I woke up in a sweat. The first thing I glimpsed was the cobwebbed stone ceiling.

“Ughh,” I moaned, carefully propping myself up on the hard stone floor. I glanced at what I was pretty sure was my abode. There was an old wooden bed with a thin mattress and thinner sheets, a window with opened shutters, a table and chair, a small fireplace, and a wooden chest. I exhaled in relief when I noticed my rucksack beside me.

I took off my cuirass and hauberk, carefully I removed my shirt. The hole was much smaller, only two inches in diameter now. I couldn’t see my heart, but the pain was far more manageable. I wobbled to my feet, using the cold wall as a crutch. Still not even 50%...

The room was well illuminated by sunlight, it was probably past noon. My stomach growled so I retrieved some hard bread and jerky from my pack. I wolfed it down greedily, lamenting that I had no alcohol left. I took one more look around before determining that I needed to see what the situation was.

I strapped my pouch to my body, couldn’t risk losing the vials. Then I pulled the small handle on the gnarled wood. The hinges creaked noisily as the door opened. There was a small landing followed by a descending circular staircase. I was in a tower, if only there was a princess in here too (the traumatized kind who keeps quiet, not the bitchy sort). I went back to my pack and drank the last of my healing potion. Best not to look too weak, that’s typically when people attack you.

I made my way down the stairs, exiting another door into a drab hallway with a long blue rug. There are unlit rushes adorning the walls. One or two doors were open, and I carefully noticed they were living quarters. Naturally they were better furnished than my own.

After traversing several halls, I found myself in the great hall. Long tables and benches enough for several hundred occupied most of the room, a raised dais with a mahogany table and tall chairs faced the room along the eastern wall. There were several large stained-glass windowpanes along the northern section. Intricate scenes of mages and spellcasting the predominant theme. There were around a dozen people in varying styles and colors of robes sitting about the room.

Underneath the painted windows lied a large open door with a stone path leading to another building. I walked outside, small bushes and flowers flanking the path. Ten-foot walls surrounded the walkway all the way to the other building.

Inside was a twenty-foot counter manned by a surly looking woman. From her girth she didn’t appear to have missed a single meal in her life (or anyone else’s). She looked me over head to toe, letting out a small snort. Good to know others’ estimation of me hadn’t changed. I managed my best smile and approached her.

“Good day miss! I’m new here, and was wondering if you could tell me where I should go?”

“To hell for all I care.”

My smile widened instinctively. I was a little miffed, but admittedly I’d left myself open for her rude remark. Ah, let’s try this again…

“No, where do new students go to get enrolled?”

“You buying or freeloading?”

Why the hell can’t anyone just speak clearly?

“The difference…?”

“Buying’ll get you a better meal and service, freeloading gets you what you expect.”

Mentioning the second option she pointed to a trencher of slop. It was a greenish brown color with varying sized chunks scattered throughout.

The smell…

Was…

Unique…

“You look like someone who’s going to be doing a lot of freeloading, so take your trencher and piss off.”

She was not wrong. I felt the three coppers in my pouch, certainly too little for a real meal here, or anywhere else for that matter. The slop I could make do with, the damage to my pride not so much. A first impression stays with you the rest of your life.

I was going to be here for an indeterminate amount of time. Because of that, I needed a few people who, at the very least, weren’t actively seeking a reason to cut my throat.

I looked behind her into the kitchen. Two other women are busy preparing what looked like real food. They were moving quickly, one baking bread and the other preparing a roast chicken. Sweat poured down their bodies while the woman addressing me was fidgeting, seemingly eager to rejoin the culinary front. The kitchen itself reflected their intensity; dirty pots, pans, and utensils everywhere. The floor littered with bits of food, tossed bones, garbage, and earthenware. Now, how to phrase this without using the word “shithole”?

“Wow! You three are really working hard!”

“Someone has to, you mages certainly don’t.”

I nodded as appreciatingly as I could.

“Must be tough, just the three of you cooking for all the students!”

“There’s normally thirty of us, but the vice dean thought it wise to cut us to 5 until the semester begins, Godsdamn…”

Ah, the Spire hadn’t begun teaching classes yet. I wouldn’t be needing to play catchup with any fellow students.

“…but a fifth of your useless fellows stay here classes or no, so who’s got to make up for the slack!? Why…”

I nodded every so often, paying attention to whatever salient details there were until the woman had finally exhausted herself. Her eyes holding me accountable for every misfortune she had sputtered.

“Perhaps I could help?”

“You! Why you think you can cook a meal fit for…”

“NO, my cooking skills are not very good. But what I can do is help clean your kitchen.”

She eyed me suspiciously.

“Why would you help us?”

“For a plate of real food, I’d be more than happy to help out.”

She laughed.

“You, in your filthy, bloody shirt, think you could…”

I held my palm up.

“I tell you what, you let me clean for now, if I do a good job you give me that plate. If not, you tell me to piss off and I won’t ever bother you again.”

“Humph! Fine, but just so you know where you stand, you’ve already failed in my eyes! And if you so much as steal a crumb, I’ll be taking one of your eyes!”

I nodded and followed her into the kitchen. I may have been starting the race several leagues behind the starting line, but I was in the race…

The plump woman ran over to assist the woman baking. I paused for a moment and took stock of the mess I’d gotten myself into. I noticed the large sink, paid attention to the layout of the tables, the cleaning tools at my disposal, counters, and the many, many sharp things. I steeled myself and rushed over to the sink. I wet a cloth and ran over to the nearest counter.

Systematically I moved every utensil to one half of a table, wiped it clean, moved them back, and repeated. The women were kind enough to let me know when I was in their way by shoving me, or time not permitting, slapping the back of my head. I would’ve been irate, but their animosity I could comprehend, unlike my leafy foes. This was their territory. My mother had always been the same, unless she barked an order to you, you steered well clear of her hearth while she was cooking.

Once the tables and counters were done, I picked up every utensil and dirty pot I could find. Using the sink and wire brush, I put my back into the work. Every so often a kindly, “Where’s my bloody such and such, nincompoop!” politely informed me that I was cleaning something urgently needed. Once in a while a flying spoon or pot to the back of my head served the same purpose.

When I was confident that the majority of the cooking ware had been satisfactorily cleaned (and I stopped madly clutching at the handle of the final knife), I moved on to the trash. I took the discarded bones, bits, and rubbish out a side door and piled them alongside their ilk. I took a few minutes as I noticed I was in the spire courtyard, the gray walls a few hundred feet away. There were multiple piles, the largest ones being for bones, hides, and inedible flesh.

I especially took stock of the bone pile stacked high with myriad bones of all sizes, chicken, ox, monster. It was really difficult to tell one bone from another. I grinned; the best solutions were those planned in advance.

Fresh blood and viscera now stained my shirt and clothes as reentered the kitchen. I swept the floor twice trying to remove all the debris. Next, I mopped from one end to the other. I informed the cooks when the floor was wet and received innovative thank yous such as, “Piss off!”, “You can stick that mop…”, and my favorite, “Did your water break, girl, or do we just excite you that much?”

A freshly baked roll mysteriously found its way down the back of my shirt. I did a little dance trying to remove the scalding hot object. Don’t stab them, Tome, don’t stab them… At least not in the daylight…

With all their work, the parts I’d cleaned were once again messy, though far cleaner than before. The trash had been dealt with, most of the floor no longer slick and crunchy, and the pots and pans could be seen to be made out of metal and not crusty sludge.

The sun was beginning to fall now, I’d been cleaning for over three hours without stop. I walked over to the sink and used the rag to wipe my face and clothing. I walked to the opposite side of the counter and was soon greeted by the initial woman. Her face still surly.

“Well, you did alright, not great mind you, but alright.”

She handed me a sandwich made from two pieces of freshly baked bread, a slice of cheese, and a fair portion of mutton.

“Right now the dean is on vacation, probably whoring his time away in the capital. You’ll need to speak with vice dean, Agrippina, about enrolling. She has an office on the third floor, there’ll be a sigil above the door, a white hand holding a red heart. About this time she should still be free, so you need to hurry over there. She does not take kindly to being bothered when it’s not her office hours.”

“Thank you,” I said, gladly taking the sandwich.

She looked at my messy shirt oddly for a moment, she appeared to be debating something. She flinched and returned to her gruff gaze.

“Whenever you want a meal, you just come ‘round the counter and put in an hour of work, we’ll call that good.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said respectfully as I left. I smiled thinking a certain scholar’s wisdom, his shield half red, half green. I was so busy eating my sandwich, and pleased with myself, that I didn’t realize my mistake. 12 minutes later and I was still roaming the long numerous halls and hallways trying to find the freaking door with the vice dean’s sigil.

Eventually I found my target. The white hand actually crushing the red heart. Blood was drawn spurting out, copiously. Not intimidating, no, not at all…

I cautiously knocked.

“Come in,” a very confident, feminine, voice beckoned me.

I gently pushed open the door. There was a large stone slab on four timbers that served as a desk, papers and quills neatly arranged in their own groups. The walls were decorated with papers and portraits uniformly hung. There was a wooden chair facing the woman seated behind all of that organization. Jet black hair, snow white skin, light blue robes, and shimmering light blue eyes.

I rigidly entered, turned to face her with my back straight, and clearly, but in a room volume voice, announced myself.

“Ma’am, Tome Rimoude, Lodestone Republic 4th Regiment. Here to enroll as a battle mage, Ma’am.”

I felt stupid, but falling back to military speak was the only way I wasn’t going to be a stuttering dummy. “Hello there, uh, scary vice dean lady. I’m here, uh, to enroll as, uh, a battle mage thingie.” Well, I wouldn’t have used those exact words, but I still would’ve sounded just as incompetent.

She looked at me disdainfully, her eyes keen.

“I thought the army taught its recruits a smidge about order. Do you care to explain your dress, soldier?”

Her response wasn’t totally unexpected as I had forgotten about my clothes in my injured state. Though seeing as I had no other clothes, remembering still wouldn’t have helped me. Congratulations me, first impression with the vice dean, terribly suicidal…

“Terribly sorry, Ma’am. Me and my friend…”

“Were you two rolling around in the hay, making sweet love, atop your slain enemies, orgasming in their blood and filth?”

Her lips turned up devilishly as she steepled her fingers. Those eyes carved holes through me.

Gods, why does no one ask simple questions? I missed the commandant…

I stood there confused, so she continued.

“The only thing that separates us from orcs and monsters, is order, Grunt. You either have a lot of nerve showing up here the way you are, or stupidity. Now, I’ve had to deal with many students improperly attired, but YOU…”

Her eyes glew, the room temperature dropped precipitously, and my breath was terrifyingly visible.

“I’m going to give you one chance to explain your wardrobe malfeasance, Grunt. You had better pray your story interests me far more than the one I just invented.”

“Uh, me and my friend were attacked by a water lamia yesterday, Ma’am. It broke his bones and tendons and stabbed me in the chest. Afterwards some strange dog things chased us on our wagon all the way here. We barely made it, Ma’am.”

She stared for a minute; the temperature slowly returned to normal.

“So, you’re the companion of the other worlder?”

“Yes, Ma’am.

She stood up, making her way around the desk.

“Your friend was seriously injured, he’s still recovering. How are your wounds?”

Her eyes noticeably softened and quivered upon speaking of our injuries. She reached for my chest. I grit my teeth and held back the urge to slap her hand away. She pulled the fabric down, examining the hole. She pushed a finger lightly in, poking my heart. A cold sensation engulfed the organ, before spreading rapidly through my veins.

I exhaled sharply and backed into the wall. The vice dean trembled a bit, before bringing the finger to her lips and sucking on it.

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it…

She walked over to her chair, eyes closed. Lost in thought, she sat down, the finger still in her mouth. I stood dumbly until she opened her eyes.

“Oh! Yes, well, since you suffered so much, I’ll let the dress code slip, for today. Now, let’s get you enrolled.”

Her eyes and one hand searched the shelves behind her while the other pointed sharply to the vacant seat. I sat down quietly, glad that I left the door open. I couldn’t be certain, but I might be able to make a run for it if she went berserk on me. Her eyes and power indicated that she was a water mage. They were not well known for their stability amongst mages.

She pulled out a box with a crystal slab similar to the ones we had to use during our service, though this one was onyx and not quartz colored.

“Now, as you’re probably aware, your crystal results when you enlisted were garbage, SP, 5. However, the last time you were tested your potential had vastly increased.”

I hazarded a thin smile; compliments were not very forthcoming lately.

“Though in all honesty, your potential was basically that of a slug when you started, so any improvement would be significant. What we’re going to do now is see if your SP is still at 32.”

“What do those numbers mean?”

She sighed, looking at me like some mentally handicapped gnoll, “SP is Sorcery Power, basically it gives a rough estimate of how many spells you can perform continuously. Average low-level spells will take 20 SP, medium ones 200, and higher ones 4,000-10,000, though there are ways around that, but we’ll leave that for your actual mage training. If you’re still around 32 don’t be disheartened, you can still be a fairly competent battle mage.”

I’m sure that means my odds of survival will be fairly good. Like a fairly good blade, that only shatters fairly often.

She lifted the box towards me. I touched the crystal. It began pulsing blue, white, and black in sequence. First the light was soft and soothing, then intense and painful, before conclusively settling for a steady dark blue glow. Somehow my name appeared on the crystal along with three constantly changing runes after it. I looked at her questioningly.

“The colors represent your affinities, the brightness their strengths. You have very good affinities for water, blue, and healing, white. You will be pursuing those as your majors.”

The way she accentuated my affinities brought me discomfort; I could feel her guile at play. I shuddered at the image of her being my instructor, she might use the water affinity as an excuse. Even worse, she knew about my healing. I purposely hid that from the army because I knew the outcome of that revelation; a guinea pig for swords and arrows. Here, spells and explosions.

Gods no…

“What did the black glow represent?”

“Huh? Oh, just the crystal’s natural state, probably.”

The fluctuating runes finally began to settle. The first one a cross and a p combined, the second a whirl with lines through it, the final similar to the top of a trident. The vice dean’s eyes widened, and she looked at me aghast.

“Hephaestan’s ass! How many whores did you screw between your camp and here?!”

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“If the women don't find you handsome, they should at least find you handy.”

-Other Worlder Scholar, Heraldry sigil Red and Green.