Dreadlords Therapy Sessions

[Fernando Matos]

Fernando sat down at one end of the small, round, table he'd requested from the incredibly helpful staff at the academy. Everywhere he went there was a Proctor giving him their two cents or offering a bit of constructive advice in dealing with the students. Many of their methods seemed unorthodox, to be certain, but Professor Matos had learned long ago not to judge any book by its cover.

Though, to be fair, 'Professor' was no longer his title. They called them 'Proctors' at this institution. How exotic!

Of course, there were some concerns raised by members of the Guard, representatives of the new Republic of Vel Anir, one or two of the custodial staff at the academy, and even a few of the kinder Proctors about the idea of Fernando Matos conducting one-on-one sessions alone in a room with these children. It took nearly a week of pulling strings and negotiating to get it all to happen.

It was only after he'd agreed to have Katya and Corbin in the next room over, ready to implement their magic, that folks finally relented and agreed for these meetings to go ahead. If he was ever going to breakthrough to these students on a personal level these meetings would need to feel private. They'd need to be intimate.

That was the only way to have them speak their mind. Share what they were really feeling.

So, Professor Proctor Matos tapped his fingers on the oak table and waited for his first appointment to arrive.

 

[Chasmine]

"If it were up to me, I'd have your tongue cut out."

A few days following the very disastrous dance, Chasmine found herself being carted to an unknown office, her arm in the painfully strong grip of Proctor Harkenov.

"I do not understand," Chas stumbled after the much larger woman, trying to keep pace while being yanked off balance every other stride from Harkenov's limp, "where are we going and why do you want to take my tongue?"

That seemed a very drastic response to her ghost cat's presence in the academy, of which Harkenov had found herself under the mysterious haunting at random times of the day. Just this morning she'd entered her locked office to find her papers scattered everywhere and her inkwell smashed on the floor with a single faint black pawprint (one extra telltale toebean) left behind.

"Your little fit at the dance didn't impress anyone, Grey."

"I don't-"

"But we don't get to do things our way anymore. Instead of removing your tongue you get to talk about it."

"About what?"

"Just shut up and get in there," Harkenov did not even bother to knock on Proctor Matos' door, but instead yanked it open and shoved the hapless pale whelp inside with a hearty what a fucking joke this is as her departing words.

Chas looked around, bewildered, and fixed her wary gaze on the man at the desk, "Are ... you to remove my tongue?"

 

[Fernando Matos]

In the Allirian classic, “A Long Walk to Amol-Kalit,” the hero of the epic tale is tasked with an impossibility. Journey all the way across Liadain and through the deserts of Amol-Kalit just so he can retrieve the mythical Scales of Tychan so that he can return to Alliria and prove that his soulmate is innocent of the charges she’s convicted of. Through hard work and a positive mindset he accomplishes his goal only to find out his lover was, in fact, very much guilty of the triple homicide that spurred the journey in the first place.

Fernando hoped this venture of mentoring the Dreadlord initiates would turn out similarly. With a different ending of course.

His thought process was interrupted as the door slammed open and Harkenov, one of the Proctors who had jokingly told him to jump off the parapets of the high academy walls, deposited a young platinum blonde teenager into the room.

Gods. They were all so young at this university. He’d read much about the Dreadlord program before coming here but seeing it in person was… jarring.

”Remove your tongue? Why would I, ah, I see. You were making a joke!” Fernando slapped his knee and laughed, ”that’s a good one, please have a seat!”

He gestured to the empty chair before looking down at his list of names and zeroing in at his first appointment. He’d need to take a note later that she enjoyed humor. ”You are Charice Grey, yes?” That’s what the list said at least. ”I’m Prof, er, Proctor Fernando Matos but my friend’s simply call me Ferdie.” Hopefully, by the end of the week, the entire student body would be calling him ‘Ferdie.’

 

[Chasmine]

Chasmine flinched at the sound of the knee slap like a beaten dog flinched at a raised hand. Engrained, instinctive reactions made her immediately anxious in the unknown man's presence. She knew what the other Proctors were capable of, had witnessed and been victim to their abuses more than many but less than some. A sense of humor did nothing to disarm her defense mechanism of wanting to remain rooted to the spot.

Moving closer just cut down on the amount of airspace between her face and their fist. Experience also taught her that the ones that laughed tended to spit while doing so. Chas really didn't like getting peppered with spittle before getting peppered with knuckles.

She didn't sit. She also didn't correct him with her correct name.

The waif let her wide, sickly-pale gaze survey the office. It was rather empty and felt very impersonal. Was he a visiting proctor? Would he be going away soon? Chas hoped so, she wasn't sure she'd be able to commit her remaining sleepless nights to worrying over a new Proctor. She had her night terrors coordinated a neatly arranged on a weekly schedule that didn't interrupt her otherwise enjoyable ventures.

"Hello Sir," she replied meekly, "do I have to sit? Last time I sat for punishment the chair broke and Proctor Harkenov was very upset with me."

 

[Fernando Matos]

Charice's demeanor was like that of an abused pack animal. Recoiling at the mere sound of violence. Fernando had read that the Academy could, on occasion, use corporal punishment and other unorthodox methods to mold their students into warriors but perhaps their methods were more heavy handed than he'd realized.

The Proctor placed his list of student names down on the table and interlocked his fingers. He leaned back in his own chair and put on his patented smile. "You don't have to sit. And you don't have to call me sir."

Punished for breaking a chair she sat on? This student looked like she weighed less than six stone. How would she have broken a chair by sitting on it? Best not to ask.

"I don't issue any punishments," his smile still plastered on his face, the joy of it permeated between each of his words, "and I can promise you that I won't ever get upset with you. I have a different way of dealing with my grumpies." Namely, crying into a pillow alone at night or re-reading one of his favorite romance novels. But that was for himself, not information he was in the mood to share with his students.

His gaze shifted back down to the table and towards his paperwork, a curt bob of his head indicating towards them. "So, I'm told you had a bit of an incident at your dance. Do you want to talk about it? That's all we're here to do." Fernando's smile had grown so large now that Charice likely could've seen his molars. "Talk. That's all!"

 

[Chasmine]

This ... this was a farce, right? He was smiling. A lot. Harkenov did that right before she pummeled you into a wall and it made Chasmine's stomach churn uncomfortably. Her gaze passed about the room one more time, a nervous mouse keeping lookout for the prowling cat in the shadows.

"Incident?" the damp breath in her mouth caught on the word as she wracked her immediate memories of that strange night for anything that could have been misconstrued as an incident. Had ... had they found out she'd snuck a mushroom beforehand?

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I don't know what you mean?"

 

[Fernando Matos]

Ah, so she felt guilty about it. Ashamed even. Best not to pry too deep into the reasons why, it likely was a traumatic experience for the poor child. "Must be my mistake. Did you enjoy the dance then?"

If they were to make any progress he'd need to find some common ground. Say something to her that would lighten the mood and elevate her spirits! What if the entirety of the dance had become too traumatic for her? One of the other girls might have mocked the way her makeup looked. Ferdie had read in, "The Truth of Women," (which was a really informative piece written by a half-orc named Barberus) that such gestures could be especially harmful to the self-esteem of girls in their adolescence.

"I really love to read," he shard with her. That usually helped someone open up, sharing a bit of yourself and asking them to reciprocate. "Tell me Charice, what do you love to do in your free time?"

 

[Chasmine]

"Uhm, yes Sir. The dance was lovely," the understatement of the century. Well, not to Chasmine. All that she remembered of the dance had been lovely, but somehow that short memory of her dance with Edric, his words spoken to her muffled to the point of ambiguity, didn't strike her as strange that it wouldn't have stretched across an entire evening soiree.

He changed the subject, thankfully, to reading and things of free time nature. Chasmine's stance shifted somewhat to a cornered mouse who'd been offered a morsel of cheese. She sniffed and perked her tiny proverbial whiskers.

"I garden ... and grow herbs for the kitchen. I'm making a new bag out of the material from my dress to gather ingredients."

That seemed the most harmless and least rule-breaking of her present collection of extracurricular activities.

 

[Fernando Matos]

It was lovely? According to the report, and the eyewitness testimony of several traumatized classmates and annoyed Proctors, she'd had a full blown panic attack. Several ear drums were ruptured and one student allegedly lost their sense of hearing for a week. Lovely?

"Gardening is a wonderful hobby."

What did that hobby say about who she was? What she'd been through? "Do you think that you enjoy cultivating plants because this place teaches you only to harm?" Giving life to something, nurturing something, could be a therapy unto itself if all one knew was killing and fighting.

Fernando chewed on the tip of his quill as he awaited Charice's response with a smile.

 

[Chasmine]

Chasmine had been gently, nervously tapping curled hands together at her front, awaiting whatever response there was to be had about gardening. A wonderful hobby - a stressed smile shifted across her lips, brows pinching upwards. Did ... did he know?

...enjoy cultivating plants because this place teaches you-

Oh GODS he knew.

-only to harm?

Chasmine immediately began to ugly sob, "I swear they're not bad for you. I only ate one before the dance, I didn't give any to anyone else!"

 

[Fernando Matos]

Dear gods, the girl still thought she was here to be punished. How was he ever to reach these children if they only saw him as a rule enforcer?

A gentle hand came up and pushed down towards the floor. "Whoa, whoa, calm down. No one is in trouble." There were tears rushing down her face and an unpleasant sobbing resonated through her throat. They'd said the upper classmen would be harder to talk with but were they all this mentally unstable?

"I don't mind if you eat the plants you're growing," what could be so wrong about eating freshly grown carrots or berries? Seemed an awfully strict rule to not allow students to do that. "Do the other Proctors forbid you from eating your crops?"

If she needed to bring her zucchini or pumpkins to his session to eat them he'd encourage it. Maybe even try them for himself. Fernando loved fresh produce.

 

[Chasmine]

Chasmine reflexively flinched at the hand gesture.

This felt like bait. Was he baiting her? They'd come at her this way before, sent her to the Nurses to help determine if her "holistic anxiety rememdies" were safe. Turns out the Nurses had been fishing to find out what, exactly, it was she had been taking and giving to the other students. Hash. Mushrooms. Questionable teas. Nothing poisonous, but exceptionally ... disruptive to their control over the Academy. Once the Nurses had their answers, they gone around and burned every crop garden they could find.

It had forced Chasmine's little rebel gardens into hiding. Guerilla Gardening 301. She had become rather good at it. Too good to get caught again.

"No," she lied- and then immediately because she hated lying, "yes. ...I don't know. May I go now? I have an Ancient Runes test I have to study for."

 

[Fernando Matos]

Audible sigh.

At least, that's what Fernando Matos wanted to do. He restrained himself, and instead sat in silence for a second while staring at Chasmine. He had to reach these kids, he could be their only hope at making a breakthrough and coming to better understand themselves!

"You may go," he finally said with a softness in his face, "same time next week."

Maybe young Charice would bring some cabbage or celery for him to snack on. Wouldn't that be nice?

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair Krixus was pacing outside the door to the room. He had not been thrilled about the idea of having to come to one of these sessions, but he had been assured this was only to get a greater understanding of the students. That made sense, it was for efficiencies sake. Besides, once he breezed through this with flying colors then the word might spread about his good sense.

Alistair placed his hand on the door, and one of his tattooed eyes slid from his arm to the door after only a few seconds of mumbling. It wasn't that Alistair expected anything to go wrong, but it was just a habit that he did not want to give up. After all, the one time he decided not to do it would be the one time someone actually comes to ambush him.

When he was finally called into the room, Alistair straightened up and got rid of any signs of nervousness. He opened the door and entered with a confident step. The dreadlord in training made sure to offer a formal military salute to Fernando Matos. "Proctor Matos, Apprentice Krixus arriving for session."

Alistair tried to remember what he knew of Proctor Matos, but if he did have any sort of information on him then he could not remember it. He wanted to curse himself as he could visibly imagine his father's insistent reminder that one must always research those who they will be interacting with, especially when of a higher rank.

 

[Fernando Matos]

Fernando really needed to get a list of the magical abilities all of these students had. Nearly as soon as he dismissed her the young Charice faded into the floor. Collecting his jaw off the ground Ferdie snapped to attention as he realized his next appointee was at the door.

"Come in, come in, have a seat!"

Proctor Matos had been a relatively recent arrival at the academy. Thus it wasn't a surprise for Charice and now Apprentice Krixus to seem uncomfortable with him. They'd known their old Proctors for most of their lives! And, so far as he could tell, the academy had never employed someone who sought to treat emotional and mental trauma before Fernando Matos had arrived.

A nod followed and the Proctor checked his notes and agenda for the day. "Ah, yes, Apprentice Allen Krixus. I am Proctor Fernando Matos." He wore a broad smile and decided against using his, 'my friend's call me Ferdie,' line. He'd bring it up in conversation later if the moment struck him.

"So, tell me about how your training is going?" Unlike young Charice, this wasn't a disciplinary meeting. It was one of many mandated sessions that all of the initiates would need to attend.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair stood stiffly in the middle of the room, only relaxing slightly when he was told to take a seat. He quickly moved to the seat, viewing the comment as a command. The man in front of him looked...kind. Not exactly a common personality trait here, but he could not let his guard down. Alistair had met Proctor's that enjoyed being nice at the start in order to have more effect when they turned into assholes.

Alistair only briefly mumbled, almost incapable of being heard, "Alistair Krixus, sir." In response to hearing his name. He did not want to make too big of a deal out of it since it may lead to a punishment. He focused on the first question and it did catch him a bit off guard.

"Classes are moving forward smoothly, sir. I know I've been having some trouble with my runic carving lessons, but I think I have it under control."

Alistair considered himself quite lucky. He was still involved in combat classes such as tactics, advanced swordsmanship, and the like. However, his magic classes were less...physical than the others. Since runic magic required so much intricate knowledge in order for it to be effective that usually meant that most of Alistair's magic class was him getting his head buried in a book. Then he simply had to use what he had learned or face punishments. Standard stuff.

 

[Fernando Matos]

"Oh! Alistair. Sorry about that."

Fernando made a correction on his roster of students. There must have been a mistake made by someone at the admissions department. Very well, a simple correction and now they could move on.

He mused for a second at what Alistair commented on but after a time he spoke up again. "And how does it make you feel? When you have trouble with your lessons?"

Truthfully, Fernando had no idea what runic carving was but hearing what a student might struggle with could be a gateway into other, deeper, problems they were dealing with. If young Alistair was already raising concerns then perhaps his issues were near surface level!

It was a real miracle that Fernando was here. Finally, someone qualified to address the problems these students were dealing with.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Feel? What type of question was that? It sucked to have trouble with lessons, to not succeed. Not succeeding meant he was failing, and that meant punishment. It also meant he was letting his family down. Every time he failed and had to put more time and effort into something that was just one other thing he could be doing to improve.

Alistair stared at Fernando for a moment and then gave the answer he was supposed to give rather than the one he wanted to give. It was never about what you wanted to do, but what you were expected to do.

"Perfectly fine, sir. A little hardship just makes one stronger, as they say."

 

[Fernando Matos]

The boy was speaking a line, that much was obvious. Perhaps he was scared of being punished just as Charice was? Alistair," Fernando began, "I am not interested in issuing punishments. And I can assure you anything said here will remain between us."

He smiled warmly. "But yes, hardships can help mold us into better people. So long as we remember who we are."

In the classic novel, "Excuses," written by an escaped Ceraki slave the author laments about losing themselves in an effort to distance their existence away from the hard life they once lived. While they became a stronger person on the outside they were a swirling pit of self-doubt and depression on the inside. Ferdie couldn't help but wonder how many students here were dealing with many of those same issues.

"It is not weakness to doubt yourself," he offered, "it's only a weakness if you refuse to acknowledge it to yourself."

 

[Alistair Krixus]

"I-"

Alistair was about to protest, but cut himself off. He wasn't sure if it was more his fear of talking back to a Proctor, or maybe he just did not want the man in front of him to recognize another lie. He sat there silently for a moment before taking a deep breath.

"I think I'm doing alright. Classes aren't the easiest, but they aren't supposed to be. I'm doing well enough in my lessons. The runic carving problem was just me not getting enough sleep." He said the last part a bit timidly compared to the rest like he did not recognize it as a good excuse.

Most students did not get much sleep because they stayed up all hours of the night in order to try and get ahead of the other initiates. At least, that is what Alistair thought everyone was going. Alistair spent most of his nights sleeping over whatever book he passed out on that night.

 

[Fernando Matos]

"Ah," Fernando's tone was jovial enough but without being insulting or intimidating. More that he was trying to lighten the mood. Though how that would come across to Dreadlord Apprentices was anyone's guess.

He pursed his lips for a second before pressing onwards, "runic carving sounds challenging. No doubt about it."

Finding a bit of common ground, even if there was none, always served to ease tensions. At least, that's what he'd learned in Elbion during some of his psychology lessons. He assumed it stayed true in Vel Anir and when dealing with students who were trained to murder since childhood.

Eyes tore into the boy before him as Ferdie's face became serious. "Tell me Alistair. What do you enjoy doing? What do you want to do after graduation?" The revolution had brought something the Dreadlord initiates had never known until now. Choice. They could commit to the military or renounce their "duty" and instead pursue alternative careers after their life in the academy had completed.

It itched in the back of Fernando's mind what the average student would decide.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair instinctively worried that Fernando was looking down on him from the tone, but his self control stopped him from acting rashly. Their was always just the chance that he was misunderstanding the other person, something that he was often accused of by others.

"It can be. I'm currently working on Lestault's equation on runic symmetry, which can be its own handful." Alistair responded with a grin, the first time he had shown any emotion in this meeting. The initiate was not known for being the most emotional of his classmates. No, definitely not with some of the others running around. It was rare to see this side of him, but Alistair was quiet academic. He did not talk about it often to others because physical ability was valued highly hear, but he did enjoy reading on various topics, runic magic being near the top of his list.

The second question caught him a bit more off guard. He understood the context of this question, as it was what a lot of people were talking about these days. However, it did not apply to Alistair all that much.

"Oh, I will join the military for a few years, until it is time for me to take over as head of my house. It has been my family's plan for me since I was a child."

 

[Fernando Matos]

Interesting.

He didn't respond with what he liked to do and instead went on about his family's plans for him. Very interesting indeed. "Plans are good." There wasn't anything wrong with formulating a plan. Anything worth doing took time and effort which normally necessitated a strategy for approaching it.

A plan. But a good plan was collaborative. A plan that involved the trajectory for the rest of one's life at least took the whims of the person it impacted the most into account.

"Is that what you want?" A valid question, at least he thought so. "To serve in the military? To become head of your house?" Fernando jotted a note down on his book before his gaze shot back up towards Alistair.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

What a strange question. Alistair's confusion was visible as he looked at Fernanda while he tried to organize his thoughts. Where was Fernando from? Alistair understood the line of questioning, especially with the whole revolution, some dreadlords had actually been given the chance for choice.

"I am not like everyone here. I don't mean that in a pretentious sort of way. While some of the initiates here have been given a choice. I have not. I am from the nobility. The choice is an illusion for us. That is, even more, the case with recent events. The power and influence of the nobility in the city are sitting on an edge. If I do not play my part then I risk destroying everything my family has worked on for centuries."

Alistair leaned back in his chair when he was done and sighed. He had never said that out loud, but there was a certain part of him that was pleased to admit. Of course, the other part of him just recognized how sad that all sounded.