*Date: 33,480 Second Quarter - Chalice Theocracy*
The giant halls of the academy echoed with footsteps and murmured conversations. Students clustered around a massive board mounted on the stone wall, names and class assignments written in neat script. The air smelled of old parchment and incense, mixed with the sweat of nervous first-years trying to spot their names.
Orric came close to Aris, trying to see his name. "Don't have to look. We're in the same class. Main teacher is Rathvoss."
"Ughh. He'll probably go back to hating me now that I separated from the human kids' faction," Aris muttered.
At the class, pretty much the same faces appeared. But new faces from other classes who chose the Templar route filled empty seats. The room was different, transformed. Desks and chairs had been removed, leaving only open floor space.
Rathvoss entered the class with the same demeanor: high chin, demeaning look, armor polished to a gleam that caught the light from high windows.
"Congratulations on choosing the right profession. All those priests will either become lapdogs to assigned country leaders. Or worse... ugh, you could have become scribes." His lip curled with disgust.
"As you can see, I removed desks and chairs. Before passing the third dungeon you don't need any theoretical knowledge. Either learn pain-giving spells and gut-wrenching weapon attacks. It is up to you."
One human raised his hand. "Then what are we gonna do?"
"You will prepare each other for the harshness of the world. Pair with each other and start punching." When he saw puzzled faces, he added, "I mean spar. Improve your talents. I will inspect and give ideas. I will take notes as well, don't worry."
Aris and Orric paired into two.
Aris looked at the lengthy wolfkin friend. "Don't hit too hard."
"Then don't use those millions of light missiles," Orric countered.
"I won't. I can't. Not now."
"Oh, okay."
"I don't know much about close combat. My dad taught me a couple wrestling moves."
"Fine, I'll teach you. You can teach me attack spells."
"Sure, I only know light missile anyway."
"Oh boy! Really?. You can't enter top thirty like this."
Orric and Aris sparred for a couple hours, resting every now and then. But some of the sparring was going rough and sometimes turning into actual fighting.
Rathvoss was barking, "Keep your temper. This is not the place."
Rathvoss came to Aris and Orric. "Why are you two sparring like an old couple? Show some grit. Aris, flare up those missiles. Orric, use the training dagger."
After class, Aris was kind of learning the intricacies of hand-to-hand fighting thanks to Orric.
"You going to study at the library again?" Orric asked.
"No. I was gonna pick out herbs at the garden and the woods."
"What? Why? Who is giving you these stupid assignments?"
"Myself. But since we need to both get better, come with me to the woods. I'll teach you light missile while you practice. I pick out herbs. Later we can spar actually in the open."
"I'm open."
They reached the back of the Academy woods. Aris started showing light missiles, his hands weaving patterns in the air, small orbs of light forming and dissipating.
"Could this be upgraded to Holy Smite? Because I need that to smite down those Shadowborns," Orric said.
"I don't know really."
While Orric was trying to produce light missiles, Aris gathered enough herbs to continue his potion making. The forest floor was damp from morning dew, mushrooms growing in patches between tree roots.
"Why are you gathering those anyway?" Orric asked, watching a small orb of light flicker and fade from his palm.
"I will make potions for the third dungeon. I don't have money to buy."
"Come on, what can you make that helps in there? You're probably a dabbler."
Aris gritted his teeth. He thought to himself, "When you're stuck at level one, you have to take every bit necessary."
"I think someone slow-developing like myself needs help. Now you want to spar for real?"
"Sure, I'm down."
Orric was producing small light missiles and tracing targets was slower than his hand-to-hand combat skills. But he needed to add stuff to his arsenal and Aris was trying to counter them with his magic shield and wooden training dagger.
After they were both tired, Orric said, "I don't know if we're getting better. But it was a good workout."
"I am getting better. I feel it. Now before darkness falls, I will head into the alchemy room at the basement. You want to come?"
"Sure, let's go."
At the alchemy room, Aris started hanging fresh cut herbs to dry and picked out the ones already dried. He prepared the minor strength tonic: Redthorn Berry, Bear Claw Powder, and Ale Base.
"I realized I can always make good potions. So I now light all three cauldrons and make small batches. And pray it works."
"That's odd. You always come up with odd stuff. If you know the recipe and you have correct ingredients, why fail?" Orric asked.
"I don't know," Aris said. But the reality was he was a player and the game put these stupid rules so they couldn't produce infinitely when they found ways to produce herbs with their skills.
Aris combined items in three different cauldrons and when he saw a faint glow at the third, he closed its fire and waited for it to cool.
"I think this one worked. Tomorrow I can bottle it."
"What did you make?"
"It's a strength potion."
"Hey, I want one of those."
"Sure, I can give you all my experiments before the third dungeon."
And suddenly the door creaked and Lyra entered in her wolfkin disguise.
"Aris, I need you to..." She stopped seeing Orric.
"Ahh sorry. I didn't know you had friends."
"Who are you? I didn't know the Academy had wolfkin staff. I am Orric, by the way," Orric said.
Aris panicked. "She works at the laundry side. She wanted the desk clothes. She saw them all dirtied from my experiments."
"Yeah, yeah. Young man, be careful in the future." She yanked the table cloth and walked away.
Orric crossed his ears. "What was that? Her accent was also weird. I guess she is not from the Atlas region."