Morton sneered down at the rabble that occupied the first floor of the cafeteria. He could not believe that this scum had taken up residence in his precious Academy. House Fobar did not suffer idiots or inferiors not understanding their proper place and these creatures on the first floor definitely did not understand their place. Morton would need to teach them a lesson, to show them to respect their betters.

Father will be proud of me when I show him what I have learned of keeping the rabble in line. Morton thought his sneer never leaving his face, why was he subjected to seeing these people? They weren’t worthy of licking his boots. He brushed a few stray blonde hairs from his forehead that had gotten in his eyes from his fury. This school could be so much better if people like that were kept out!

Morton called to his…friends might be a strong word for them, but colleagues. They were from noble houses as well. The city of Brewyn had eight great houses. Nine actually since King Borowyn had taken control. Ousting the other contenders, something for which his father was still bitter. But that had very little to do with Morton. He did not concern himself with such things.

His focus was making this school a better place, most especially for the year he was forced to be here. House Fobar was one of the main reasons this Academy even still existed! Morton’s father said that all the time. So why should they not have a say in who comes to the school as well? Logically it made complete sense to Morton. He just didn’t understand why others couldn’t understand that as well.

The people around him three in all were from other noble houses of Darf. He didn’t bother speaking to them over much. They had grown up together and been taught of the school and what to expect. He didn’t understand why he had to come honestly. He could have learnt what he needed better and faster if he worked with his tutors at home. Not that it held any interest for him. He was already far more advanced than any of these peasants could hope to be even if they spent the entire year studying like crazy.

Morton had resolved himself to spending the year here and if he was forced to do that he would do his damnedest to make the peasants lives miserable, as miserable as he was from having to be here. Some of the other tables on the first floor were occupied by staff and longer term student, idiots that thought research in here was a better use of their time than actually going out and doing something meaningful in the real world. Stupid waste of space scum, Morton just could help himself.

Unfortunately for him and because most people were idiots that couldn’t see the bigger picture they would stop him from showing the people below their proper place. He would have to be subtle about it, but still firm enough to get his message across.

He nodded quietly to the three people at his table, they were the only 9-year-olds among the eight families. Though, as he understood it Prince Boren was supposed to be coming this year, he was nine as well. He hadn’t met the prince more than once or twice but he hadn’t gotten much of an impression of him other than he was fairly sickly and usually kept in bed. Perhaps he would be continuing with his education from the palace, some people were so lucky. So much for showing solidarity, father! That was the excuse his father had given him for his forced attendance.

The four of them with Morton in the lead made their way down the stairs. He was the defacto leader of the group, House Fobar being the most prominent. It again just made sense to Morton, why would it be any other way. Ignius Gomery to his left, an ungainly boy who always seemed to wear clothes two sizes too big for him. His family were the richest in Brewyn but Morton had never seen more miserly people. Preferring to live like commoners more often than not. The only concession they had made for him was to get a premium room so he would be with his fellow nobles. Awkward cheapskate, Morton wouldn’t have minded getting into a match with him and show him a thing or two.

Shynala Fanamore was for want of a better word, vain, but that was simply too weak an expression. She took it to an art form. The pains she went to to make sure she was properly dolled up at all times was obscene. She likely spent more on her appearance than Morton spent on his equipment, and hers were just powders and paints. His was armour and weapons. Still Morton wasn’t one to concern himself with the cost of such things but it was good metric. She flashed a coy smile at one of the old nobles that was there for research. Morton didn’t bother to see who it was, some forgotten son of a second rate house, no doubt. But Shynala loved attention from wherever she could get it. Idiot.

Krystal Damite was the polar opposite of the first girl choosing more demure colours for clothing and not as pretty as Shynala certainly, at least by Morton’s standards – which were the only ones that mattered – and unassuming, preferring to read a blasted book at a party than actually socialise. That was what the idiotic parties were for, but her family seemed to pride themselves on saying they were above petty politics. Oh they never said it but their snooty attitude and manners said it all, they really weren’t subtle at all. Morton could only sneer as such people, only one word truly described their type, cowards. Not strong enough to be a real power they hid behind their meaningless words. Waste of time.

Though he didn’t have any respect for these people that walked with him, it was best to show some semblance of unity. After all they were still better than scum. They were of a higher class. The four of them continued to walk down the stairs and as expected people from below began looking up and whispering, Morton could only smile and accept their humble attitude. It was right for the masses to dote on them, worship them even. Perhaps compared to them the nobility seemed as unattainable as the gods? It made a certain kind of sense but his father had taught him some humility. He would never presume to be a god to them. That would be blasphemous. The churches would not approve of that type of thinking.

More whispers and silence seemed to fall over the room as they made their way downstairs. Except…Morton noted with a frown that one particular group of misfits and insufferable miscreants had not even noticed their descent. They were still chattering between themselves, as if they were better than nobility! Morton couldn’t help but allow the irritation to darken his face. He didn’t see what the others were doing but he didn’t need to, they would be outraged by this affront as well. How dare they! With purposeful strides Morton made his way over to the jesters.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Morton said as he approached them. The idiots looked up dumbly. As if he had said something confusing. How could they not understand the situation they were in? “I asked a question!” Morton raised his voice slightly, perhaps these dimwits did not hear what he had to say?

“Uhh, what do you mean?” The fairy had the audacity to ask. “We were just introducing ourselves to one another and getting to know the people we just met.” The imbecile said it like it like he was being stupid. Him, Morton Fobar! How dare he make me look the fool!

“I mean didn’t you see us coming down the stairs, nobility deserves some respect.” Morton said through grit teeth. Morton fought the urge to feel embarrassed at this affront. He could feel the eyes and whispers of all the commoners around him. It made his skin itch and crawl. This peasant needed to be put in his place. Father would skin me alive if he found out I was embarrassed by something like this scum. “If you think you are good enough to challenge a noble then prepare yourself!”

“What is happening right now?” The fairy asked and this time Morton could not stop the flush from spreading across this face. Would this creature simply not stop embarrassing him? Did he have to spell it out for him? No matter, whatever this creature was he would show him with his superior skills. No amount of begging would stop him from getting his own back.