[art cred]
Heading west from the great walls of Vel Anir, past the more green and hilly landscape that was lush and ripe from the early spring rains, a caravan seemed to be jostling along leisurely. If one were to look closely however they would see that amid the multitude of wagons pulled by two or more horses, in between that average sight were two luxurious carriages in between, breaking up the commodity. The landau carriage’s wood was darkly stained with brightly polished brash accenting the dark wood. The rood was up due to the dark clouds that could be seen on the horizon, the deep burgundy curtains were drawn so no one could see inside the window. The Andalusian horses that pulled these carriages had shiny black pelts and manes, it looked like shadows were really pulling these saturnine carriages.
Whether one was a commoner or a noble or even a merchant, it was obvious that whoever was inside those landaus were filthy rich. It was also obvious that based on the number of wagons, filled to the brim with something and covered with burlap sheets—and people walking or riding along on horseback near the wagons— that these very wealthy people were moving.
Kalix couldn’t believe that he would be put on such a boring mission. There was no chance of action being involved with something as mundane as this! He was practically on bodyguard duty but so far the only thing he had to do was to sit on the wagon directly behind the last landau. He pouted, slouching over, elbow on one of his thighs so he could rest his cheek in the palm of his hand. The disappointment was palpable and Kalix knew that the reason why he was even on something as basic as this “mission” was really because he was in trouble. Proctor Novgorodoff had enough of Kalix’s shit— and yes, he even used the word shit! That was when the young man knew he had fucked up. Proctor Novgorodoff never cursed, ever.
The Academy couldn’t use the term punishment anymore. It was either extra drills during the hour break they now had after the revolution, or quite often, “rEmEdIaL lEsSoNs.” This would be the perfect remedial lesson for KP or Chas or Liza, but not for someone like Initiate Kalix! He was dying of boredom out here! Is that what Proctor Novgorodoff wanted? For Kalix, one of the strongest initiates, to die?
Kalix sighed, a long, heavy one. He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking about possibly just taking a nap. He could sleep just about anywhere, after all, one of his talents was sleeping while standing up— a skill he had learned from constantly having to wait outside of classrooms for being a disturbance to the nerds. He quickly opened his eyes, remembering who was sitting across from him. Proctor D’Amour. Proctor Novgorodoff wouldn’t be the one accompanying him on his remedial class, not with his rapidly aging body, but why Proctor D’Amour had been assigned for this, Kalix couldn’t guess. Maybe because she was strict or something stupid like that. At least she was nice to look at, even if her cool blue-silver gaze was a hard contrast to his own blistering gold.
The line of horses, wagons, peoples, carriages meandered on, and Kalix looked behind him, seeing the old farm in the distance. He had always considered it the one-fourth mark to Amol-Kalit. He sighed, as if he were so incredibly weary, once again. They were moving like molasses and he couldn’t wait to get this dull “remedial lesson” over with.