Kora Norrevinter's Story

“I’m afraid that questions will have to wait for now.” Striding out of the darkness, Madison pressed a button on the side of the projector, snuffing out the steadily wavering glow and leaving the library in complete darkness (save, of course, for the spotlights of students who had been fiddling with their phones throughout the presentation). The blackout remained for a few moments as the professor groped for the switch, and, upon finding it, a soft “click” rang out before light was restored- far stronger this time around, courtesy of the cone-shaped lamps scattered around the library.


Stepping away from the mammoth of a machine, Professor Lovette’s gaze once again cast down towards the watch around his wrist, then up again in order to properly meet his coworker’s eyes. “They’ve put us on a rather tight schedule, unfortunately- and, besides,” smiling, he turned towards the collected audience, “I’m sure that our students would like to get settled as soon as possible above anything else, if their restlessness is any indication.” Hands clasped, Madison strode to the library door, where he once again turned to face the gathering of teenagers- some who were just creeping out of childhood, faces still fresh and open, others with a brand new powdering of stubble across their jawline. All young in their own ways, and many sporting various shades of displeasure or bewilderment.


“Before we show you all to your dorms, however, we will take some time to properly show you around Marchand. While we are walking, feel free to ask Professor Farran about any of the blood wards scattered around the building- and thank you for your very gracious offer, Professor Farran- or any of us regarding any questions you may have in regards to the rules or such. We will be more than happy to respond.”


While that wasn’t entirely true, per se, the offer stood regardless.


After waiting for the crowd to once more gather their things and prepare to follow, Madison gave a slight nod to himself and stepped out, making his way down the hall. The corridor wasn’t really all too much to speak about- there was a bulletin board with a few flyers already tacked onto the cork; a trash can painted with stars and planets in a replication of space; posters with a variety of cheerful, encouraging messages; vending machines and water fountains. All things one would find in a “typical” school, and nothing particularly noteworthy. Nevertheless, Madison was not silent, chattering pleasantly as the group travelled.


“As most of you have already been to the office and cafeteria, I won’t bother reintroducing them to you- however, I would like to point out to those unaware that the office also serves as the location for the infirmary. In the event that anyone is injured, becomes sick, or anything of the sort, you are to report there as soon as you can, so our nurse can give you proper treatment. If, for any reason, the nurse is unavailable…” Upon reaching an intersection in the hall, Madison paused, tapped his finger against his bottom lip, then smiled and ushered the students down the right path.


“Sorry about that,” he hummed. “Had to decide which side to show you all first. Anyway, as I was saying, if our nurse is unavailable, keep in mind that all professors have first aid training. In addition, three of us- Professor Moore, Schippers, and myself- are accomplished Healers, so you may go to any of us for medical assistance if necessary.”


By the time he had finished speaking, Madison had led the little procession to a set of double doors, made from what seemed to be carefully polished mahogany. While it was difficult to properly see out to the other side, what with the glass being glazed over, it was still quite clear that it led outside.


“This is one of my favorite parts of campus.” Face bright with unrestrained eagerness, Madison swung both doors wide open and stepped out, moving to the side to allow the students a full view. “Welcome,” he said, “to the West Wing.”


The world beyond the door had been ripped straight out of a fairy tale, where the air was heavy with warmth and honeysuckle, and flowers were woven in thick lavender curtains. Directly outside was a covered wooden (this one being carved from walnut. It seemed that the Marchand builders had loved adding a more rustic feel to things) walkway, around eight feet wide and stretching around the entire diameter of the courtyard- for that’s exactly what it was, a courtyard, filled with life and dotted with the occasional statue here and there. The walkway had what seemed to be a fence around its border, as well, preventing a person from leaving wherever they wanted (unless, of course, they chose to vault over the fence for whatever reason). At the center of each side, the fence opened up in gothic archways, which led to a set of stairs down.


The steps themselves led to a stone-brick pathway, which went straight to the core of the yard, and intersected with the three other trails around a classic fountain. As Madison left the walkway and onto the path, more and more details became visible. Trees were dotted along both sides of the stone, from which the curtains- a tangle of wisteria and honeysuckle, that explained the smell- could dangle freely. Between the trees were simple granite benches, and, beyond them, one could spot several flower bushes, the occasional statue dotted here and there, and, on one side, even a small pond with a few lilies.


Above the entire garden was a large glass roof.


Madison came to a halt a few feet away from the fountain, where he only stood at first, face turned up to the sun. After a moment or so, he sighed- stretching his arms high above his head, then letting them fall back to his sides.


“Lovely day, too,” he noted. “I think we should take that as a good sign.” The Professor took another long, leisurely breath, then, contended, gestured to one side of the courtyard. “In the West Wing, you’ll be able to find the classrooms of Professors Moore, Schippers, Ulftern, Montana, and Oliver. The East Wing- which I will show you after touring the first floor of the gym- is where you can find the classes of Professor Kovalenko, Farran, myself, and Avalon. Professor Byrne teaches her courses in the school gymnasium, and you will find Professor Kovalenko teaching her Aquamancy courses there as well.” Madison paused, then added, “Well, more specifically, at the pool within the gymnasium. But we’ll get to that shortly.”


With a clap of his hands, the Pyromancer was off once again- heels pat-pattering along the flat stone, then the wood of the walkway, then stilling altogether as another door was swung open, kicking off the next part of the tour.


Compared with the compact nature of the library, and the detail put into the courtyard, the gymnasium seemed almost bleak in its openness. The walls were empty of any decor- save a few water fountains jutting out from the brick- and the floor was sterile, freshly waxed tile, with a few bright blue strips of tape marking certain positions and areas around the room.


“All of the equipment is put away for now,” Madison explained. “However, once classes begin, I assure you that there will be plenty more than there is now. To the left is the boy’s locker room, and the right is the girl’s. That door leads to storage, and the one over to the side leads to the East Wing.”


His hand lifted, pointing up to a balcony that, unlike the library’s before it, was not suspended. Instead, it was as if someone had taken the upper half of the walls, leaving a chunk that just so happened to also serve as a convenient passage about the gym. Like the library, however, it was lined with fence- metal instead of wood, but a fence nonetheless. Stairs led up to the opposing sides, then vanished high into the roof, tucked under the palate of some great creature’s maw.


“From the stairs, you can reach the common room, where you will be spending most of your time outside of class. The pool is on the roof, so we’ll take a look at that first to save time. Oh- but before we do, however…” Brushing off his blouse, Madison opened the next door- he had migrated some time during his little point-around- and peered outside. Unlike last time, he didn’t stamp outside, but it was still clear enough from a look that the East Wing was, while not identical, was fairly similar to the West in design. Instead of a stone path, however, it was completely brick. The trees were red maple, the benches were wood, and, filling the courtyard with their brilliant warmth, were hundreds of tulips the color of fire. They nodded lazily in the autumn breeze, politely greeting the new guests with the uttermost courtesy. Madison held the door open for a few minutes, allowing the students to get a proper look, before slowly pushing it back into place


“Let’s keep going,” Madison said gently.


The pool was in the same shape as the gymnasium itself- empty, save for the large pool in the middle, set up with markers at different points to mark depth, a few lights, and the safety equipment found in every pool in the world. What made up for the absence, however, was what could be considered the roof of the roof. Where the walls ended, glass began- thick, reinforced sheets that allowed you a magnificent view of the sky above. Madison preferred the place at night, himself, but said nothing about it as he started to usher the students back down the stairs. Couldn’t be planting any ideas in their heads, after all.


Then came the common room.


It was obvious that when the room was originally conceived, it was intended to be just as organized as the library was, the way the courtyards were- the rest of the building, really, that matter. The wallpaper was a deep, easy-on-the-eyes green, the floor a rich cherrywood. However, anything after that point is where any pretense of sanity left the room, hightailing it better pastures somewhere else.


A kinder person would call the decor charming.


Someone less so would call it hard on the eyes.


An interior decorator would have a heart attack on the spot three steps into the room.


No matter which category one fell into, it was obvious that the furniture didn’t quite sit well with itself. It clashed horribly in style and texture, quality and age. A plaque fastened to the nearest wall offered some kind of explanation for this atrocity.


“We here at Marchand give our sincere thanks
For the generous funding and donations
Provided by the families listed below.”

From there on, if one was well-versed enough in the identities of magical families- even a few- one could accurately place a name to the pieces, fitting together like some Frankenstein puzzle game. There was a set of furniture made from genuine animal fur and sinew, animal skulls glaring down at whoever dared to go near them, pelt rugs, and several tapestries bearing what appeared to be a sky wolf brawling a group of bears below- all of which were a dead ringer for the Norrevinters. There was a substantial amount of brand new luxury goods, ranging from couches that seemed far too expensive to even look at the wrong way, to a set of wall-mounted televisions, and even a few game systems. Sterlings, most likely. While the other families weren’t at all short on funds, the casual spending of donations told quite a bit.


There was a tired looking, recently stitched couch that smelled strongly of death and Febreeze, along with a scuffed up mini-table with a shrouded figurine of a woman sat upon it (a woman whose skull was bared, painted and grinning). Ciervos. A set of lap desks stacked up in the corner- Avalons- ,a set of leather seats, and a few polished tables and shelves. All of Italian make. Memoli. A pine writing desk and chair from the Pelacours, a pure white couch from the Moores. Another tapestry from the Magnaventus, starring numerous dead lineages.


The names went on and on, and with them, the differences in assortment. Notably, the Sterling and Norrevinter styles appeared to be the most numerous within the room, as if the families had gotten into a kind of quarrel over who could donate the most- which, given their histories together, didn’t seem all that out of place. It was unclear who won, exactly, but it seemed that that was the biggest source of the conflict in design.


“The common room,” Madison announced. “As I mentioned earlier, this is the area where you will be spending most of your time outside of class. You are welcome to use any object here during your free time, but please be careful with them. Everything here was donated to us, and it would be disrespectful to the families if you took their gifts for granted.” He gave a brief pause, allowing the words to properly sink in. The silence lasted for a few moments before he broke out in another smile, swiped a remote from the nearby table, and powered on one of the TVs. Upon the screen was “DORM INFORMATION” in bright font, followed by a list of names, and a variety of numbers to go along with them.


“As you might have guessed, the numbers mark the dorms you will be staying in throughout the semester. The name- or names, in a few cases- are your roommates. I would suggest that you get well-acquainted with them during your time here.


“The dorms are also marked by your families’ crest, but in the case you are unable to find where you are staying, please ask one of us- it’s our job to help you, after all.” Smile widening, Madison replaced the remote, and moved to the center of the room. “You’ll find the entrance to the girl’s dorms on the right, and the boy’s on the left, much like in the gymnasium. With that in mind,” Madison abruptly pulled a sheet of fabric from the wall, revealing lines of keys pinned beneath.


“Go get yourselves settled, everyone. Unpack, meet your roommates. We’ll come get you when it’s time for lunch.”

"I'm Minori. Thank you for the food" The “you’re welcome” Tover thought of didn’t slip out. Thrown off by the small grin before Minori quickly wrapped her arms around him in a brief hug. "Thank you," she’d whispered before letting go. His automatic responses had left his lips like clockwork, but this, this was a wrench in the gears of the factory and the foreman didn’t know what to do.

He’d gotten as far as getting the heads up her name was Minori, and that he’d made a good call with being inviting. The sudden hug made his world spin and twist, still feeling the lingering sensation of pressure that tingled on his skin after she’d let go and devoured the avenue of opportunity he’d provided her.

It wasn’t a bad feeling.

He didn’t mind this.

The feeling of a thousand eyes all stabbing him in the back? He minded that. With a clench of the hands, Tover went straight to tie-fidgeting and straightening up into a half turn so his shoulder was aimed at the speaker. His eyes couldn’t help but take the moment to flicker to Minori. She’d gotten settled. End of the Line. Now what was this lumbering mountain of German-accented bricks all about?

It was so difficult to see in this half-light, eyes forced to squint. Sure you could see some, but details were made entirely of backlit grey. That was more than enough to catch the more-important-than-thou gait, strut, and stance. Tone? What? What was with that sudden change in general feel in the air?

You didn’t need to be an Aeromancer to feel that the vibe just got noosed. Mr. Lovette spoke with a kindness and softhearted intelligence. Someone you’d trust to vent your frustrations and bothers to. Schippers was a substitute teacher getting his first real chance at a real job. Or at least that’s what it felt like. General demeanor said smart cookie. Definitely still in the ‘Teacher’ bracket.

Not this.

What the fuck was this.

”Draivess Ulftern,”
Okay. An introduction. Why the iron tone? Something felt weird here.
”Levitation or Poisons? You are mine.”

If there was a way to make an enemy out of Tover. Telling him his agency and will didn’t matter was a surefire way to do it. There was only one person who could step on him like that, and he wasn’t interested in a repeat performance.
A breath was taken. Maybe not what was meant?
The first inklings of discomfort had settled in, a frown plastered on his brows and general expression. The inkling went to blaring dangernoodles when he got leered at straight on, after which the sense of discomfort flatout altered to agitation.
“I expect full respect to be given”
Well brick house over there was going to have to deal with being terribly disappointed, because that’s not how respect works, and outright demanding it was not the way to foster it. It was however, definitely the way to.. what.. holdon. Did I hear that right?”

”And absolutely unmerciful.”
Tover’s face went from solidly agitated to defiantly shocked. Threats? Why the hell are *Teachers * threatening students over something.. so..so..
No. It wasn’t just the line delivered. It had been –How- it was delivered. With a sense of absoluteness and cemented rigidity a competent teacher would never develop built right into the words. There was no wiggle room. No room for opinion, argument, or growth. There was Ulftern’s Will, or there was nobody.

Tover felt cold. Unwanted and cold. Not that it was cold, just that the pleasant warm fuzz from earlier has just been eaten away. He hadn’t been wrong, and the little hope that he might have been iced over and felt crushed under a boot.

Conclusions on initial reactions came swift. Unless that thing calling itself a teacher proved to be otherwise, he wanted nothing to do with that guy. Anything or anyone that desired to step on his will with that kind of absolute intensity, deserved only his hate. He’d figure Telekinesis out himself if there was no other teacher.

He needed to sit.
Pointless.
He coulden’t move, much less get back to his table.
Emotions were rooting him to the spot. Internal pangs and tingles of sadness, anger, restraint, and the inability to do that last one burdening his heart and his head. There was only standing there, and watching, and hope that had been an anomaly.

-

"Captain Maeve Brigid Byrne"

Jesus fucking Christ.

Tover sat on the God-Damn luggage. Emotions were still spilling over the floor in his head trying to scrape all the papers they spilled off the floor. Then quietly receded when dread slunk its fingers around the corner of the main hallway.
The same introduction style, but this one was “Captain.”

"I'll be your instructor for combat and Aeromancy, so every one of you in this room will be seeing me for at least one course.

Oh dear god.
Tover wasn’t religious. Atleast. Not yet? But was the Majority of the staff here Military? The pattern became a possibility with how this turn of events suddenly played out. Also another one with a strong accent. Irish? Irish. The hair alone had enough grit in it to fell a small tree.

He’d be seeing her at minimum Twice. At least she didn’t outright demand respect, just a title and that she was.. well. Captain behavior. The allowance of a way to wiggle out was unexpected. The rest wasn’t as much as a shock after the prior presenter. Obviously not in the teacher bracket, and she dealt with his useless primary to boot? The sarcasm oozed out of his voice.

Grand.

-
“I’m Damien Moore.”
“I will be teaching Necromancy and Healing.”
Tover didn’t know rainbows could give birth. Apparently he was wrong. Moore’s way of being didn’t actually bother him, rather what kept being said in this presentation was. This was starting to feel like oppression. Even if they didn’t mean it the way he heard it, it was My way My way My way. I demand your respect, I demand your attention, I demand you not put your fingers into the puddle and cause trouble.

He’d been interested in healing before. He was considering not going with the idea of shadow step. He didn’t know much about some of the secondaries, so aside from levitation they were fairly fluid.

He wanted to fly, after all.

The enthusiastic and boisterous welcome felt like a dismissal more than an actual welcome. There was no cape fancy enough to twirl or swirl dramatically that did not make him feel unwelcome and unwanted.

Don’t mix bloodlines?
Then you shouldn’t have put them all together.
It was moot. He was just agitated and venting at nothing. He hadn’t even though of significant others or anything of the sort until that uncomfterable-ass speech by the flamboyancomancer.

-

Tov shoved off the luggage and got up after rubbing fingers over his temples some. He had a headache. The feeling of being rooted was fading, now if ever was a good time. Atleast until the cafeteria frostguard stabbed him with a mental icicle.

"Are you all quite finished talking and handing out food?

Oh Come on.

Tover didn’t think his stomach could sink much lower. Not one, but two daggers in his back just because he didn’t wanted someone to feel unwelcome. What kind of garbage school was thi… Oh. Some gears turned.

Not a school?

The thought lingered as Kovalenko spoke her due. On top of that, she taught SS? So none of the things he was actually interested in learning was being taught with someone able to see him as a person. A bit of a harsh initial judgment, but Tov wasn’t feeling the best right now.

Wall and Lock wards.
Magic security.
Sure.
Are we even surprised at this point.

The sudden twist to different professor was unexpected.

Oh it was the one with similar-looking hair. A Professor Farran. Who.. sounded like it walked off the exact same boat Mr. Schippers had. A temp that became a full hire? Teacher bracket. Didn’t Iron-Fist unlike the other few. Blood Magic was several degrees of not his thing. About on the same level on necromancy for things he wanted to keep at arms length.

-

Avalon was up next. Kept it cold and quick for a man who taught history. MWI had some interesting notes to it, but he didn’t think it was going to be for him. Had it just been really really quiet?

Survival needs trumped emotional discord when everyone in the vicinity just up and completely changed patterns. Suddenly there was movement, action, panicked faces. Why no sound. Nobody was making sound. No. Nothing was making sound. Where did.. Kovalenko? No. Although she set the precedent for teachers using mass-scale abilities to prove a point.
Kov. Cold. Aquamancy.
Lovette. Warm. Pyro.
Avalon. Silence. Trickery?
Nothing else he knew of could tamper with sense data.

Oh he hated it. He hated it bad.
Reliable information was a prized and touchy subject. At the same time, the ability to deny it to others was a delicious little cookie that he wanted access to. Alas. Useless Aeromancy was his poison. At least he’d Fly one day.

Sound returned. Tov had stood there with hands in his pockets. Looking around not bothering to talk or try and test it. Evidence aplenty. Plus he had some personal discomforts keeping him preoccupied. The threat was rather moot. It wasn’t the point.
Avalon was another non-teacher with the ‘my way or the high’ way vibe. Another example of strong-arming, another nail in the coffin.

Tov had a headache.

He was getting tired.

Not physically tired.

Willpower tired. It was all just too much of the same from the place he wanted nothing to do with, sans military. All that happened is a change of flavor.

Another ‘teacher’ took stand.

-

Oh. Janitor in a suit man. Sure. Could not be much worse than the par the field had set.
There had been no inspiring speeches so far, maybe he’d be pleasantly surprised.

Had there even been a shining light yet? No, forget shiny light. A candle. Something. An illuminant source of ‘it’s not as bad as it looks’ to keep holding onto.

Madison.
There was Madison.

The introduction was cut and dry enough. But of course for what purpose do hopes exist aside to be shattered. The pattern holds and actual despair set in at the words.
"Around this school is a force field, maintained and monitored at all times by entities within these halls."
"Any tampering with these force fields is a level five offense."

Cage.
They put everyone in a cage.
A cage with locked doors, barred hallways, strict militant lecturers and teachers, a school schedule with not a single common teaching topic on the list, where everything done not according to the jailors will was a punishable offense. What was it that had been said earlier?
”And absolutely unmerciful.”

Yeah. That.

Tover felt like misery.

This was a Military Academy or a Jail. Or Both. This wasn’t freedom. This was a concentration camp with a friendly name, shiny lights, and a cutesy reason for people to get tossed here. Aside from the other students he’d met this place was a copy of what he was trying to get away from.

His heart sank and eyes dulled. Fingertips buzzed as if his digits had fallen asleep. The feeling wormed along his arms and down his spine.

Another teacher. The show wasn’t done.
He was vague aware of his butt sinking back onto the luggage. When’d he get back here? Oh who cared.

-

Right. The asshat at breakfast. Already didn’t like h..where did he go. The theatrics were entirely unappreciated after that tirade of tyranny. Tover was on a mental edge and this was pushing his feet off. Avalon had made his brain ring with panic but this was just a bitch move.
You are to keep the use of magic down to a minimum while outside of class.
"If you witness misuse of any magic, or fall victim to it.”

Wow. He knew he disliked the guy, now he just had more reasons as Skylar vanished and reappeared in differing areas. Completely throwing off his already run ragged sense perception. Frenchie was doing exactly what he was telling the students not to do.
Why? Aside from rubbing the salt in. Professor Oliver vanished again.
Quit. Doing. That.

A pang of pain his the side of the front of Tov’s head. He didn’t want to be here anymore. His perception had faded, his head wasn’t dealing well with the slew of misinformation and he needed sleep. So. So much sleep to get over the utter cascade of new things that happened today.

It didn’t add up and his head was reeling. Was most of the staff military? Because he’d met military war-veteran teachers and they were nothing like this. What a member of his own family had said on the matter was still burned and hard-coded in his head, and that view was currently being challenged.

A war vet does not go "I own you, Pipe down, STFU and listen to me you dumb little babies."
A war vet goes "You are what my friends died to protect. You are what I suffered to keep alive. Your eyes are innocent and shiny and I hope to god I can do whatever it takes to keep them that way and get you ready for what's to come in a fashion that doesn't put you through the hell I had to go through. Because I wish that on no-one, and never will I ever treat you like anything less than the hope of my universe. I'm going to be tough on you. But I don't give a damn that I don't know you because asfar as I'm concerned the children of my fellows became my children too. Because they talked about how much they loved their kids, and then they died protecting them. I refuse to lose my humanity and not see that through for them, that is not only the least I can do, My heart wouldn't forgive me if I didn't see this through. The war is over, by -MY- war is not, and these kids are my redemption. I am fucked. I am broken. I have suffered. My future is gone and my Life is in shambles. I will never tell you to your face, but you are my everything."

The world just sort of.

Faded.

Madison spoke up.

The voice stood out.

The exact things she was saying were garbled, but enough of the basics got through for the general gist.

She’d asked for questions? He had them. But not the heart to go through with it right now. He just felt empty, and trapped, and cold right behind his sternum.

-

He was in the crowd during the tour of the facility. Tover looked, but didn’t see. Concentration didn’t really come back until he was face to door with the Tyto Alba family crest. An oddly simple carved nameplate was next to it, No Crest. Fox.

He’d been on autopilot most of the trip. Cyrus Fox had been the name in that list back there, he thought. It didn’t really occur to him that’s what the list had been for until he pushed the dorm door open.
Oh. Beds.

Tov just walked through, sat on one, and did the essential action of falling face first into the pillow.

They’d be summoned for lunch? Okay.
Naptime.

How are you getting through this Tov?


He didn’t much have an answer to his own question.

Did it matter if he got through it? Did others even see or feel the same thing he felt?

If they didn’t, then. Good for them to not have this bother.
If they did..

How would they get through it?
They’d need something to hold on to at the very least. Something positive.

Madison.
He mumbled into the pillow.

No, no it wasn’t going to be enough.
How does someone that feels they don’t matter get out of the hole.
You need a ladder?
Someone has to throw the ladder.
Person that throws the ladder also has to be something you want to go towards.
Something warm.
Something shiny.

I don’t matter.
But nobody else has to feel that way.
Not if I can do something about it.

What have you been doing all day tov?
You’ve been tossing ladders.
You tried something different and something new because you didn’t want things to be the way they always were.
People saw you. People categorized you.
Hell, two of the staff directly snapped at you because you were doing the very thing you believed was the right call.
Who cares if it wasn’t the choice –they- liked. It was the choice –you- are okay living with.

Make the choice that you can live with. Even if you don’t think much about the living bit right now.

There might be someone in the student body that’s a shiny light.
Someone to hold on to. Someone to see and go “I don’t got this, but he’s gonna catch me.”
I can’t take that chance and find out there is no-one.
So what are you doing Tov?

If there is nobody around to be a guiding light, I will kindle myself, and hope my dim flame brings a bright sun to bear.

If I can set the precedent, then even if I fail. Because I’m expecting to fail at so much while I’m here, as I just don’t know squat. If I can be the first push of the kindling, someone more capable will pick up the torch.

Get up Tov.
Get. Up.
Not from the bed.

You can’t take care of you as you are now.
You need help.
Be someone worth helping.

Just be you.
You can do this.

Light that torch.

Tover sat up after having ground his face amply into the pillow. If his eyes had gotten wet at all, the evidence would have been wiped. He took a stern, deep breath. Then two. Then Three.

His headache was still present. He still felt awful.
Day wasn’t over. More to do.


I have a roommate to meet.