Fable - Ask The Rat in the Wall

[Callarn]

The year is 359, late summer, and already cold has seeped through Vel Anir's walls. The days go by at a downcast crawl, and this morning is no different. Peddlers sell the wares in frilled coats, farmers curse the dry cold air, and those that would be Dreadlords again face trials. Scarcely an hour has passed since Callarn woke up and already he failed class. His fingers cling together with lukewarm wax, and his palms still sting with the bite of the paddle.

Callarn is thirteen - although no one would've given him more than ten. He is short like that, sickly too, and where his skin isn't bruised red he is very pale. His clothes, marking him as an apprentice, are torn in places. They are gifts of his roommate and sometimes friend: Needles.

Their sometimes friendship is largely one-sided, and dependant on whether the apprentice managed to sneak food past the watchers. Needles isn't a picky eater, but even she turned her rodent nose at today's breakfast porridge. Wasn't its minty smell, vaguely meaty flavour and fishy texture to her liking?

"C'mon, don't be a prick..." he hissed, trying to pour the cement-thick slurry into the hole in the wall. Anyone passing through this corridor of the Academy and so lucky as to know Callarn might guess that he is indeed deep into some plot. However, not even those closest to him knew about Needles. Afterall, her hyperactive bowels were his secret weapon.

"You think I like this either?" he reached for the hole, and got bit for his trouble "You bastard!"

Selene Avar

 

[Selene Avar]

Selene adjusted the leather gauntlet on her forearm, a frown pulling at her lips as she peered down towards her sparring partner that lay flat on the ground.

A groan escaped the boy, his eyes closed as he held his shattered ribs. The Proctor on the side of the ring was saying something, though Selene did not hear it. The adrenaline was already coursing through her veins, and she had to fight not to let her magic run wild. Small trails of flame flickered over her fingertips, but her fist quickly clenched to quench them.

"Are we done, Proctor Bellin?" There was no emotion to her tone, nothing that denoted any kind of displeasure. Her head turned, face impassive as she looked towards the Dreadlord Instructor. A pause held in the ring, and then he nodded.

"Aye, go get yourself some breakfast."​

Selene nodded.

She was sixteen years old, and already she had learned the hard lessons many of her fellow Apprentices chose to ignore. The way through this place was not defiance, there was no escape. All you could do was embrace the horrors.

Take part in them.

Without another word Selene turned on her heel and headed towards the mess-hall.

Callarn Osfort

 

[Wulfric]

"A knife! Not a nail, a knife!" The overseer screeched. Wulfric, a mere six years of age, had only been at the academy a couple of months.

"I'm hungry." Wulfric responded. He wasn't the only one. There were a couple dozen kids his age in the class being attended to by a pair of overseers. They were, unlike Wulfric, smart enough to be quiet.

"You can eat when you've made a knife Wulfric. You need to make progress." Her voice was scratchy. Unpleasant. Probably had something to do with the ugly scars on her neck. Wulfric didn't like her voice. Or her face.

He stared at the steel ingot in front of him. He didn't want to make a knife, but he was hungry. Some of the other kids were beginning to be dismissed for breakfast. If he could make a knife, maybe he could eat. Wulfric sighed and put his hand on the ingot. Slowly a sort of wave pulsed through the metal, and Wulfric pulled to the side. First came a simple cylinder, then on top of that a flat rectangle that might be mistaken for a crossguard. Wulfric continued to focus and after the rectangle pulled out what seemed a nail, with a handle.

"There! A knife!" Wulfric exclaimed, but the overseer did not share his joy.

"That's a nail with a handle." She challenged. Wulfric looked at his creation once more, then up at the overseer.

"A knife is just a skinny nail with a handle. This is a fat knife."

 

[Callarn]

Callarn had this morning outlined down to the second, from the tipped chalk box to the numbers of beats of the paddle, but he hadn't expected the fucking rat to be the one piece to tumble! The hole, plugged with nutritive glooping mass, quieted. Scared or uninterested, Needles had decided to go away, and this silence that had settled was broken by the creaks of her skittering under the floorboards. Upset, terribly angry actually, Callarn broke into a sprint. Although his legs ached, and his feet bruised, he was a black-clad bolt to those he passed through. Stairs were climbed down, up, students and dreadlords and dead men in stretchers were given not even the slightest glance. Callarn had no care for them, beyond seeing which were best to dodge, crawl or trapeze over! No jump was daring enough! And No turn too quick! When the boy reached the mess-hall he was red and dripping with sweat.

What figure he must be striking, looking like he had jumped into a ten-man brawl and lost. With things being as they were in the Academy, this was likely to be some of the other poor devil's case. Fortunately, he did indeed look the part, just some other student who hadn't had the time to change clothes before breakfast.

Callarn took a deep breath.

Sighed.

Sat down.

​

"This is the baby table." he told himself, too late realizing his vertically-challenged youth-faced company were not his usual more grown friends but kids. He'd give them, what, six years of age? His poorly hid contempt hesitated at the sight of some brat shaping an ingot into what was clearly a fat knife. He looked at Wulfric, right in the eye, wondering why should this kid show more magical capability than he.

 

[Selene Avar]

Selene made her way through the halls without much care for those around her. She outright ignored most of them, never giving them a second look and instead simply wandering ahead with reckless abandon.

Most simply avoided her.

The young pyromancer had a wash of rumors already swirling around her. Missing teammates, returning alone from missions, a boy found as nothing but cinders after leaving with Selene. There were only five others left in her class of a dozen, and it was said she had done away with most of them.

No one had ever asked her the truth of those rumors, though of course only a fool would have. The Proctors had running bets, though they did not know the truth either.

Not exactly anyway.

As she reached the mess hall Selene grabbed a bowl of the daily gruel, taking a spoon and wandering to an empty table as she sat herself down. Eyes flickered to those at other tables, watching them quietly.

 

[Wulfric]

"Well make it a skinny knife then!" Annoyance was starting to grit through the voice of the instructor. Wulfric wanted to play with her a little more, but then his stomach made an audible groan. It was time to eat.

"Okay." Wulfric responded, and put his other hand on what would be the blade of the knife. He pulled his hand away, pulling with it metal that acted as a sheath to a small blade. Wulfric then stuck the knife unto the table, sticking straight up. "Can I get breakfast now?" He looked up at the instructor. She was visibly upset at him, but nodded her head.

"I'm a kid!" Wulfric protested to Callarn Osfort. "Babies wear diapers." His tone very matter of fact. Nothing annoyed a six year old more than being compared to a baby. "I'm getting breakfast." He declared, and began to walk towards the mess hall. If Callarn were to follow him, Wulfric would probably forgive him and ask what his favorite animal was, and express his own favor for lizards. Especially the ones whose tails popped off when you caught them.

Wulfric would get to the mess hall and get his daily bowl of gruel. Many kids were dismayed by the constant brown soupey mesh that was called food in the Academy, but food time was Wulfric's favorite time of day. Mainly, because he had learned how to swipe an extra spoon to play with.

With gruel and spoons in hand, Wulfric would head out to the mess hall floor and try to find someone to sit with. Today he found a red-haired big kid who seemed to be sitting alone. It made Wulf a little sad. So, he went over, put his bowl of gruel on the table, and sat right next to Selene Avar.

"You're pretty, but kind of scary." Wulfric said to the girl. She was one of the oldest in the academy. She'd probably be leaving soon. Maybe she got to home.

"Do you like cats?" Wulfric said, and took his extra spoon and formed it into a primitive model cat, perhaps a half inch tall. Playing with food was overrated, playing with spoons was top notch.

 

[Callarn]

Callarn did not deign to eke out a reply. If you waddle like a baby and are about as tall, aren't you most certainly one? And because he didn't follow Wulfric, Callarn's favourite animal remained a whiskered mystery.

Callarn pulled the fat knife from the table. He tested it the way Archon Belerghast had shown. One eye shut, a brow furrowed, and a firm open palm scraping against the edge. He started with the rim, triangular. The Servitor, the Strife, the Meaning. He shut his eyes, laid the cut up hand on the table, raised the knife well over his head and plunged.

The Egregore.

Callarn felt pain, but not on his hand, skewered to the table, the blade bloodless. It was his chest that hurt, fizzling out anxiety in a deep sigh. He removed the blade, threw it aside, gave his fists a glance as they showed no scars, no marks from the paddle. His migraine was gone, the phlegm in his throat and lungs, the promise of a cramp on his ankle went unrealized. Callarn felt awake, like he had just woken up from a restful sleep, reading to tackle the nearest nobleblood and beat the smarm out of their face.

In truth, he had just been lucky. Supremely lucky. His audience had remained silent, no attempt against the stabbing was made, otherwise the boy would have been carried away to the nursery, and the paddle would again taste him. The babies watched with gasps and shock, and Callarn obviously took their applause. Was that metalshaper able to match such a feat? Riotous!

Perish the thought that Callarn was done, however. Although his plan was well underway, he still had to catch a glimpse of his target. He did not know her name, or even her face, but it was her hair - as red as his - that had him endure all the hassle of today. He peeked through the window, and upon seeing Selene, ran up to her. He forgot to drop the knife, and it nicked him good on the hip. Belerghast had taught him to not let such things show, however.

"Miss apprentice, ma'am." his voice was a faint tremble carried barely over the brushing breeze "C-Can I ask you a question?" Quickly he pulled Wulfric by the collar, made him bow his head in tandem with his own. People needed to be careful with these older students, and Callarn wouldn't want a baby to get paddled too.

 

[Selene Avar]

For a brief second, a brief blissful second she allowed herself to smile.

It was a rare show of emotion, one that she did not often allow herself. The boy's innocence was...refreshing in a way, something that she could understand, remember. Something that she could think of in almost a fond way.

Yet just as she was about to open her mouth to speak the illusion of the past was suddenly shattered. She was reminded of what she was, who she was, where she was. All the horror and nightmare fell back into place and her lips turned to a scowl. "No."

The word sundered any question that the slightly older boy might have had.

A small flare of fire shot through her eyes. It was a spark that seemed to corral for just a few seconds, drawing through her gaze as she stared at the lad.

"Get the fuck out of here." Her lips turned to a scowl a she looked down at them both.

Selene was not here to take care of them. She was not here to make friends. She was here to be something more, to be a Dreadlord. To leave all of them behind. "Now."

Hatred burned in her voice.

 

[Wulfric]

Wulfric had taken a bite of gruel awaiting Selene Avar's answer before Callarn started shoving his face down.

"What are you doing?" He yelped. His first instinct was to push against the force that came down on him, but his little neck was no match for the big kid's arm. His arms began to flail as he learned in a grumpy fashion that Selene did not, in fact, like cats. At six however, Wulf's attention span was entirely consumed with the with the hand pushing down on his skull.


Out of sheer instinct, and muscle memory from the class he'd just been dismissed in, his magic coursed and the spoon which had a second ago flopped gruel away from him now reformed into something akin to a stiletto. His arm pushed it up, and were it not stopped it would have plunged into the forearm of Callarn Osfort.

Perhaps due to the blood, or perhaps due to the shouting of the pretty but scary dreadlord, tears would begin to well into the boys eyes. He wanted to go home.

 

[Callarn]

What was with all this fidgeti- oh no, was he hurting him!? No! That's not what he wanted!

Callarn's hold softened, he meant to turn it into a hug, but his heart froze when the glint of the stiletto caught his eye. He didn't understand what it was right away, only that it terrified him.

His confusion became stronger when Selene started shouting. He knew her name. He thought he knew her too, but that only frightened him more. Her scolding could turn at any moment into fist and flames, and nobody would stand to protect them. Behind his back Callarn took the weapon from Wulfric, gentle but firm, and pointed it at Selene. His hold was trembling and half-hearted and no part in particular, but he was trying not to show weakness.

"Are you my sister?" he said, choking down a sob, not knowing what to do with his other arm and Wulfric. Pull him close to shield him or push him away to run or run the two together or drop everything and bow as deeply as they could and apologize. "ARE YOU MY SISTER!?" he shouted again. Some people watched them, but they didn't matter. He only had eyes for her hair. Unseen in all of the Academy, except for his.

He felt stupid. He had no memories before the Dreadlords, he was too young. Still, he held hope that someone would help him. Take him from this place. He realized then that he was not stupid. Weak, more like, and let his head be filled with his own lies.

He lashed out. Threw the dagger. His form was terrible and he knew nothing of the technique, but he threw it still. He wanted to be vindicated.

 

[Selene Avar]

Her eyes flared for the briefest moment, glowing red hot as the knife in the air was suddenly enraptured in flame and burnt into a crisp. The flimsy metal melted away, the scent of burnt metal and sulfur filled the air almost instantly.

"SELENE!"​

A voice boomed within the mess-hall, and instantly the redhead drew her lips thin. Quietly she cursed herself. There had been a thousand ways to deal with the knife, a hundred ways to break this little morons neck.

Yet she had done what she shouldn't have.

"You know there's no magic outside the training hall!"​

It was one of the Proctors that ran over to them. He wore leather armor and the cloak of a Third Level. His face was fierce, and Selene knew instantly that she had made a mistake. "Yes, Proctor."

Selene grimaced, already knowing there was no point in arguing. That was a lesson she had learned long ago in this place.

"Come with me, all three of you."​

 

[Wulfric]

Wulfric didn't quite understand what had happened. One moment the knife was in his hand, and the next the big kid was waving it at the red-haired apprentice. Was the six year old truly so powerless? The red-haired mage incinerated what was once his spoon, and it made Wulfric sad. Then there was the screech of the proctor.

"You're in trooouble." Wulfric said to the red-haired apprentice. Yet it did not take long for Wulfric to realize he was in troooouble too. Wulfric let out a small grunt, dismayed at his interrupted breakfast. He'd only managed a couple of bites of gruel, and both his spoons were gone.

"Yes sir." Wulfric replied, not wanting to try to pronounce the word proctor. He didn't know where he was going, so he extended his hand and grabbed ahold of Selene Avar's, intending to follow her. Careful eyes would keep watch of Callarn Osfort, as he was a naughty sort. In a moment he'd probably be following at a distance, as it was unlikely that Selene would keep his hand, but the boy looked for some small measure of comfort in any case.