The Hermit, The Tower, The World (Vol.2 Complete)

25th of Inandyl - 4th Velron

Calas slept until midmorning and was surprised that he hadn't slept longer. It wouldn't be the first time he was woken up by the midday bell. But sleep was uneasy and not especially restful as he found himself fixated on what Orendell might have planned for him. Getting dressed for the day, he came across the keys to the training hall and instantly decided what he would be doing before the set up in a few hours.

He packed his bag like any other weekday and headed to the Great Hall to pick up a lunch to-go before he locked himself in the training hall. For the next several hours, Calas pushed himself harder than usual. He might have started with lighter warm-up exercises, but they escalated quickly into partial body and, finally, to full body shifts intertwined into his movement. Once breathing heavily and sweating from the steady ache in his body and bones that was a part of constant shifting, he concentrated on all the horrible dreams of being birds this week.

He tried to remember what his wingspan had felt like, the wind that ruffled his feathers, the reach of his talons, and then tried shifting several times. First a wing here, a talon there, feathers all over, and then the body; the keen eyes, the size and scale, and he worked out all the minor details, small shift by small shift. He thought he had the hawk form understood fairly well, but after several attempts at flight with no luck, he figured he was likely missing some key element.

Shifting back into his own skin, he propped himself against a wall, sat on the floor and finally opened his lunch. He had learned through experience that pushing himself on a full stomach was ill-advised, unless he wanted to see the meal again, so he ate slowly.

While he did so, Calas contemplated all the things he could say to the Beast of the Eldwood to delay in giving him any results. More importantly, he focused on what he felt he could get away with saying, without being found out and ripped to shreds.

Even though the Beast said the punishment would come from Orendell, Calas could not imagine that an ancient Beast such as they would take too kindly to being lied to. It was definitely a risk, but one he didn't need to commit to just yet.

After eating and locking up the training hall, Calas returned to his room in the Sanctum to bathe and change before he headed out again to the Faculty Lounge on the top floor of the Great Hall. Despite being early afternoon, Malakh and Marcus were already outside the Lounge, as well as Fara and a dwarven girl he'd never seen before. Calas greeted the group casually and received much the same from all present.

"Good news, Calas," said Malakh, an Adaphaen male in his third year at Court with white-feathered wings and a pale complexion, "the Dean finally convinced Professor Elandria to get a new staffer. So we won't have to pile all the mystery things away anymore."

Calas shrugged, giving a weak smile, "That is until she drives them crazy and they quit. Then it will be up to all of us again."

Marcus, a burly human man with tanned copper skin and short brown hair, cracked a smile on his rock-chiseled face. "Malakh and I only have to convince them to stay until the Shiver and then you are all on your own." He bellowed a staccato laugh as if he had made a profound joke.

"Speak for yourself," Malakh's face turned a pale pink at Marcus' comment. Calas lifted an eyebrow at the long-haired, winged boy's reaction. Abashedly, he continued, "I might stay another year, after all."

"The Dean has asked you to stay, huh? Not surprising really." Calas smoothed his face back to neutrality, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"The Dean could ask for no better protégé than you, Malakh." Fara nodded enthusiastically while she subconsciously knuckled her whiskers. "It would be strange for another scribe to handle affairs as well as you have. Can you imagine if Calas was the one organizing these events?"

Everyone chuckled at this, save for Calas, who leveled a flat stare at Fara, and the new girl, who plainly didn't know Calas enough to get the joke. Fara knew full well that he had organized events like this for the Arcane Club last year, but he wasn't about to fight her on it.

Calas turned to the newcomer and pointedly turned his back on the rest.

"Hey, I'm Calas, by the way, Blackclaws' staffer." He introduced himself to the dwarven girl with puffy red hair, who took his outstretched hand. "Since some people don't have enough manners to introduce us formally."

"Sigrid," A broad smile brightened the girl's face. "I'm helpin' out Professor Kelyn." She squeezed his hand with a sturdy grip before she rested her hand back on her hip. "It's nice to see that one of you is a gentleman, at least." The other three only laughed harder at the implication of Calas being a gentleman.

"Pay no mind," Calas smiled in an attempt to reassure Sigrid as the additional cackling clearly confused her. "They are so uncouth, they can't tell a gentleman from a swine." He winked conspiratorially at her, "We know the truth, though, and that's all that matters."

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The both of them chuckled quietly with each other and then chatted until Kishi, Wen, and Lamruil arrived. That makes seven. I wonder where our mystery scribe is.

Wen provided one of her larger-than-life greetings and introduced herself and Lamruil, a tall elven man with sharp green eyes and long brown hair, to Sigrid. Kishi, a Croakin girl with too big, brown eyes leveled a flat, simmering stare at the back of Wen's head. It could have melted sand into glass for all the intensity she gave the red-headed tinker.

The expression smoothed away quickly when Kishi was finally given the opportunity to introduce herself. Once the introduction was done, though, Kishi joined Malakh and Marcus, talking about a class they had together as they were all third-year scribes. In Kishi's absence, Wen and Lamruil circled back and chatted more with Sigrid.

Calas crossed his arms and looked on from afar at the other scribes who carried on with one another and he grinned fondly. He had come to know them all and their quirks over the past year and he contented himself with remaining the outsider in their company.

A hint of movement caught his eye as a twitch in Fara's tail grabbed his attention. His eyes locked onto hers, a barely perceptible furrow in his brow as if to say, what is it?

Fara's nose twitched the slightest bit and her eyes darted to the space behind him for the briefest moment, as if she were responding; look behind you, dummy.

His awareness shifted to the perceptive senses of the wolf and he felt the eyes on his back. Someone had snuck up behind him.

He turned and was shocked to find the mouse standing there.

"Oh," A laugh escaped him, and he felt that same, almost cruel irony when he had seen her at the party. "It's you." The Gods must either really hate me or really love me, and I wish I could tell which. He thought somberly as Serea strode up beside him, a playful smile on her face.

"Yes, beast." She basically sang it as Chou trilled on her shoulder.

Hate. It has to be hate. He determined with a smile that was disguised as mirth rather than pain. Calas shoved his hands in his pockets to keep his hands away from the tingle at his ribs and promptly ignored it.

He caught Fara's eyes again with a subtle, inquisitive expression, saying without speaking, did you do this?

Fara's eyes went wide, an emphatic shake of her head masked as her tossing her straight black hair to silently respond back; no, are you mad!? Calas' expression had a momentary flat mien for the Panthara, but it lightened as he turned to the mouse with his normal low tones.

"How did they rope you into this?"

"Professor Elandria asked me." She shrugged shyly, which Calas found adorable despite her confidence having faltered.

He blinked in confusion when there was no other explanation.

"That's it?" he asked, incredulously.

"Well," She started in a higher pitch than normal and Calas prepared himself for the real reason. "The Dean came in and…well, I wasn't given much of a choice, really."

Calas winced, sucking in a breath. Malakh's words made a lot more sense now that Serea provided context. The Dean didn't convince Professor Elandria. The Dean outright made her! He shook his head as he commiserated, "Ugh, that's rough." Poor, sweet mouse.

"I don't know," she peered at the other scribes gathered with a hopeful gleam in her eyes, "It doesn't look as bad as you made it sound."

"Tell me that when we are done." He let loose a sardonic chuckle and shot her another flat look. It was a challenge, a dare on his part and he grinned wickedly before he could stop himself.
He joined the others who were gathering tighter around Malakh, and the mouse followed suit, just behind. Once together, Malakh made everyone introduce themselves for the new members, and Calas bit his tongue to keep from saying something snarky about how there wasn't anyone here who didn't know him now.

Malakh explained the task which was to clean up the main room in the Lounge for a formal dinner. Each staffer was charged with taking care of their own professor's things and putting them away in the alcoves. Malakh also gave out extra assignments to each of the scribes, and answered a question from Serea about how much time they had to complete the task; three hours, give or take. Once there were no other questions, the staffers entered the Lounge and got to work.

Calas followed Serea this time and they passed through the large double doors of the Faculty Lounge, but he was halted when the mouse stopped in front of him. Her mouth was agape as she stared at the state of the Lounge.

It was truly a disaster area of tomes, bottles, parchment, ink wells, quills, knicknacks, magical items, and everything in between. The long table and benches in the center of the room were piled with the stuff. Likewise both alcoves, that housed the faculty's desks, were covered.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he whispered in her ear devilishly.

She swatted at him, obviously not trying to hit him, and he hopped away playfully on the way to the center table.

He started sorting through a pile or two on the long table filled with clutter from everywhere for a few minutes before finding one of E. Marblebrook's mystery pieces. He searched for Serea, who was still assessing near the doorway. He hummed to himself while thinking that she had a similar problem getting started in combat, and just like all last term, he figured she just needed a little push.

Calas approached her from the other side and nudged her softly with his elbow to get her attention.

"E. Marblebrook doesn't like to label things." He showed her the piece in his hand and set it on a suspiciously clean part of the table at the very end. "At least, that's what her previous staffer said.

"If you find something that is another professor's, just call it out. We will do the same for you, mouse." Calas shrugged with a sympathetic gesture and smiled sincerely as he said it, then left her to the task at hand.

He headed over to some weapons leaning surreptitiously against a pillar and brought them into the alcove. Calas checked on Serea after a few minutes and found her diligently sorting through the pieces on the long table. He checked again after his second and third trips and found himself staring.

Serea was at her professor's desk, trying to make heads or tails of the bits and bobbles with Chou. He watched as they talked through it and chuckled when she got frustrated at her small companion. Then she rolled up her sleeves, and Calas admired the look of pure determination on her face. He felt a warmth settle in his chest and just like that, Calas had made his decision.

There was no way in all the desert sands, in all of the cosmos, that he would ever deliver Serea to the Beast of the Eldwood. Gods be damned.