A quill scratched itself across the bottom of the now completed page, the script ending with a devilish flourish. The writer, a hunched young man, flicked the feather into an inkpot standing by. Finally, he’d completed his preparations; at long last, he could call for the ritual to begin!

"May I begin my Practical, Mr. Noah, Professor Sir?" A dryly sarcastic voice rang out from in front of him.

Surprised, the man’s knees bashed against the underside of the stone table he sat at. The paper he’d been holding slipped from his grasp and floated down to the floor opposite of his lacquered chair. He'd... get that later.

Ameliah, a young woman from his class, stood in the middle of the stage. She was wincing up at him through the glare.

He gave her a once-over look, before leaning forwards in his chair. Her robe was inside out, the light blue internal stitching identifying its seams. Looking further, he noted that her wired glasses were askew, one side further forward than the other. Her carelessness of the last fact caused him to wince back at her, even as he adjusted his own lenses.

They watched each other for a moment as she tilted her head, light brown hair draping itself over her glasses’ right-side.

"Mr. Fel or simply Professor, if you would," Noah Fel frowned. The public familiarity she gave off was, well, exactly her style, but not particularly welcome during the exam.

...Mr. Noah

Fel rolled his eyes at the thought. He'd long since made clear to his sister the dislike he had for his given name.

She’s probably just tired, or regretting having gone out last night.

The squinting eyes, he noticed, spoke volumes about her unwillingness to participate in today’s round of testing. Still, Fel didn’t flinch. It was not, after all, as if he hadn’t warned her.

As pleasant as a party at Heilmer’s Tavern sounded to him, the night off from grading, some company, a few drinks… His train of thought derailed before he could rally himself towards his condemnation. The point was that she should have better prepared for the exam!

"Yes, please, begin." Fel waved an arm around as he sat back once more.

Kneeling on the stage, Amelia started to draw an elongated curve across the ground.

With a shuffling, the spectating class drew quiet in their seats. A number tensed as they drew their gaze to the center of the reinforced floor where she worked.

Good, maybe it’ll drive some of them to review in their remaining time.

Fel was distinctly hopeful that Amelia would do well today. The Practical Exam had been a late demand from the Collegium’s council heads, and his sister -as well as the rest of the students- had been placed under heavy pressure as a result of the time crunch.

Preparing oneself to demonstrate a ritual was not so easy and quick a task as the council seemed to enjoy thinking. Annoyed, Fel’s foot bounced, his leg hitting the underside of the table with a soft ‘thump’.

He shook his head and grimaced, slouching down in his too-small seating. The attempt, though well-practiced, was futile, and the writing desk continued to dig into the tops of his thighs. Fel shifted the chair so that his legs hung off to the side of the desk, body contorted to continue facing the stage. Knees exposed and still feeling distinctly uncomfortable in the Collegium’s new ritualist hall, Fel took another glance around the room.

The walkway leading down to the stage was a smooth speckled stone; It was probably granite, he decided. There were no mana emanations from the material, but light reflected faintly off its surface. Floating above, spaced evenly across the edges of the stage, balls of light pulsed. The mana they gave off was faint, the one furthest from Fell more so than the others. He grimaced at the sight of it.

Damnable light spells never stick, too flighty by far.

If I’m lucky, they’ll last to the end of the exams. He wasn’t confident in the thought.

Tap. Lining the sides of the path and stage were channels leading to drains against the wall. Tap. Tap. Fel’s ring finger knocked in frustration against the table as his thoughts wandered again.

The drains were not, contrary to the claims of the capital’s more vocal rabble-rousers, used to channel blood. Well, he paused, that wasn’t their usual function. At the least, they didn’t carry human blood. Most blood’s mana content was simply low enough as to be useless for a [Ritualist], and the fact was especially true when the blood came from Non-Monsters.

Still, Fel digressed; he knew the details didn’t truly matter to most, so long as people knew the drains weren’t used to support ritual sacrifice.

“[Ritualists] aren’t [Cultists], dear gods. Our Class is a tool to be used, not some devil’s gift or a warning from a children’s tale.” Fel growled his words softly at the thoughts, a scowl plastered on, careful to avoid disrupting the ritual preparation going on onstage. It was a complaint he'd long since hashed.

Dragging his mind back to the present, Fel wiped the frustration from his face and continued his scan. The spectator's seating was above the center of the room and made of a far less ornate stone. Its raised position allowed the class of students to look down on the stage where Amelia drew and spoke. She was, he noted at a glance, currently working on connecting a weaving fractal to another circle through a precisely drawn line. Both were inside a larger circle that she’d already completed.

Movement in the stands above startled him into looking up. Some of the students had turned their heads to eye him as he looked about the room, a few leaning forwards in their seats. Fel ignored the groups; sweeping his gaze past them, he attempted to avoid the nigh inevitable moments of awkwardly handled eye-contact.

The room was, Fel hastily admitted to himself, high quality. There was, however, one flaw. The designers had made the unfortunate decision to stone-shape the professor's desk as an extension of the floor.

It was a novel stylistic choice for most of the Collegium’s other [Ritualist] professors, a strange but rather inconsequential addition to the room. The lanky Noah Fel did not so passively agree.

"Next time I use a testing hall," Fel muttered, "I'll be showing up early with a rock hammer and my own damn desk." He winced as his knees once again grated against the stone abomination’s lower supports. Sighing to himself, he leaned back down to the surface of the desk to write.

The papers had clearly multiplied. Activity reviews, resubmission grading, and inquiries on apprentice recommendations were neatly stacked in front of him. He was certain there were more than when he’d sat down.

Fel’s back settled into a hunch.

Portions of the papers in front of him moved to the side.

Amelia's voice continued in the foreground.

As he worked, his head pointed down towards the table’s surface, his left hand would move. It'd sweep a strand of brown hair back out from in front of his eyes, or push his rimmed glasses back into place. The movements went unnoticed by the scribbling professor. His hand’s actions were neither entirely conscious nor necessary.

His glasses slipped back down the moment he released them again. They too were unnecessary for his current work. Still, their presence and bother were comforting, so he left them on.

He was, admittedly, not paying his usual attention to the current student presenting. He noted the fact, before dismissing it. The majority of the examination depended on the ritual's activation and result. Its drawing process and explanation were, for the most part, unimportant.

Besides, Fel could recite his sister's presentation from memory at this point. It was a fact he was certain she was well aware-. Fell paused writing at the natural conclusion of that thought.

Perhaps I should listen in, just to be safe.

"...from which the Practitioner Circle feeds into the tertiary reagent -that’s the phase weave- through the primary mana conduit. The limiter intercepts that conduit at its origin, reading off and de-."

A smattering of laughter from a huddle across the class interrupted the droning Amelia.

Her hand stuttered in surprise.

*Tsking* in annoyance Fel turned his head to the stands. The involved students' amusement faded at the action.

"Should any of you feel the urge to do more than silently view or study during this Exam period, I can assure you that your actions and Exam credit remain under scrutiny until the moment that you leave this room." He growled out.

Distractions in ritual preparation were a dangerous affair. While the creation process itself was safe, with exception to exotic reagents, that wasn’t the concern. The real issue was during the activation process, where previous errors could wreak havoc for a ritualist.

The disturbance hadn't seemed intentional. Neither did it appear particularly related to the current student's presentation. Still, he made note of the group to speak to further following the end of class.

Fell returned his gaze to Amelia’s work. His chair creaked as his weight left it, and his body rose. Walking forwards from behind the table, the light gray stone clacked beneath his feet. Moving around the outline, Fel eyed the disfigurement now present on the ritual. It was a small mark, a wavering in the line that determined the safety cutoff for the caster's mana supply.

He grunted. “Meh.”

It was inconsequential. The line remained unbroken, and so the safeties would continue to work. From what Fel could see, the marking would increase the ritual’s mana draw a bit past the 90% of her pool Amelia had set it for and disperse whatever additional mana it gained.

At worst, Amelia will receive some mild discomfort as her mana dips under the area's environmental mana pressure. Not a big deal if she’s been practicing her manipulation like she keeps saying.

Stepping backward once more, he motioned for her to continue the test. The issue might encourage her to avoid distraction while drawing in the future.

Focusing on the mark, then turning back to Fel, Amelia paused. Not appearing to receive the reaction wanted, she shot him a glare. Ah, it seemed that she'd expected his assistance in fixing the damage.

Fel rolled his eyes at that. The test intended to evaluate the apprentice ritualists' full practical capabilities. His interference would intrinsically change the ritual, with his Class and Skills providing a notable passive boost. Such a drastic change would defeat and undermine the stated goal, whether the flaw was her fault or not.

"Please continue with the preparation, Ms. Amelia," he sighed. Shifting, Fel stood straighter to make the statement. Sister and ward she might be, but this was not an evening practice at home.

No, it was neither the time nor place for a more natural response. He'd had enough trouble getting the collegium to accept his teaching of Amelia in the first place. The school's academic concerns over the matter were obvious.

Seating himself back behind his borrowed desk -grabbing the dropped paper on his way- Fel watched her complete the circle.

Fel’s eyes made a hard final sweep over the circle following Amelia’s placement of the bag and reagents. He was fully confident in her capabilities, but it paid heavily to be certain given their field of study.

The circle was a clear success, with exception to the aforementioned limiter flaw. Fel grabbed his quill and checked a box on the paper in front of him, then scrawled a note to the side of it.

The reagents were correctly placed for their sequence of activation. Fel checked another box lower down and to the left.

Finally, Fel’s focus roamed to the center of the circle, where the object that would be imbued lay. His eyes softened slightly at the sight of the worn leather bag that lay there, and he marked a final box on the page.

With a raised brow upon hearing Fel’s verbal confirmation, Amelia stepped into the Caster’s Circle. A string of mana left her form and dug into the outline at her feet. Slowly, as if it were honey, the mana dripped through the lines, space dipping inwards as the markings began to glow.

The bag in the center twisted as the lines reached it, contorting itself. Its braided drawstring flapped, air and mana beginning to flow into the pouch’s opening.

Next, the reagents around the circle’s edge began to be subsumed. Most notably, a dark marble-like object, melted with a hiss into the floor. Another, a silvery goop, began to lose cohesion, its fluid state solidifying into blackened dust.

Fel watched his sister's remaining mana as it dropped. 90%...80%... 70%... Fel tapped his foot against the ground.

5 students more after this. If he were lucky, his class might finish before lunch. That'd be nice. He could run down and grab a bite at the recently opened Seas of Casteile. Walkner’s Avenue wasn’t the best eating location, being so near the smell of the docks, but he’d heard a hefty amount of praise for the Tavern there. Besides, It would be a pleasant reprieve from his usual defaulting to the Collegium food hall.

Fel shuddered at the idea of another day eating roasted fowl. Halting the repulsive thought, he refocused on Amelia's casting as the ritual neared its end.

20%... 10%... the Caster’s Circle stopped pulling as her mana pool settled around 7% full. Amelia let out a pained squeak and Fel grimaced. Recalling his sister's mana pool, 7% would be a hair under half the mana pressure of the capital region. It was, perhaps, a little too harsh of a result for a classroom exercise.

Fel hesitated but then moved forwards. As he did so, Amelia's pale form leaned down to confirm the ritual's completion.

Fel stopped outside the circle’s rings. Checking that the reagents were inactive, he sent out a string of mana to probe the no-longer glowing ritual. The string fizzled and thinned when it came in contact with the naturally present mana. There were no other effects as it brushed against the lines that spread across the ground.

Deeming the ritual inactive, Fel crossed over. His sister completed similar actions and straightened herself.

"Do you feel alright?" He offered his arm to her as she turned to him. She smacked it with an annoyed look and moved to carefully grab the bag that rested on the floor in front of them.

Picking it up, she walked back and grabbed the arm she'd just hit, sagging. "Jackass." She muttered as they started moving back to the now chattering class of students.

"Professor." Fel corrected as she leaned on him. He analyzed the bag she held in her other hand as they walked, his body settling into its habitual slouch under her weight.

Bag of Holding

A bag imbued through a ritual to contain greater volume than its outer shell suggests, at a reduced weight.

The volume of this bag measures 1.21* times larger in than its physical dimensions.

The items within this bag are .48* times their unaltered weight while fully contained.

"Not too bad- an extra quarter in cubic feet. Almost makes it useful." He ribbed, both of them giving a slight grin at that. Every [Bag of Holding] was useful, if only for its weight reduction capabilities.

Amelia shifted her hold on his arm, turning her head to give him a pointed look as they reached the crowding students. "If you weren't so willing to share the bags you make, I'd be considering hitting you again for the insult." She whispered, the words not matching her amused tone.

Releasing his arm, she swept her hair back from where it'd fallen into her eyes again. Her arm shook with the movement before she brought it back under control. Fel watched as she began to meld back into the group, a small group of ladies moving forwards to receive her.

Fel felt a goofy smile rise on his face; Amelia had done a great job. Not that she didn’t always, but this was… it made everything... more real. Official. His sister was skilled, and the girl he’d raised for the last 6 years was showing him what she could do.

“Proud of you, sis.” He mumbled the words, too soft to reach beyond his ears alone.

Looking over the students who hadn't yet tested, Fel coughed, straightening once more. Raising his arm, he pointed to a wide-grinned youth who was busy chatting up a young woman of the class. "Mr. Macormand," he called, "If you're so full of energy as to flirt, rather than review in your remaining time, I'll assume you're prepared!"

Starting, the blond Mr. Macormand muttered an impolite curse. With a tight yank, he adjusted his robe's collar. He then gave a small, if enthused, bow to the rather relieved looking brunette, before starting a fast-walk towards his instructor. "Of course, sir!” He yelled back, “I wouldn't dream of being otherwise!"

Hm. The young man put up an eager facade.