Quest Tutelage Through Blood

[Talus]

Near the Cortosi Coast - The Academy

Blood trickled down his face, a cut above his left eye slowly blinding him enough that his peripheral vision was starting to fail. Blinking didn't really help, only letting the slick of red coat his eye even further. Mixed with the sweat it stung, but there was hardly anything that he could do.

If he moved to wipe away the blood Master Felwin would attack him all out and very likely kill him.

Talus was already outmatched.

His skill with a sword was nowhere near the old Proctor, and he suspected that the other man was using his own magic to press his advantage even further. He could never prove it of course, and voicing the opinion was slanderous, but Talus couldn't help but believe it. He had been getting better, training more, even some of the other Proctors had compliment him, but this is the worst he'd ever done against Felwin.

The other man lurched forward like a viper. His sword slashed forward stabbed to the right, and then suddenly cut left. The movements were all so fast. The first two he could parry, barely blocking them with his own blade until the third strike hit home. He felt hard steel bite I to his side, cutting through thin leather and leaving a deep gash in his side.

A scream erupted from his lips, his off hand moving to the cut instinctively.

It was the wrong move.

A leg kicked his own out from under him, steel slashed over his chest and produced another cut, and then a boot heel smashed into his face. Talus felt himself hitting the ground hard. It was like his entire body shook at the impact. Bones rattling, muscles flexing, pain reverberated through him, a loud groan escaping his lips.

"Pathetic."​

Talus heard Proctor Felwin spit, then felt something hit his cheek. His head was spinning, though he wanted to scream accusations at the man. Accusations that would get him killed.

"Go seek out a fourth to heal you, best you get acquainted with them now."​

There was a chuckle, though it didn't come from Felwin.

Talus let out a cough, the two gashes in his side screaming with pain as he tried to move. His sword hand came up to wipe his face, scooping the blood and sand away from his eye so that he could see. He stared at the Proctor as he walked away, death in his glare as he tried to think of a way to kill the man. He was one of the worst at the Academy, a Dreadlord who in his active times had been seen as exceptionally cruel.

He was no better here.

The situation was hardly unique though. Felwin was only one out of a hundred, and as Talus pulled himself up to his feet he could see a dozen others training just like him. Some were winning their bouts, but most were as bloody and beaten as him. He cursed quietly under his breath and hobbled off towards the medic hold.

Another day at the Academy.

 

[Harry]

Hal's left arm hung limply at his side. From his forearm, the sharp end of a snapped bone protruded from his skin. A stream of blood flowed down his arm, wrist, and dripped from the tips of his fingers. His ribs, too, were broken- he could taste blood in his mouth. His body, more battered and bruised than cut like his counterparts, screamed at him. He had been struck all over, yet still stood. It was a testament to Hal's sheer indomitable will. While not as talented as some of his more notable peers, he had suddenly bloomed with growth within the last year through relentless determination. His years of suffering and training finally began to bore fruit. It would not be inaccurate to now include Henry Bauer amongst the notable Apprentices.

He ignored the pain, instead focusing his attention on the hulking Proctor in front of him. One of the more physically imposing instructors, Proctor Havertz, wielded only a short mace. The ball of iron at the end was the source of Hal's pain.

The Proctor himself was not free of injury. A shallow slash, one that tore through the menacing black uniform that Proctors wore, was on his chest. Hal could see the cut and how it drew blood. It was a small, feeble victory. That small victory came at the cost of his left arm.

"Apprentice Bauer," His voice was deep, raspy, and strangely accented, "You should quit, before your damage is irreparable."

The Proctor's low chuckle was more hiss than actual laughter. Henry knew better than to rise to his provocation, and even more so than to admit defeat and throw his arms down. To forfeit the duel is to forfeit his life.

He held his guard and shifted his feet across the dusty stone floor, inching his way towards Proctor Havertz. His sword was at his waist, point aimed at the Proctor. He lunged, fainted a thrust, and aimed a swift slash at the Proctor's wrist. He had moved to deflect the trust with the shaft of the mace- the feint was sold well. It mattered little, for Hal was sluggish from the pain.

A free, leather-gloved hand lashed out and grasped the blade. With incredible strength, the blade was wrested from Hal's grasp. The backside of the Proctor's hand, which still wielded the mace, struck Hal's jaw. His knees crumpled, and his vision blackened. It was mere moments, but Henry lost consciousness, only regaining it when his back roughly hit the stone under him.

Proctor Havertz spoke down towards Hal, surely offering valuable feedback, but the words fell on deaf ears. His senses were still not with him.

Roughly, Havertz grabbed Henry's left arm, under his armpit, and yanked him up. The young Apprentice yelped as his broken arm was tugged. He was then spun towards the exit of the room. A large hand struck his back, which pushed Hal and caused him to stumble for many steps.

"To the healers with you," He heard the Proctor bark at him.

Thus, Hal limped out of the room, down a long hall, and into the medic hold, a place he was well accustomed to.

Already present was an Apprentice of the same class, Talus. As Hal entered, he met Talus' gaze and greeted him with a curt nod. He sat and awaited treatment.

 

[Talus]

The Fourth Level Dreadlord that walked into the room let out a whistle as he saw the two Apprentice Dreadlords sitting and bleeding on their separate stone slabs. The arrogance that wafted from him was unbecoming of someone in his station, but Talus wasn't about to say that out loud.

Though many of the Fourth were weak, weaker than some Apprentices even, they were integral to running the Academy. Some of them had more power than just their magic, and crossing one was almost as bad as crossing the Proctors.

Talus had seen more than one Apprentice whipped because of the word of a Fourth.

"Rough day on the training ground, eh?"​

The man's voice was as smug as his face, enough to send a spike of anger through Talus. His name was Leon, one of only three people capable, or willing, to heal the Apprentices here. He was known for lording that ability over others, even using it to turn a small profit.

"Not as bad as some some." Talus grunted, his hand clutching the gash on his side, left eye caked over with dried blood.

"Right."​

Leon said with a chuckle.

"I suppose both you little idiots have seen worse."​

Talus curled his fingers into a tight fist, doing his best to keep his face a mask. Provoking the man would just mean he would do a shitty job at healing you, and if he did that then training tomorrow would be all but impossible. One had to be careful, a wrong word could screw you. "Proctor Felwin sent me to get fixed up."

He explained, keeping his tone neutral. If Leon knew he had been sent here by Felwin, then getting him actually healed would matter. A fourth did not want to disobey the Orders of a Second Level after all.

 

[Ryan of Tel Idris]

“Well, well, well, look who the Proctors have sent crawling in.”

Said a wiry youth with silver-blond hair. His voice was high, cold, and snide, like a biting breeze from the north. He was a handsome boy, but his beauty was marred by the vicious scar that ran across his face.

Leon glanced at him, scanned up and down the length of him, and frowned. “You’re not hurt, Luther, why are you here?”

“Fourth. Fourth. Foooourth,” Luther shook his head, “You don’t want my company? Now I am wounded. But truly,” he glanced down and lifted his hands, which were charred black, “I am hurt. And drunk. But mostly drunk.”

Luther glanced at the other two. “Hello peasants. Oh what’s that, Hal? Broke your jaw did they? I like you better as a mute. Leon you should leave him like that.”

 

[Harry]

Henry's self-reflection was interrupted by the entrance of the young scion of House Urahil and his abrasive manner of speech. Henry looked between the two Apprentices. Their appearances stood out compared to Hal's. They possessed fine features and were built well. Hal was plain in appearance, he was slightly stockier than the two. He had wished to speak back to Luther, but his jaw prevented him from doing so. He simply wished for Leon to hurry with Talus so that his bones could be set and mended.

Magic could only do so much for his injuries. The bones would have to be set by hand- magic would finish the job.

He watched as Luther carried himself. Many Apprentices didn't like him, which the young peasant understood. He was talented and possessed all favorable qualities. Strength, smarts, a sharp wit... Many disliked him out of envy. Others disliked him for his attitude. Hal was never too bothered by the young noble.

He flashed Luther an awkward smile and waved his right hand. The three Apprentices shared a strange relationship. Talus was often riled from Luther's antics, which would call for Hal to intervene. He was often a mediator of sorts between the three of them. Despite their calloused relationship, they made a good group. While it seemed impossible to make friends at The Academy, Hal was more optimistic. He knew many of the Apprentices were opportunistic and cut-throat, but he still considered those two friends.

"Thkibbed twaining agin?" Hal's word came out slurred and mumbled. He fought the pain to speak to Luther.

 

[Talus]

Talus wouldn't call either of the lads friends, mostly because friendship in the Academy was the quickest way to die.

At least according to the Proctors.

There was no real way to be close to anyone, not close enough to call them friends. Sharing secrets was dangerous, and getting too comfortable with others was...well, even more so. Still, if he had to choose anyone to be around, it was these two.

It felt odd to admit that to himself. Hal was a good enough lad, Talus actually liked him, but Luther was just annoying. The boy had an air about him that made Talus want to stab him in the back of the knees and rip out his throat.

Still, when he didn't open his mouth he was dependable. In a place like this that mattered.

"Sit down and shut the fuck up, I'll fix you up last."​

Leon said with a gruff tone, the amusement now drained out of him. The fourth level got bored of teasing them pretty fast, and Talus suspected his dropping of Felwin's name was enough to knock the joy out of this particular session.

The sensation of being healed by the magics of a Dreadlord, even a Fourth Level, was never pleasant. From what he understood it was not true healing, not the sort clerics practiced anyway. It was more like...borrowing from your respite. The wounds were healed, but it was painful as sin and you felt like you just ran a marathon.

Plus the scars were left behind to boot.

"Thanks." Talus grumbled as he ran a finger along the scar on his side. He felt like a horse ran over him.

His gaze drifted towards Hal as Leon walked over to him, wincing slightly at the thought of speaking with a broken jaw.

 

[Ryan of Tel Idris]

Luther rolled his eyes. “Stars, Hal. Don’t talk.”

Then he got told to shut up. Snickering, the young apprentice waited for his turn, careful not to touch anything with hands so raw and blistered that they looked as if he’d held them over a fire.

Skip training. As if. Luther has tried several times, but the last occasion has seen him gifted with the distinctive scar and the promise that any further lessons skipped would earn the loss of his nose.

Luther was rather fond of his nose.

 

[Harry]

"Ah," Hal made a noise in response to Luther. Leon grasped his cheeks, yanking his head forward. It elicited a pained groan from the Apprentice.

He was handled roughly. Leon tightly held his jaw in place as magic mended the break. The whole time, he groaned. He then moved to other battered parts of his body. He felt as his ribs snapped back into place and his punctured lung began to mend itself.

"Words return to me. Courtesy of Master Havertz," Hal said to his friends in the medic hold, followed by a small chuckle and his trademark, wholesome grin.

 

[Talus]

”Yes, he should be celebrated.” Talus’ tone was so flat one might almost have believed him to be genuine, but in truth he was simply mocking Hal and his earnest ways.

Leon shot the young man a look that spoke volumes of his disposition. The Fourth never liked it when someone quipped back. It took away what little power he had. All three of them could likely best Leon in a duel, something that the Dreadlord was likely keenly aware of.

Not that he would ever admit.

Talus stood from the stone slab that served as a medics table, stretching slightly to see how much the scar would hurt when he moved. Surprisingly, Leon had healed the wound almost completely and he felt nothing but a slight pang. A frown touched his lips and he glanced over at Leon who had moved on to Luther.

The medic grabbed the other boy’s hands, though Talus couldn’t see what he was doing.

Instead the young man stepped up besides Hal, his voice kept low enough so that Leon would not be able to hear him. ”I think Felwin used magic to beat me.”

Talus still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that. The idea was scandalous enough. Proctors could use magic whenever they wanted, to dole out punishments, make a point, teach. Whatever. Yet, they were not supposed to use it in teaching something something else. The idea being that magic was not to be a crutch for the other skills the Apprentices needed to learn. So if Talus was correct, then Felwin had used his powers not to teach, but simply to beat him.

Beatings weren't out of the ordinary, nor was humiliation, but why during sword training? Why when Talus was improving.

It bothered the young Apprentice.

 

[Sierra]

Blood dripped down her knuckles, staining the grass that already seemed to be stained with her fellow classmate's juices. Sierra barely noticed. She was doing it again. Muting herself from feeling the emotions that broiled beneath the surface around her.

The anger from Talus was always the worst.

The underlying insecurity in Luther made her want to vomit.

And the positive outlook of Hal, well. That always made her head spin. And of all days and all times, Sierra didn't want to feel anything right now. So, she turned it off. She'd been practicing it. She could do it for a short time. Turning it off helped her not think about what she'd just done.

She'd been recently assigned to the brigade to hunt down students that tried to escape. After two escape attempts? They were killed. Mostly the first years tried it. They still remembered their families and a time when the Elders didn't beat them with swords and fists.

Sierra remembered when she'd tried it; she never tried it a second time.

Funny how arrows always slicked neatly through a body. They were so short, they never had long to fall to the ground.

Empty and hollow eyes fell upon the three boys as she pushed open the flap of the tent. Bones splintered through flesh. She'd got them good this time. She wondered if one time, she'd break them good enough not to have to ever fire another arrow again.

As if sensing her thoughts, Leon looked up at the girl as she entered and scowled in her direction.

 

[Harry]

Henry felt his jaw, moving his mouth and holding his face with his right hand. All was normal, aside from minor soreness. The same with his left arm and ribs. Then, Talus approached and whispered something that made Hal pause. Between Talus and Luther, Hal was often mocked for being the simplest out of all of them. Despite his simplicity, he had survived just as long as them. He knew when secrecy had to be upheld in consideration of his surroundings.

His brows furrowed at Talus and in a hushed manner spoke, "There are rules even Proctors must follow in regards to our training. Felwin is foul, indeed, but what proof have you to make such an accusation? If it were not me you confided in, such talk would have you punished."

He said so not in defense of the Proctor's integrity. To think that Felwin of all people was honorable was too simple and naive an idea, even for Hal.

"Despite how the man is, he is of the Second Rank. Were you not merely bested?" He knew of Talus' skill with the sword. It was among the best of the Apprentices. It was formidable enough to compare it to the likes of a Second Rank.

Hal looked down in contemplation, then cast his gaze back at Talus.

"I want to believe you. Say you are right," He slightly raised his arms, as if saying "so what?", "It is an Apprentice's word versus that of a Proctor's."

 

[Talus]

"The only reason I said anything is because you're you." Talus whispered quietly, his lips thinning as he saw Sierra step inside.

He didn't trust the girl like he trusted the other two, if you could even call it trust in the first place. Still, she was more enigmatic. Never really part of the group but floating just alongside it and making her own little way through this.

Part of him understood the mindset, but everyone needed companionship.

He supposed that was why she interacted with them at all. There were likely times where she needed to speak with someone just as much as they did. Keeping them at arms length was just the safer option. Meant you didn't have to kill your friend in the end.

Something they would likely have to do. "I don't know."

Talus admitted as the grim thought passed.

"There isn't fuckall I could do, it was just..." His fingers scrunched into a fist. "Cheap."

Getting tossed into the mud and beaten down didn't help him become a better swordsman. He shook his head finally and clapped Hal on the shoulder. "Just needed to say it, I guess."

Before he did something stupid.

"Will he still be able to jack off, Leon?" Talus asked tauntingly. "Sierra and the other gals don't give him the attention he likes so its the one thing he has."

 

[Ryan of Tel Idris]

“Oh ha ha- ow! Watch it, you oaf."

"Shut up, you want to lose your hands, apprentice?" Leon snarled as Luther tried to pull his hands away.

Seconds later and the burn boils covering his palms disappeared, blistered skin replaced with a fresh layer of healthy pink. The pain disappeared, but now they itched intensely.

"Hello, Sierra, you look cheery. Feel my hands, they're soft as a baby."

 

[Sierra]

Eyes narrowed in Talus and Hal's direction. What were they whispering on about? Sometimes she wondered if there was more than a friendship going on there. Even friendships at the Academy were frowned upon. And anything beyond that? Would earn you a public flogging.

A single rusty-brow lofted in Luther's direction.

A sea of stormy emotions swirled within her gaze and were directed at the boy her age. The one she'd known since she was snatched away from her parents at the age of 7. Or was it 6? Sierra couldn't remember anymore. Hal and Talus were just as much family as Luther was. More so than those who'd birthed her.

She remembered a cold rainy day. Armor too big for a 7 year old. The reassuring brush of fingertips against hers. And that was it.

Leon motioned her over next.

"Move," she growled at Luther and would go to smack his offending hands aside before sliding in next to Leon. He frowned and was none too gentle.

"You weren't fighting today. What happened?"

"Was on patrol," she muttered, eyes unable to meet his gaze. Teeth clenched as he began the healing process, bones snapping into place and flesh knitting back together.

"You catch the runaway?"

They both knew what 'catch' meant. This was the third attempt. Caught meant not coming back. She nodded and forced her eyes to meet the healer's so he wouldn't become suspicious.

"Good lass."

 

[Harry]

Henry was stunned into silence. It was an uncharacteristic moment of vulnerability from Talus, one that the older Apprentice hadn't expected. Everyone had their ways of relieving stress and venting frustration. But to be confided in? It was a first.

Talus' words moved Hal to such an extent that he hadn't even heard Talus' witty jab at Luther. A hand clapped against his shoulder, pulling him out of his trance- Talus' hand. He then heard Sierra's exchange with Leon. His stomach twisted at the thought. He recalled when his own fists beat down on the smaller, frailer bodies of the newer Apprentices. Sad eyes watched the auburn-haired Apprentice as Leon tended to her.

Hal leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin on his palm. A finger tapped his jaw, waiting for Leon to finish. It had been too long since the four had been together. He found himself still staring at Sierra, first settling his eyes on her hair, then taking in her whole figure.

He let out a tired sigh, then looked up at Talus, who still stood by his side.

"Our next free period," He said, lowly, "Come to the Archives. To the section where all Dreadlords are recorded- you know it? I'd like to show you something."

He often went to the Archives. With the little free time Apprentices found themselves with, there was not much to do. Henry tried to read, pass time, forget about everything going on around him. For a fleeting moment, Hal could break the normal routine and find some sanctuary within the pages of a tome.

 

[Talus]

Talus of course overhead what Sierra and Leon were talking about. Neither of the two of them were being quiet like he and Hal, and the medic room tended to echo anyway.

His frown deepened as he heard Sierra speak.

Everyone in this room understood the conversation of course. Talus had been sent on a similar mission just a month ago. It had been...brutal. While he was not sure Hal and Luther had ever been assigned that particular duty, they all shared a commonality.

Students of the Academy were often the ones who dolled out punishments both to their peers and those who crossed Vel Anir at large. Talus himself had executed thirteen criminals by the sword alone and others by...different means.

Just thinking about it made him queasy.

A hand clutched unconsciously at his stomach as the memories of splattered blood and the taste of iron filled his head.

The dark thoughts were suddenly broken as Hal spoke to him quietly, his head turning and face scrunching for a moment as he tried the decipher half heard words. "Huh? The Archive?"

He frowned, but nodded.

"Sure." Least he could do he supposed.

 

[Ryan of Tel Idris]

Some time later, Luther arrived at the Archive, which was really just a rather large library inside the castle. All gated off, of course, because knowledge is power and all that. An Archivist sat at the desk guarding the entrance.

He glanced up as Luther approached. “You don’t come here often.”

“Yes, well, I was told reading would do me well. Better for the health than the Tower.”

The Archivist looked down at the book before him. “Anything is.”

Luther entered without any further fuss and walked along the rows of books, following them to the back, idly trailing fingers across ancient spines.

 

[Sierra]

Sierra was already there. Far, dark corner of the archives. Back pressed against shelves, knees drawn up to her chest. A spattering of scrolls sat near her on the floor.

Hair was down and she was in a rare set of casual pants and tunic. No armor. Knives were still hidden on her, though. She wouldn’t put it past the proctors to throw some challenge at them when they least expected it. They’d done it before. A troll was set free once in the mess hall when they were second years.

Pale, blue eyes studied one particular scroll closely. A blueprint of the Academy grounds.

 

[Harry]

Henry strode in after Luther, yet had no idea the young lord was there. The Archivist looked up from his desk with blue eyes so dull Hal often wondered if the man was truly alive, then listlessly gazed back down at whatever script was in front of him.

The man was tall. Even sitting, one could tell his height was impressive, even among many of the more physically imposing Proctors. His left hand was missing its little and ring fingers, and a nasty scar from a burn ran up his neck and decorated the left side of his face. The large burn tainted an otherwise perfectly handsome face. Most notable about The Archivist was his age. His cropped black hair showed no signs of greying, and his complexion was smooth and youthful. His name was unknown, as everyone merely referred to him as The Archivist. His history, too, was shrouded in mystery. Despite all this, when he came up between Proctors, they spoke of him with either fear or respect.

The Apprentice wordlessly strode past the desk and made his way deep into the Archives until he reached the section that contained records of every Dreadlord, past and present. Each Dreadlord in history each had their own book. Black leather covers. Names stamped onto the spine. The sizes of each book were mostly the same.

Hal stared up at the shelves, repeating the names pressed onto the spines into his head. They were organized alphabetically by surname, granted that the Dreadlord had one.


He traced his forefinger over the first section of books.

Aalbers, Alto, Abert... Awtrey, Aylor, Avar...

His finger finally came to a halt, and he pulled the book from its spot. The name did not matter. What did, was the bundle of cloth hidden behind it. About half the length of Hal's forearm was a bundle of cloth, tightly wrapped and bound with thin strings. A salty smell emanated from it.

He quickly placed the book back on its spot and hid the package under his tunic. He stood, anxiously awaiting Talus to arrive.

 

[Talus]

Talus did not like reading.

He, like the other Apprentices, had been taught the basics of the Trade Tongue and of course Anirian, but he didn't really like it. The letters were often too small and sometimes they tended to move around a bit. He'd always excelled more on the physical side of things.

"Don't often see you here, lad."

The Archivist spoke to him as he stepped into the great library, Talus immediately frowning. A hand came up, running through his hair as though it were itchy. "Just...checking on something. Think I might be able to use my magic in a new way."

A flat stare was his only answer, a slightly raised eyebrow and then nothing more. Talus waited a moment, and then cleared his throat and simply continued his way into the Archive.

The man had a way of unnerving him.

Quickly he shuffled his way through the bookshelves, glancing up at the tomes and volumes every now and again to see if anything interesting popped out. Nothing did of course, but he had to at the very least make it look good.

After a few moments he slipped into the section Hal had told him about.

"He gives me the creeps." Talus commented to his fellow Apprentice, still feeling the goosebumps on his neck.

 

[Harry]

Talus' voice startled Henry. The Apprentice swiftly turned, and let out a shaky breath. After regaining his composure, he nodded.

"A strange one, he," He said in reference to The Archivist. Talus was not wrong. He had never raised a hand to the Apprentices, as far as Hal knew. It seemed that he cared not for anything outside of the Archives. "Out of all these years of searching this section, I've never been able to find out his name. I've tried asking, too. He just stares."

He breathed heavily out of his nose, and suddenly waved his hand as if shooing away the needless information he just shared with his friend.

"Apologies," Hal knew that asking Talus to come was an inconvenience, but he wanted to share this moment with him.

He pulled the package from under his tunic and began to undo the string that kept the cloth wrapped. He balled the string in his hand and undid one end of the cloth. What Hal revealed to his friend was a length of sausage. The dim light shone off the skin that wrapped the sausage. The young Apprentice stared down at the meat, then timidly looked up at Talus.

They had meat during meals. Cheap, tasteless, tough meat. For meals, they were given the bare minimum for what their bodies needed to properly grow. It was possibly the one luxury that they had, if one could call it so.

The sausage was definitely something that they would never hope to get their hands on, under normal circumstances.

Despite his ability to keep himself cool, Hal worked up a small sweat. He was clearly nervous.

"I... I've had it for a while," He swallowed hard, "No Proctors have said anything, you know? I didn't take it from the stores. It was just out in the open one day."

 

[Talus]

Talus blinked. He couldn't remember the last time that he'd seen an actual sausage. The idea that Hal had managed to somehow find one was utterly surprising.

So much so that it felt like a trap.

It was a sad commentary on the life of a Dreadlord's Apprentice that the very sight of a treat immediately made him think that this was some sort of ambush to get him in trouble. His thoughts spun for a moment, and the took a step closer.

"You stole this?" Talus asked, no accusation in his voice.

Instead he was more...surprised.

Out of the three he knew better than the others Talus would never have guessed Hal would be the one to steal anything. Even if it was something like this. "Hal, if they found out you'd be tossed in the box."

The Box was...well a box. A small crate made of steel that was kept outside during the winter and summer. It had some air-holes, but other than that nothing else. The person being punished was stuffed inside and left alone for days at a time. No washing, no relief, just hot or cold.

It was miserable, beyond miserable.

 

[Sierra]

Sierra’s head titled. They were talking in the row right behind her. A frown tugged on her lips as she rolled up the map and stood.

What if the Archivist was making rounds and stumbled upon Hal waving that sausage around in his hand. Palm dragged along her face. Since the Falwood, she felt closer to those three boys than anyone else in the academy. And she wondered if it was mutual.

She was about to find out.

Turning, she made her way across the aisle to step into theirs. “You two might want to keep it down. I um,” eyes flickered away from them. A rare look of insecurity flashed across her face.

“I need your help with something.”

 

[Harry]

"Well," He looked down at the half-exposed sausage, "By definition, I reckon it's theft."

He had spoken with his usual, simple tone. If it weren't such a serious offense, it may have been funny.

"They haven't found out," He inhaled quite deeply, "And if we eat it here, they never will."

Then, the sudden appearance of a feminine figure rounded the corner. Hal seized up, anxiety attacking him like the ocean's wave- abrupt and quite unwelcomed.

He settled somewhat when he recognized the figure, but his heart still raced. Had they been that loud? Where had she even come from? He felt a mixture of panicked and confused emotions as he observed her abnormally weak expression.

"Help?" He softly echoed and thought to jestingly bribe his... friend? "I can help satiate your hunger."

 

[Talus]

Talus gazed at Henry, his head tilting slightly as he watched him wiggle his sausage towards Sierra.

Was this some kind of flirting?

None of them were really experienced in that department. There were rumors of a few...incidents about male and female Apprentices here at the Academy, but such things almost always ended extremely badly for all parties involved.

The Proctors did not care for such things, though sometimes they used it for their own advantage.

More than once Lovers had been made to kill each other atop the dueling tower. A sign of the cruelty their teachers held. "What do you need?"

Talus asked his friend.

"Presuming it's not Hal's sausage." For some reason Talus had lost all appetite in that moment.