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Race: Saurian

Bloodline Powers: Strength, Rending, Emberbreath

Greater Mysteries: Fire (Noble) 3, Wind (Noble) 1

Lesser Mysteries: Heat 4, Oxygen 4, Embers 4, Pressure 4, Current/Flow 4

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The rope bit into Sam’s shoulder as Dussok led the way back to the Vereton Academy. Takkla walked between the two of them, one of her hands resting on the bottom of a yellow scarab shell. Around them, the crowd shied away, and more than one person stared at their procession.

Twenty two shells, strung out on two ropes hung between Samazzar and Dussok, and despite the extra strength provided by his saurian body, Sam could feel the strain in his shoulder and arms. Dussok had managed to drag the shells from Redfern Vale with minimal help, but the minute the three saurians had arrived at the gates of Vereton, the guards had made themselves clear.

There would be no dragging of the shells across the city’s carefully maintained paving stones. They would either carry the looted scarabs through the crowded streets, or rent a carriage with parros that they didn’t have.

Takkla got them through the worst of it, guiding the ever stoic Dussok through the pedestrian choked roadways. They needed to slow or stop multiple times in order to weave their ungainly arrangement through the masses of humanity, but after almost an hour of careful and exhausting work, they were finally within sight of the Academy’s gates.

Once again, the bustling crowd thinned as Samazzar approached the school’s severe walls. The constant murmur and noise, the murmur and clamor of voices mixed with the shuffle of boots against stone and cloth on cloth that were so ubiquitous that Sam had long ago tuned them out, also faded. In their place was a hushed aura, a feeling of worry and anticipation that clung to the very streets themselves.

Guards, their faces hidden behind metal helmets, stood at attention flanking the gate, their arms at ready and pointed at Dussok. Above them Harris sauntered over to the edge of the guard tower, propping both of his elbows up on the edge of his guard post with an apple in one hand. Casually, he took a bite from the fruit while waving briefly with his free hand.

“This is a restricted area,” the human said, his voice unenthusiastic. “Vereton Academy is off limits to those that don’t have business here. Present a writ of passage, state your business, or vacate the premises immediately.”

“But you already knew that didn’t you?” He asked, taking another bite from his apple. “Sam wasn’t it? How have you been? It’s only been four days. Most students that go out on their first mission take a lot more than that or come slinking back early with nothing to show for it.”

The guard nodded meaningfully at the rope covered in scarab shells while he chewed. His throat bobbed as he swallowed before continuing. “Course, that doesn’t look like it will be a problem for you. I don’t really know what you set out to do, but that sure looks like a whole lot of success to me.”

“About five hundred parros worth,” Samazzar replied, wincing slightly as he removed the rope from his shoulder, lowering the exoskeletons to the ground. He stepped away from the glittering yellow trophies, rotating his right arm in its joining to try and work some of the soreness from his trek out. “They sure weren’t fun to find or fight, but it sounds like we need a lot of money, and the job paid a lot.”

“Okay then,” Harris said with a low whistle of appreciation, eyes widening slightly as he looked down at the saurians and their haul. “Are you sure you aren’t looking for someone to help out your merry little band? I’m getting pretty sick of things around here and I’m fairly handy with a bow or crossbow.”

“You can’t just shoot them,” Dussok replied with an unhappy grunt. “The contract was to take the scarab’s armor intact. That means they get to try and kill you while you have to be careful not to damage them. We might look fine right now, but honestly the experience was fairly miserable.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Samazzar cut in, a flustered note in his voice. “Once we figured out how to fight them, the bugs only got a drop on us twice. Plus, I was able to put together healing salves with the lunar fern sap and conton nut extract we found out there. We might have gotten some bumps and scrapes, but I patched you up as good as new.”

The armored guards around the gate didn’t move, still holding their weapons at ready, but Harris winced. Takkla cast an appraising glance up at the man before interrogating him.

“You seem rather enthusiastic today Harris, is there something wrong?”

“Nah,” he began, only to catch himself. “Well, nothing new. The captain wants us to look alert at all times. That means no awnings, no chairs, and no fires. It’s not too bad on days like today, but when it’s raining or snowing, it makes the job absolutely miserable.”

“You’re slouching against the side of your post while eating,” Takkla observed dryly. “I’m not one to judge, my first instinct is usually to look for someplace hidden in order to take a quick nap, but you don’t really look hyper alert to me.”

“There’s an easy answer for that,” Harris replied, taking another bite from his apple. “Fuckem.”

“Worst part is that all of that effort to make ourselves look imposing actually hurts our ability to do our jobs,” Harris continued. “If you’re baking in metal armor during the summer, or damp and freezing during the winter, it just makes things harder to assess whether a mercenary walking by is a tourist or a threat. Course, command don’t see it that way and they don’t really care. It’s all about us standing here and looking pretty so that people know the Patrician isn’t to be messed with.”

“That’s a shame,” Samazzar said with a frown. “Back home, the guards had a room behind the gate with chairs and a bed. They could take naps if they wanted and glance through a hole cut in the door from time to time to make sure that there wasn’t anyone outside.”

Dussok snorted, rolling his eyes at Sam as he replied. “And I caught them napping at least two or three times. Had to hammer on the gate and wait almost five minutes before anyone let me in. If I meant to do the tribe harm, I could have slammed the gate off its hinges with a battering ram before any of the layabouts even knew I was there.”

“There’s a balance to be sure,” Harris said agreeably. “I do actually care about my job. Without the Academy as a neutral ground, who knows which of the Southern Kingdoms would take a crack at Vereton. Our territory might look big on paper, but outside of the city itself and some of the nearby settlements, most of it is a wasteland populated by monsters and bandits. If we let the foreign nobles turn us into a battleground for their political squabbles and proxy wars, it’s only a matter of time before some princeling gets a big idea and actually tries to invade.”

“Still,” Harris concluded rebelliously. “That doesn’t mean that I have to stand out in the rain and be miserable for no reason. Even the wall guards get a roof and a fire.”

The guard shook his head, taking one last bite from the apple before throwing its core over the edge. He looked down at the three saurians, a hint of embarrassment flashing over his face.

“Sorry about that,” the guard said after a moment’s pause. “I got a little worked up there. Anyway, for the time being I have orders to let the three of you pass. If you don’t make progress on your tuition, that might change, but that doesn’t look like it should be too much of a problem.”

“Just uh,” Harris began, reaching up to scratch the back of his head beneath his helmet. “If you could avoid bringing this little outburst of ours up, I would appreciate it. It’s not like I've done anything wrong, but still, the bosses don’t like it when you question their decisions.”

Sam reached down, straining slightly as he picked up the heavily laden rope and slinging it back over his shoulder. Almost immediately, the dull ache returned to his neck and back. Sam didn’t have any idea how Dussok. He grinned at the human archer, giving Harris a thumbs up.

Harris nodded back before shouting down to armored gate guards below. They stepped back and a moment later, the metal doorway opened inward revealing the campus grounds.

Without the urgency of arriving in a rainstorm, Samazzar finally had a chance to take in the Academy itself. Crowds of students wearing a kaleidoscope of clashing colors and fashions moved in quick clusters between the large multi-story marble buildings that ringed the complex’s towers. In between the more garishly attired students, workers and support staff hurried about their tasks in simple brown shirts and trousers.

The only thing that tied the chaos of the Academy together was its coat of arms. A grey shield with a torch standing in front of it. The support workers wore it stitched onto the sleeves of their shirts, but the students seemed to put more money and effort into the matter. Every one of them had it incorporated into their clothing, often near a breast pocket or as part of a picture or design woven into the cloth.

He could only shake his head. Samazzar couldn’t even recognize some of the fine silks and magically imbued threads used to create some of the outfits. The cheapest shirt, skirt or pair of pants would have been beyond the wealth of the Greentoe tribe, let alone something that Duromak could have acquired, but here the students had them custom tailored and embroidered. It was almost like the garish outfits were some sort of competition with the various groups trying to show off their wealth to each other.

Sam snorted as he turned to follow Takkla and Dussok toward the building where Rose had introduced him to the bursar. It looked squat despite being three stories tall, but he suspected that was an optical illusion created by Pothas’ tower as it rose from the back quarter of the rectangular marble structure.

The other students didn’t give their convoy a second glance. Samazzar, overheard some of them talking about topics ranging from magical theory to local politics, but apparently a handful of saurians clad in torn waist wraps and carrying the corpses of a dozen or so monsters was normal enough to not raise a stir.

Once inside the building, things changed slightly, but that was more a factor of the narrow hallways than anyone taking note of them. Sam and Dussok had to narrow the distance between the two of them, wrapping the shell laden ropes around their shoulders as Takkla took the lead.

They still occupied most of the hallway, but with Takkla’s help they were able to clank and jangle their way over to one of the walls to let others pass. Having to periodically stop to let students shuffle past delayed them, and ache in his neck and shoulders grew to an almost unbearably level, but before too long Dussok rumbled to a halt outside the bursar’s red and yellow door.

With a grateful sigh, Sam ducked out from under the layers of rope and shell, letting it clatter to the stone floor of the building. Takkla jumped at the sudden noise, and Dussok shot him a perturbed look as the big saurian slowly unlayered himself, but Samazzar barely noticed as he shoved open the gaudy door.

A rail thin man with wispy blonde hair looked up at Sam as he entered, nose wrinkling in distaste. Very carefully he closed his ledger, placing the book almost reverentially on the table in front of him before removing a pair of thin wire frame spectacles from his slightly off-center nose.

“And who may you be?” He asked, his voice more sigh than question. “I am unaware of the bursar or his assistants having an appointment with an individual meeting your-”

The man paused, pursing lips for a second as he looked Samazzar up and down. When he spoke the words dripped with unpleasant meaning.

“An individual meeting your colorful description.”

“Oh that’s fine,” Sam replied cheerfully, “I don’t have an appointment. I just came back from a mission in the field and I wanted to turn in the requested goods so that my account can get credited.”

“No appointment,” the man repeated Samazzar’s words crossly. “I’m afraid that one doesn’t simply barge into this office and demand a meeting with the bursar or one of his deputies. The Vereton Academy is an orderly place, built on a foundation of rules and order. There are procedures that must be followed. Forms that must be filled out. Often in triplicate.”

“Sorry!” Samazzar winced. “Pothas and Rose just told me to come back here to turn in the request. They didn’t say anything about setting up an appointment. Is that something I can do with you?”

The human froze, muscles stiffening and his jaw clenching.

“Actually,” Sam continued, his muzzle creasing into a frown. “If you could schedule that meeting for today, that would be great. Rose said that we would get assigned our living arrangements once we paid our first tuition installment, and I don’t really want to spend the night sleeping under an awning or something.”

“Did you say Pothas?” The clerk asked slowly. “As in Pothas the Wind master? One of the three senior practitioners at the academy?”

“Yes,” Sam replied with a quick nod. “Pothas recruited me to be his new apprentice but Rose said that I’d have to pay my tuition first. She picked out some jobs for me and told me just to report back here once I was done. Unfortunately she didn’t tell me about any of the other rules. I’ll make sure to ask Rose about those when I meet up with her for our next lesson.”

The man practically choked, his skin turning an unhealthy shade of grey. For a couple of seconds he simply sputtered, before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was quivering slightly.

“Well if Magi Rose, Master Pothas’ senior apprentice, said that it was okay for you to not have an appointment, I’m sure that is the case. Quests and their rewards are traditionally handled by Melissa. If you take the door to my right, her office is the fourth on my left.”

“Thanks!” Samazzar chirped, ignoring the barely audible reply as he opened the indicated door to reveal white stone hallway lined with merrily burning lamps.

He walked down the passageway, counting the doors on the left wall as he moved. At the end of the corridor was a large set of double doors, likely for the bursar’s main office. He ignored it, knocking on the fourth door before almost immediately barging in.

A stocky brunette with greying hair looked up from a pile of paperwork, blinking at the saurian without comprehension for a moment before a smile lit up her face.

“Samazzar?” She asked, putting down the unbound sheets of paper that she had been inspecting. “Pothas’ new student I presume?”

“That’s me,” he agreed happily, closing the door behind him. The woman’s office smelled vaguely of smoke and chemicals, byproducts of the glass lamp that was currently dormant on her desk. Behind her, a window sat at about head level in the wall, letting sun spill into the room and over the messy collection of documents spread out before her.

“I’m Melissa Chaprot,” she said, brushing some of the papers to the side. “I was in the middle of approving a request for tarnished sea glass, but the magi that wrote it is incapable of keeping anything brief or legible, so a distraction would be welcome. What can I do for you Sam?”

“I finished one of the missions I got from Rose,” he replied. “She told me to come back here to turn in the proof so that I can make my first installment payment on my tuition and get assigned to a dorm.”

Melissa nodded, reaching into a small mountain of paperwork to pull out a single sheet. She squinted at it for a second before nodding.

“The yellow scarab shell quest, correct?” She asked with a click of her tongue. “Twenty five parros per intact shell with cracked or shattered shells being worth between five and fifteen parros.”

“We have twenty-two,” Sam responded happily. “None of them are even chipped.”

“That’s very impressive young man,” Melissa said with a warm smile. “Yellow scarabs can be pretty nasty unless you have sound dampening equipment. Most people that hunt them end up lashing out blindly and smashing their shells after the scarabs retaliate. I don’t suppose you’ll let me take a glance at them? I hate to be rude, but part of my job is making sure that the procured goods match the description.”

“Sure,” Samazzar replied, opening the door and stepping back out into the hallway. “The shells are fairly bulky, and the man in the first room didn’t seem terribly friendly, so I didn’t want to drag them through his office.”

“Oh, that’s just Markus,” Melissa responded dismissively as she extricated herself from her desk. The top of her greying hair barely reached Sam’s shoulder, but the woman was built like an athlete. Despite her age, her shoulders and arms bulged with muscles, and she walked with the easy gait of a trained warrior.

“I don’t think Markus really likes anyone,” she continued. “He’s very invested in his job and whatever petty status comes with it. Luckily for him, he’s good at what he does. I don’t think any of the deputies actually like his attitude.”

Samazzar opened his muzzle to reply, but caught himself. He pushed open the door to Markus’ office and said nothing to the thin man. Once again Markus was holding a book, but this time he wasn’t making any pretenses that he was reading it, instead glaring over the top at Sam and Melissa.

Without a word he opened the door to the hallway, leading Melissa out of the bursar’s complex. She brushed past him, nodding to Dussok and Takkla before kneeling next to the pile of scarab shells. One by one she picked them up, turning them over in her hands and rapping on the chitin with her knuckles.

Finally, after almost five minutes of inspection she stood up and reached into a pocket. After pulling out a bulging purse and began to count out a number of quietly glowing coins.

She grunted at Samazzar, and he extended both of his hands, cupped together into a bowl, before pouring out the money. He stared down at the pile of light and glittering metal without much comprehension. Sam knew that what he was holding was more valuable than all the goods in his former tribe put together, but at the same time it just didn’t sync logically. He couldn’t eat a coin or use it to fight a monster, it was simply a scrap of metal infused with a hint of magic.

“There you are,” Melissa said with satisfaction. “Half of your pay has automatically been directed to your tuition, and the remainder has been transferred to you. Five eagles, ten doubles, and ten quints.”

“I’ll make a note in the ledger,” she continued as Sam frowned slightly, his mouth moving silently as he counted to himself. “Rose requested that the three of you be placed in Vesper hall so that you can be near her and Percival. It should be the blue and white wooden building just to the East of Pothas’ tower. The housing staff can assign you to your individual rooms once you arrive.”

Samazzar looked up at Melissa as she easily slung the rope covered in scarab shells over her shoulders, wrapping it around her body twice. The weight that had almost staggered him was like nothing to the woman as she turned to leave.

“This is only two hundred and fifty parros,” Samazzar said hesitantly. “Half of five hundred and fifty should be two hundred and seventy five.”

“Tax,” Melissa grunted back. “I forgot that you’re new to Vereton. It’s how the City funds its army and services. All sales and employment have a ten percent tax on them. The Patrician requires all work to go through guilds or job centers like ours in order to make sure the proper withholdings take place. Don’t get caught taking black market work. That’s up to twenty lashes and a five yea’s hard time.”

“What?” Takkla squeaked in surprise. “Five years of hard labor for taking a job from someone without government permission? What’s next, can I not make toast in my own house without a permit?”

“So you’ve heard about the baker’s guild’s proposal,” Melissa replied, turning around with a gleam in her eye. “I doubt the Patrician will approve it, but interest groups on both sides will be making their public case at City Hall over the next week. I have some pamphlets if you’re interested.”