Kilvic’s time at the headmaster’s office caused him grave delay, and in order not to prove tardy to the second lesson of the day, Kilvic was forced to forgo his breakfast, crashing through a quick bath and a haphazard dressing.The lessons for the day proved a bore and a tasking ordeal, as linking sphere, the only class which he attended easily, wasn’t on the timetable for the day. He was forced to bull through the mental class, where the instructor continued to teach them how best to link with each other’s minds without corrupting their targets and themselves, which was all well and good when it was considered that the final test of the semester would involve linking with four students of their choice.Elemental class came immediately after, and like the one before it, Kilvic struggled to excel at the task required of them. Like the linking, summoning, and mind classes, it was the only other class where they actually indulged in practical exerc

The thought that an exercise in mind melding required a pen and a book was a tough concept to wrap his mind around. But the book before Kilvic was as unmistakable as the pain in his back from his morning lessons, and the pen, fueled with blank ink like burned wood twirled between his fingers, holding his focus.The instructor for the class was the same man who’d brought him to Skanriv’s office on his first day; the same man who’d been displeased for having been expecting him. That day, he’d looked mean and old in his robe and wrinkled frown but the first day he’d walked into the class and Kilvic had set eyes on him for the second time, he could have easily been mistaken for someone else. His smooth skin, the glint in his eyes, the smile always teasing his lips as if holding back the most exquisite of allusive jokes was the sharpest contrast to what Kilvic had seen. It was also the most perfected expressive lie he’d ever come across.

Spells were easy enough once the basics were known, though Kilvic wasn’t certain which was the easier of both requirements: infusing the words with reia or finding the words that attended the mind.Lunch had ended a while ago, and following his request, Moss and Stratin had left for their lesson without him. And now he was left to rearrange the things in his possession almost appalled at how he’d waited so long to get things done. He held up the bottle of wine gifted for Drespard’s tale and put it to the side, beneath his bed, before returning to his sack and retrieving three silver coins, the reason he was here. Holding them palm up he wondered if perhaps this was a waste of silver, and if the other options open to him would be better substitutes. He had to conserve his finances, but then again, he had to conserve his reputation. He sighed. That was more than enough to make his decision. And wrapping up his sack, he placed the coins in his pocket and walked

It was barely an hour past midnight when Kilvic rose from his bed. Soartin and Moss had fallen into their slumber the moment their heads had touched their beds on their return to the hostel and they remained that way. The day must have been especially hectic for them because Soartin had forgone his ritual of taking his evening bath. Moss on the other hand had done nothing different. He’d put his head on his bed and had slept as if drugged. The fact that he’d left his uniform on was the only real indication of his stress.Kilvic made his way out of the room quietly. To wake his roommates would hinder his plans, and he couldn’t have them hindered. What he sought to do was more important than they could possibly imagine. Downstairs he stopped, his gaze glancing towards the kitchen. There was much that could help him in there. It was a tempting thought, a very tempting one. He shook his head. He didn’t need anything he would find in there. He simply wanted

Kilvic’s hand moved with a practiced ease as he worked the piece of rope into a knot, stiff fingers, however, delaying record time achieved from his time spent learning knots in preparation for his departure to the academy in castle Grey. It had seemed imperative that if he was to board a ship he was to learn a thing or two of what sailors knew. He had taken to knots quite quickly, and he still wasn’t certain if the absence of need for his skills on the ship had been disappointing.He finished quickly, slower than he knew he once could but fast enough not to have performed a disgraceful show. When he was done he placed on of the most complex knots he knew down on the table and waited in silence, as his audience had waited while he’d tied his knot.“And who in the name of Zeldric’s bottom feeders is you?” one of the four sailors asked. He was a big man with a barrel of a chest and at least two broken teeth Kilvic could note. His hair