Private Tales ... and the Heavens Below

[Perrine Urahil]

Dear Initiate Marcia

Your session for additional training will be held in two days time, location pending at Proctor Urahil's discretion. You will be informed on the day where it is you are expected to be present for this training.

Kind regards,

Proctor Perrine Urahil

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Winter was still a promise away, but had lashed the Academy in a blanket of snow overnight, that the original plan of taking this exercise to the outdoors proved a poor idea. Perrine was sure someone played with the fates, or in this case, the weather, in order to keep the extraction exercises behind closed doors. It was Perrine that had spent weeks coordinating these tests on the Initiate's wits, for they only spent a few hours in the dungeons, but she had been there every day the past fortnight.

A breath of fresh air was all she had wished for, but the temperatures had dropped with winter waiting to embrace Vel Anir in her icy embrace.

It seemed as if the damp, stone walls of the dungeons were an ever present cold, no matter the season on display.

Perrine wrapped her wool-lined jacket tighter around her, waiting by the doors that lead down into the area that had been set up for these testing exercises. At least it was to be one Initiate this afternoon. For the multiples, she had been given Initiate D'Amour to amplify her magic and allow her to make them all experience the same pain and struggles her magic could inflict on them. The Proctor actually wished Fabien were present, so that she could deflect the responsibility to that of his magic, and not her own hand now that she was to run this one on one.

 

[Marcia]

The words, additional training, felt like a double-edged sword.

On the one hand, all training had its merits, and there was little point even being at the Academy if you weren't willing to seek improvement in every area you could. If you weren't well-rounded, then you had a weakness. An unacceptable trait. It was why Marcia had never shirked away from any training, no matter how she felt about it personally.

On the other hand, it could have been the signifier of lagging behind, lacking in an area so much that it required additional training in the first place. Her negative outlook lingered on that scenario, feeding into the beast of frustration for which the Initiate was known. The thought of lacking something was like a slap to the face, making her feel that bile churn that usually preceded another furious outburst.

If anything could temper her self-doubt-steeped rage, then let it be the frigid temperatures that gripped the Academy.

"Proctor Urahil," Marcia spoke in a curt (by her standards, the pinnacle of politeness) greeting, her arms folded across her chest and hands buried within her armpits for warmth. She eyed the dungeon door as a strained grimace crested. "I'm not in trouble, am I?"

At least it was Proctor Urahil, one of the preferred faces of authority within the Academy, who often felt firm but fair, and Marcia could appreciate that more subtle 'don't fuck with me' kind of energy that the woman brought. Many of the other Proctors were still caught in the old ways, believing in the merits of sadism that they experienced despite all the changes that had happened since their time, so avoiding that kind of company in the dungeons was preferable.

 

[Perrine Urahil]

No matter how horrid or lovely an Initiate was, it did not change the fact that Perrine still did not want to do this.

It was an essential lesson for Initiates to learn and train in, but it was also a soft command given upon the Proctor to make the Initiates remember what it is she could do. They all knew of her as a Healer, a Urahil that learned etiquette in her upbringing and was brought on to educate Initiates on this awareness, to add it to their repertoire in the event they were hired to be security at societal events.

The Initiates thought the Proctor to be soft because of her identity as a noblewoman. Perhaps her family had bought her way through graduating...

Not by her very own hands.

Of course, Perrine had told the Initiates in her Etiquette classes her ability to manipulate the body, she did not see the need to correct their interpretation of it as only to heal.

"No, Initiate... you are one of the last to go through training in... keeping Anirian secrets under duress."

She mustered a small smile, hoping to relieve any nerves Marcia may have.

Gesturing for the hall, Perrine invited the Initiate to follow it. Lanterns lit the way, and a single cell was left open, lit with magelight and a stone slab for Marcia to lay on. All the previous sessions Perrine had overseen had the Initiates tied to chairs, but this was a special case. A special reminder.

During the first years as a Dreadlord, before the Revolution, Perrine worked in extracting information from the enemy. Rebels, crooks, spies; none were able to withstand the manipulations the Healer dealt upon them. It was in this line of work she began to realise she could seep into one's mind, begin breaking those years long training at keeping resolve. She was smoke building, finding gaps in all corners to spread her influence.

One on such occasion, Perrine had grounded a large half-orc to a table just like this. So paralysed, he could not work against the magicks she poisoned him with.

"If you want to sit, you can sit... otherwise you are welcome to lay on the stone. Have you ever gone through resistance training?"

 

[Marcia]

In one sentence, Marcia went through a cavalcade of emotions.

Relief that Initiate Cheyne hadn't mentioned her missing tooth to the Proctors, or at least Proctor Urahil. No trouble to be had there. In her defence, the girl shouldn't chatted shit if she didn't want to get hit, although kicking her tooth down the drain might have been a bit far.

Frustration that she was one of the last. Back of the line. Behind the pack. Marcia, the runt of the litter. Surely just happenstance, but what if?

Fuck.

Then there was unease. Under duress was a softer way to frame it, but even polished ebony couldn't frame shit and make it smell any better. Marcia didn't doubt that it was a necessary lesson, but that didn't mean it suddenly became palatable. What kind of maniac would even look forward to torture by any name?

A terse nod and she followed on, the frustration lingering on her face, brows knitting familiar irate grooves into her flesh. If she were to be designated as the last, she would vow to be the best.

Show them who the afterthought is.

When they reached the cell, Marcia finally managed to unball her fists, her exercise of silent self-torment pushed to the side in the name of the objective and letting determination settle in its place. The diminutive girl hopped onto the slab and, for the time being, chose to sit, legs dangling off the side.

"Not like this," she answered truthfully, having swapped the face of frustration for something more muted, "I mean, we all get hurt, right?" Pain was a part of life here, even if it was far less prominent now than in the storied old days of horror. Nonetheless, it was a fact of combat. To hurt. To persevere. To win.

"Is there anything I should know first, Proctor?"