it was at the Nord's plight.

At their distance, Cecilia was unable to make out what the Cuckoo Knights had been saying, but she could still clearly see them whispering to the downed boy. For this she had no explanation, she would not have expected them to show any interest in a failed examinee. Certainly, it was a matter that merited further investigation. "I can't believe that the proctor would go this far. The boy looked half dead before the healers got to him."

Edited by bobbitwormhobbitwyrm on Mar 25th 2024 at 7:28:19 AM

Apollyon - The Arena

"Ngh-"

Their hasty descent was predictable, and Apollyon was at first confident in his ability to face down these 'Knights of the Cuckoo' seeing as they had been seemingly unwilling to interfere in the clear torment of the Nord boy. Slow to act, it seemed, until one of their own was directly threatened. In line with the rules of loyalty was this action, and suddenly it passed through the pinned boy's head that he may have underestimated them. There was still no doubt that, had he been properly equipped and on more equal footing, the knights would crumple like worn-out dummies, but thinking in terms of 'if' was a thing only weaklings did. Past the impulse of violence, there was the leash of reason. He had made his point.

The Kinslayer's demeanor didn't show any sign of fear, though he noticeably pushed back as much as he could against the hold on his arm. He welcomed pain, but he did not enjoy it. More than that, he hated this feeling of helplessness beneath the iron-clad grip of his assailants. Regardless, any course of action he took that would result in their grip being broken would likely draw the ire of those seated above. He'd thrown his usual pragmatism and tact aside for but a moment, one that, even now, he gained no catharsis from. In an hour he would kick himself for his childish outburst. But then, the sanctity of the flame was in question. No, he would not fall into self-doubt. The course of action he took was the only way he could defend it.

Even if the holes in his approach were obvious, it felt right.

The legionnaire forced his knee square against the ground to steady his position and regarded the knights that surrounded him with an uppity nonchalance.

"Are we to remain here for long?"

"You're done, correct Phenemeon? You're done acting up?"

Sir Borsalino spoke up first, and the Archmage by his side seemed to glance down, looked to try and get up, but then shook his head and walked off. The two knights holding Polly down eased off, at first keeping their swords by his neck and then gradually backing up...

As Brenton started to get back up. Groaning and feeling the healing magic fully working in getting him back on his feet, he looked at Alicia - seeming confused but also oddly relieved, "'S all good, Alicia, it's all good...oof, legs're still wobbly...they said—-they said I could work with the Cuckoos. They said I could work as an apprentice knight—-so my travel here wasn't in vain!"

The crowd by now had started murmuring at the sight of the Phenemeon, the Blackwood, the Genus construct and the Nord.

Yet as the crowd murmured, Borsalino announced, "Students, back inside. Back inside. I'll discuss your behavior out here with the Archmages later - And what will be done."

Meanwhile, inside the chambers, people were already talking about the incident. Discussing the outcasts who had seemingly formed a group out of nowhere. But then, the chattering seemed to cut off suddenly as two trumpets blew inside.

Edited by NickTheSwing on Apr 1st 2024 at 5:40:48 AM

Alicia Blackwood—Arena

Ah. So, he is to gain an official position, however minor.

Another step away from mine...

"That must be wonderful," Alicia began, warily eyeing Apollyon as the Cuckoo Knights backed off from holding him in place, before returning her attention to Brenton. "This one means, it is wonderful. A knight...this one thinks you would cut quite a dashing figure as one, if she may be so bold." She remembered the pitcher of water she was holding, now that it was probably needed, and quickly offered it up to him.

"Here. Drink, Master Thaine," she said demurely, eyes downcast as social status dictated. "This one brought this to wash your wounds with, but now it seems that it would better serve to quench your thirst instead. May it please you...to know the underhanded fireball shocked many inside the hall."

She curtseyed and remained in that lowered position as she turned and asked: "Sir Borsalino, may this one be allowed to remain to finish her cleaning duties, then?"

Edited by JumpingFruit on Apr 7th 2024 at 2:26:57 AM

Apollyon - The Arena

The warrior stood quick as he was allowed, roughly stepping out of line of the blades as they were eased from his neck.

“Teach your charges not to tread distasteful upon solemn ground, puppet-knight. I will act as I see fit to defend what truths I know.”

He glanced around at the knights, careful not to shy away. He wasn’t content to let the world believe him to be scared. Despite the efforts of enemy boots to smother the Sentinel, his was a fire that dared to face the cold. No man would leave him in cinders. He’d burn out on his own first.

“And you,” he spoke, addressing Juna with a barely contained fury. “I suppose I should expect no better, so make this the last time you raise your hand against me and you may keep it.”

A final long look at the downed nord. It seemed to Apollyon that finishing him off would be the best course of action. But that was just an impulse, wasn’t it? Not an actual question he would ponder, not a problem to be solved. Just the impulse of violence. And beyond that…

And so he pulled his eyes away from the savage and towards the servant by his side. Practically a chimera, this one, and flanked by one such beast. He noted something particularly brutal about the way she moved and spoke, something breakneck. To be expected from the ranks of Blackwood, those brutal taskmasters and sneak-thieves. But she was different.

Oddities died young in Phenemeon.

Gritting his teeth, staving off the phantoms of the past, Apollyon stalked out of the arena.

Edited by Yayakuza on Apr 4th 2024 at 8:16:13 AM

Juna

When she became aware that the Phenemeon boy had rushed towards the arena, Juna's eyes opened wide as the realization of what that probably meant he was about to do hit her. She raced after him, heart beating heavily as electricity coursed through her body, sparks springing off her heels. When she finally reached there, standing just in front of the fallen Nord and Alicia, the lightning flowed from her body up along her unburdened arm, manifesting as a levin-whip in preparation to stop him alongside her gauntleted arm aimed at him. But the knights had gotten to him first, holding him in submission. Her breath caught in her throat.

   DO IT ANYWAYS, COWARD! MAYBE PEOPLE WILL THANK YOU AND TAKE YOU SERIOUSLY! HE'S JUST A VIOLENT BRUTE!   

She lowered her hands, the whip fizzling out as the situation de-escalated. She bent near Brenton, offering her shoulder for him to use as support while he stood up.

   Yep, just a scared little girl. Don't rock the boat while you're busy helping the real man up to his feet.   

"Here, we should get you to somewhere where you can lie down."

She looked at Alicia on the other side, acting like some servant, and a sense of unease filled her. Everything about this girl seemed so...wrong. And in a way that didn't feel like it was her fault, but a consequence of other things. Especially with how she referred to herself as "this one".

"Yeah, and I'm one of them that weren't all too pleased."

Edited by UndyingPhoenix on Apr 4th 2024 at 2:48:14 PM

Voron Baldesion, The Grand Hall

Well that went... Poorly. Seems like those gathered up weren't much for smalltalk. Left to his own devices, Voron was left to mostly watch as a grand drama played out concerning the arena. A place to demonstrate one's combative prowess eh? Perhaps a good showing would— and the Nord got his ass kicked and everyone was... Laughing.

Something boiled a little in Voron in reaction to that. This Nord had put on a showing, been found wanting and the answer was laughter? Voron didn't get the joke, or more precisely he did get the joke and didn't like that the joke was about mage supremacy.

He had started towards the arena himself when the trumpets blew to gather the new students. Very well, he remarked in his head, the time to show these knights humility would come later. He watched the others come back in and immediately gravitated towards the armored one one who was bold enough to outright challenge the Knights.

"I see you also found fault with their... Reactions."

Edited by Pentigan on Apr 7th 2024 at 5:52:18 AM

Micaio Antero - Grand Hall

"Perhaps his gift is one the test is not designed to account for." Micaio responded to Alfredo's question with an immediacy and confidence the vampire may well not have expected. "There is a saying among my people. How does it go... if you judge a fish by its ability to climb trees, it shall spend its entire life thinking itself worthless. Perhaps Brenton is a fish, here. Floundering on dry land, far from the open ocean in which his true talent shall shine, like silver scales in sunlight!"

He paused, then continued, noticeably more cautious. "...if it is entirely on combat potential that judgment is passed, I admit, I shall be in a disadvantaged position myself. My people's magic is not focused on warfare. We travel. We explore. We experience the glory of the peaceful, serene world around us. We avoid war. War is a business for those whose desire for nature is to exploit it, not to coexist with it. I could show these proctors wonders beyond their capacity to comprehend from every corner of this globe, but I could never hope to fight them."

Unable, as far as he could tell, to contribute to the Brenton situation, and equally unsure of the meaning of the trumpets that were now blaring out, Micaio chose to address the one thing he could - Yune's odd request. He raised a quizzical brow as he turned to the scion of Asclepia.

"Whatever makes you think I would judge your entire species? After you, collectively, selflessly chose to help me in the face of disdain from-" His dark eyes flicked to Santo, who was over in a distant corner, laughing uproariously with several other weaselly-looking types at the misfortunes of Brenton and Apollyon. "-less empathic members of your kind? You have served only to reaffirm my faith! Were you to head into the deepest wilds, to where contact with humanity amounts to distant fires and rumblings of hostility, then perhaps the local Beasts would indeed say humans are not worth bothering with - but I disagreed, always! It is enshrined in the very moniker I chose for myself! Micaio Antero - the Friend of Humanity!" He beamed toothily. "So, no, it is not too much trouble."

Edited by DubhKafkaesque on Apr 8th 2024 at 5:05:17 PM

"Just...go back inside, young Miss Blackwood. I would prefer that things proceed." That was about all Alicia got out of Borsalino. As the arena was cleared out and readied for the last few applicants, it seemed the older knight turned to look at something.

For now, Brenton was ushered away after he drank that healing salve - brought from the gathering of students to be debriefed, and given the uniform of an apprentice knight. For what it was worth, Brenton was just happy to be there, to actually get in, regardless who laughed and who scoffed at him.

At the end of the day, whether he was a Cuckoo Knight or a Mage, he'd made it into the Academy. And that meant all that money given to him by everyone had not gone to waste.

Once the trumpets were done sounding, a substantially different Archmage than the bitter old goat outside who had masterminded that show made his entrance. He seemed much, much older - covered in green and blue robes that seemed to be a bit tattered in places. He had a long, thick black beard, and a mess of white and black hair on his head. Carrying a long black stave, he turned to look at one of the trumpeters who seemed to lead the bunch;

"...that is good enough, Dennis."

The man - and everyone down the line from him - all got the message loud and clear. Even though the Archmage spoke more softly.

"Ahem." The older man spoke, "Welcome to the Phoebonon Mage Academy, warts and all. And considering how old I am, I'd know about warts!" He laughed somewhat awkwardly, and then said, "I am Archmagus Barrend. I left retirement to return to this school when my predecessor, Archmagus Kamfordt, suddenly resigned."

Barrend then stated, "We will see to it that you are shown to your rooms in the dormitories, and then a tour of the campus will begin."

Aside from some possible barbs tossed, it seemed Barrend didn't directly respond to what happened out there.

Marah Asadi, Grand Hall

"One assumes he was attempting to cast, despite not having been taught how. If he was allowed in, no doubt someone detected magic within the man." Marah noted. "Statistically, at least some Nords must have the gift."

She was quite interested in that, actually. Magic was not some divine blessing, but an ability passed through lineage; wait long enough, and mathematically all people would one day possess it.

Setting that thought aside, Marah stared through the orb at the kinslayer.

"I'm more curious about how the Warmonger tried to stand up for the Nord. You'd think they'd hate each other. Then again, if he's a kinslaying warmonger, he can't be all bad."

Alicia Blackwood—Arena —> Grand Hall

"This one takes her leave," Alicia would respond to Sir Borsalino, before turning away and heading back into the Grand Hall, but not before stealing one final glance at Brenton. He looks happy. Good. She trailed behind everyone else as she briefly flashed the newly minted apprentice knight an encouraging smile of her own, but quickly sped up her steps, and soon glided back to the crowds of students as they listened to Archmagus Barrend give a welcoming speech. I bet you would know about warts, Alicia thought to herself. Given all the toadies that must be hiding around here. I wonder if they enjoyed the show out there?

She snuck a nervous glance at Apollyon. Due to the Blackwood proclivity for intrigue, she had already guessed that she would be rooming with him. If one hand knew what the other was doing, they could keep each other in line. No doubt his superiors in House Phenemeon felt the same. Her wing spasmed slightly, the stress of the day giving it phantom pains as it tried to remember the shape it was before. But in that ghostly impression of the arm and hand that it had been previously, Alicia could feel her fist clench, though the rest of her posture remained unruffled. Those on high could, at least, not see this hand.

Don't let the fuckers see you flinch, Alicia.

Edited by JumpingFruit on Apr 21st 2024 at 4:48:29 AM

Yune

Yune's face was a bit blank throughout Micaio's speech...though really, "blank" was his neutral expression, so he looked exactly the same. But as it finished, Yune stared...and then a very small smile appeared on his face. "Thank you," he said. "I appreciate it."

He held that smile for a few more seconds, then the bearded Archmage appeared and it disappeared, his face resuming its usual "not all the way there" expression. He stayed that way through the entire speech, not responding to anything.

Then, he looked over at Micaio and bluntly asked, "Do you want to be roommates?"

Micaio Antero - Grand Hall

Micaio blinked, mildly surprised. He'd been in the middle of poring over, mentally, which of the humans looked like they would make the best roommate, the most interesting source of stories he could return to the wilds with... and then, abruptly, the Asclepia scion just. Asked him.

"...I suppose so. Though, do not fret if I leave your side for long periods, understand? The Journey calls me where it may."

There was a sudden "Hello?" called out, as in walked a young man with messy brown hair, and what looked to be patchwork stitched skin connected to an almost... ethereal body as he stepped in. "I just got here? Anyone mind telling me what's going on?"

He stood fairly tall, though his facial features denoted him as no older than 18 years. He extended out his left hand, it seemed almost unreal the way the fingers at the end curled into pointed claws. "Richter Benjamin Obsidian, of House Obsidian."

Apollyon - Grand Hall

Twice in an hour had this one broken his concentration, though the Kinslayer acknowledged that this time it was more than likely a good thing. Otherwise, what was he doing but stewing? He did a lot of that, granted, but it was typically actionable. Now the action was done. What was left but to move on, heed his superiors’ (exclusively in position) words, bite his tongue however many times and make do.

“I care little for the taunts of the secular towards savages. My concern lied solely in the disrespect of the proctor.”

That bastard had unwittingly bought himself into blood-debt, and Apollyon was interrupted before it could be repaid.

“Regardless, seeing as we’ve spoken twice now, introductions are in order. In battle I am called Sentinel Gaus of House Phenemeon. Otherwise you may call me Apollyon. It’s a pleasure.”

In the process of introduction, certain words became tinged with distaste. The obvious was ‘pleasure,’ which found itself gaining an especially edgy ‘p’ sound as well as a drag towards the end of the word. It was the exact loss of bearing that would see the Kinslayer flogged in the war-camps. Here he doubted it would spark so much as a reaction. That word wasn’t all, however. There was also a slight, seemingly subconscious, inflection upon ‘Gaus.’ His third name. Another layer of separation between himself and the version of him who was born.

He hated that name beyond anything else in the entire world.

He hated it so much that uttering it forced him to look away, lest his flustered eyes betray his lapse in stoicism. The opals wandered, catching the similarly traveling gaze of the curseblood, if only for a moment. A twinge of excitement ran through him. She wasn’t afraid. The nervousness of her glance registered, perhaps being the first crack in her composure he’d seen, but she had a measured reservation about her. He forced his face to become stormier, apparently darkening his mood when in reality the exact opposite was true. If he didn’t force himself to stay neutral, her enigma would’ve brought the strangest of grins to the boy’s face.

Back to Voron. Back to pleasantries. Baldesion, the wanderer fools with libertarian ideals and faraway dreams. Apollyon couldn’t bring himself to hate them as he could Libero, perhaps because their ideals were directed outwards, away. When the time came it was very likely so many of them would be off-land that the razing of their lands will catch them unawares, and they’ll return to ashes for a home. He imagined now the boy across from him doing so; the muted satisfaction of beating someone he didn’t even know.

Towards the new arrival he cast a look and lazy gesture of acknowledgement. The legionnaire pursed his lips, considering his words. Obsidian was an offshoot of Libero, but it didn’t seem the two were amicable brothers. It occurred to a Hoplite Superior that Apollyon had served under for a time that Obsidian’s method of production would serve wonderfully in the context of war. The automatons were not fit for battle, of course, and the flame-bearer would not be deprived of it, but perhaps under the Phen Collective the estranged brothers could be reunited. Mass produce Libero’s weaponry, create the world’s strongest military several magnitudes of power over. In the Cold War for Megistos, this was the most clear win condition.

But before he could properly ruminate upon such enticements, the Kinslayer sensed something behind him. Staying close to shadows was a habit he picked up during his time as a smaller boy in the warcamps. One with a brand. They saw him and immediately he had lost. So he learned to hide and slink around, and in time he learned to hate himself for it. Regardless, it stuck. You can’t just kill such a part of yourself. But you can smother it. Another habit he gained from his childhood: when something was behind you, you hit it first. The boy whipped around, ferocity evident in his dark eyes and severe expression. He hands reached into the murky depths and wrenched whatever he found outwards, towards the light.

“Show yourself…!”

Edited by Yayakuza on Apr 19th 2024 at 2:49:14 AM

Joaquin- Grand Hall

The shadow quickly dissipated, and a tall, skinny boy jumped out. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, please don’t kill me! I got here really early but then all these people came in so I hid myself in shadow, but then it was going for so long and I was really hungry and-“ He stopped to take a breath and looked at the boy who asked him the question. He seemed aggressive, like there was something in him that was just mad at everything. It made him feel uneasy, but surely this kid wasn’t all bad. He put his best smile, trying to hide his internal panicking, and stuck out his hand. “Sorry about that. I freak out when strangers get mad at me. My name’s Joaquin. Alvarado. Joaquin Alvarado. What’s your name?”

Edited by J99908 on Apr 20th 2024 at 3:40:07 PM

The Grand Hall

"Ah, House Phenemeon, dreadful tidings from your lands unfortunately. I, am Voron of House Baldesion and alas I do not have I do not have any interesting situational alternate names though I do have this one nickname from a— nevermind it's less interesting than the setup. Regardless, I am looking forward to our coming time as fellow students, hopefully in a way that dispels any... Tensions, from our respective Houses."

Archmage Barrend didn't even seem bothered by the late arrivals, he just looked at some of the Cuckoo Knights standing by and shook his head at them - as if telling them not to bother the kids. Once he was done speaking, he stated, "Well, if that's all, and unless I went spontaneously senile during my speech, I believe that is so...we are due to begin the tour of the Academy Grounds. You would do best to familiarize yourselves with the layout. Certain areas are best remembered."

He then started to leave through one of the hallways leading out, and one of the trumpet players started another loud chorus...only for a long string of glowing blue magic to wrap around the trumpet and inflict a mystical silence upon it. Barrend audibly sighed, "...Dennis, as I said..."

He then kept walking. Followed in short order by the trumpeters and assorted fellow Archmages and teachers.

As the tour was due to be organized...

The students at first gathered just outside the grand hall and overlooking the expanse of the Academy. It seemed, based on an announcement, like the lower ranked Knights of the Cuckoo would be handling guide duties around the campus.

Including, relevant to the group / clique that had formed due to the incident out there, a friendly face returning in a new get-up.

Brenton Thaine approached the group of Baldesion, Blackwood, Obsidian, von Dracstein, Libero, Alvarado, among others - now dressed in a much more knightly costume. His shoulders were covered by light, form fitting pauldrons, his tunic was replaced with a long sleeved shirt and vest with a chest guard. His traveling pants were replaced with new, well sewn pants replete with armored boots. The chest guard bore the image of a bright blue cuckoo flitting out from an empty nest.

All the same it was rather clear Brenton's immense frame had necessitated possibly one of the biggest uniforms in stock.

Even with all that happened, Brenton wore a very pleased expression and once more seemed readily energetic. "Well, I didn't really foresee being on this end of a tour of the Academy. I was barely up when Mr. Borsalino asked if I wanted to help out. I said yes, of course! So he handed me a Map Sphere of the Academy and set me to work."

He pulled out the Map Sphere and started leading the way off toward the library - his route marked in red.

Alicia Blackwood—Academy Tour

As was her place, taught through a battery of painful lessons, Alicia followed along, several steps behind. Though she could not know what the true intent behind letting Brenton lead this exercise was, she could sense something was afoot. Brenton was an apprentice knight, and perhaps giving tours was now part of his duties, but he was still enough of an outsider to not be familiar with the layout of the Academy, Map Sphere or no Map Sphere. Who was to say that it wasn't charmed to lead them somewhere they weren't supposed to be?

If she did have any such thoughts, however, she kept them to herself. Alicia lingered on the fringes of the tour group, doing what her House was (in)famous for—surveillance, though one would hardly think it when looking at her. She seemed nervous in the new surroundings, but she looked sharply at the doorways they passed through as if trying to remember their location and how much they were guarded. But what did she know? If anything was amiss, it certainly wouldn't be a servant that was aware enough to sound the alarm.

Edited by JumpingFruit on Apr 28th 2024 at 4:48:07 AM