16 Saun, 724
.
Kotton had decided on making this journey last second. This decision of his was a little more than he had bargained for since he had always been a man of planning, contemplation, doubt, thought, and anticipatory implementation. But he had, over the course of the season, finally conjured up the confidence and associated energy to board a ship destined for Viden.
All twelve trials of it.
Day two he had erroneously judged the chef of their ability to make him pasta. He wasn’t anywhere near competent enough to toss around an otherwise experienced ship chef with recommendations of tips as to how to make pasta, but he did anyway. It only ended up with him ‘walking the plank’, a fear tactic created by the ship to offset all the ‘land-lubbers’ and ‘soft citizens’ who so desperately attempted to renown themselves as 'people of importance' riding a boat that already had every notch, peel, and key that meant everything and everything.
The trials were worse for wear for an everyday individual. Kotton missed an ordinary dinner, one that didn’t consist of scallops and potatoes, the only one of which he could eat. He wouldn't make the same mistake again. Making sure the starboard was tidy was another thing, and it had left his muscles weak and depleted him of all existing energy. The flags that needed raising? He skittered on down the line of those who fell most responsible, hoping to all gods and goddesses that someone stronger than him would raise muscle and make sure those flags met their designated height. He wasn’t entirely unfit, but he was far from being as fit as the sailors that had been declared compatriots of this very ship he was travelling with. All sails to Viden!
That being said, the trials went on and on and on. They extended like the fact of time was increased sevenfold due to some unrecognized source of magic. Only a cough and shake, maybe and overexaggerated shiver, did the young man finally come to meet the destination he had initially sought to reach.
Viden.
Frost was ever apparent, and what had once been leaks of water had been like quicklime, transmuted into icicles. They had crystallised to meet the requirements of those who needed them. Where he thought warmth met cold, was the evolution of ice- translucent crystals that told stories only articulated by someone who had been present prior to it's chilling.
Still, no longer raging with the snowflakes that clouded his vision, Kotton stepped onto the platform from the ship and dared himself to look upon the city and observe. His legs shook beneath him, though due to the cold or the lack of having sea legs, there wasn't any way to tell. Still, the incontinence of his eyes spewed tears and that made him wish to evaporate such apprentice-hood.
Moving through the gate that filtered solicitors and loonies, potential enemies and unsavory tradesman, he had spent a tale in itself simply trying to figure out his bearings and communicate professionally with the locals. With that came the knowledge of appropriately taking a piss. Forget the need to figure out where his grandfather was. But still, where was he?
The local that met him had emerged from behind the front gates of the city. He was an Eidisi who went by the name Routailis. Routailis was someone who announced he 'had always been acquainted with Kotton’s grandfather'. He declared his knowledge regarding the likes of his grandfather’s whereabouts and led Kotton only so far as through the main entrance. Glorious doors of height, width, and length passed them as the soft, particles of snow drifted from the sky and landed delicately against his flesh.
The two exchanged farewells, Kotton ensuring he thanked his guide properly before making any additional stride further into the campus. And it took no more than a few strides into the campus before he became utterly and irrevocably lost. He had no sense of direction, no navigational skills what with only having just arrived in a new city. And Routailis seemed to be of no help at the moment.
To his left were corridors upon corridors and to his right were just the same. He knew of the various wings and the subjects they contained, but only three popped into his mind at that very moment: the Azure wing which taught arts, the Cerulean wing which educated those interested in technology, and the Sapphire wing which aided those in becoming more knowledgeable about secondary education and the likes. He only knew of these wings because they were all named after colours. He had spent little time teaching himself the likes of mnemonics to further his ability to memorise just where he was supposed to go. He would have to use his eyes to glance at, appraise, and intently explore his surroundings in order to jostle what little practise of mnemonics he had employed during his travel.
The young man made haste through the main lobby of the academy, cautiously looking from left to right at each of the corridors before stumbling upon something. To his right, connected via hallway of the Caesious wing, appeared to be a corridor marked by an arch appearing to have deep grooves in it; they resembled the likes of scratches. Kotton’s eyes lit up as he used a letter and word strategy of mnemonics to associate the word grisly to what the passageway was really called: The Griseous Wing. Down this very wing housed all the rooms and professors that studied and taught elements of the arcane. From what he knew of his grandfather, he was highly skilled in the likes of the arcane and magical disciplines, so it was a safe bet he could be found down this corridor.
But there was a hiccup. His journey meant ascending stairs to the third floor of the Prime Atheneum. This meant he would need authorised access since, as it seemed, this part of the academy was off limits to the likes of individuals such as he. He just wanted to find his grandfather, so how many obstacles would he have to face before he finally facing the one who had ultimately encouraged him to visit?
He tentatively passed room after room whilst on the third floor, before embracing the cold, though not without the recurring shivers that naturally rattled his body. He moved his hands up and down his arms, willing his long sleeved coat to use the heat of friction to cause warmth. Once his clothes had finally picked up on the cue and his body registered what was going on did he find his point of cessation.
He was kind of pissed. His grandfather knew of his arrival; he had been sent several letters during the course of the last few weeks detailing Kotton’s endeavours. But alas, no one was here to welcome him or embrace him or much less congratulate him on the long and forsaken journey he had undergone to get here. So he waited with a renewed sense of pettiness. He sank to the floor against one of the stony cold walls, crossed his arms against one another and feigned a smile that only those intuitive enough would come to notice as an expression that meant anything other than sincerity.
Almost an hour went by and Kotton was still keeping bay with the cold and resisting its wants to dig into his flesh and kiss his bones. He kept true to himself, remained hardy against the temperature he desperately wished to habituate to. Several people walked by him and several people looked in his direction with gazes of confusion, repulsion and disbelief, until one person in particular walked toward him rather than away and across from him. They seemed dead set on making conversation with him and this made Kotton feel a little nervous, a tad bit itchy. He took a deep breath, drew his head back against the wall behind him and looked to the side, but it was all futile- the person nearing his position against the wall was purposeful.
Once the person was standing a metre from Kotton was when they spoke "Greetings, my boy,” they announced with a stentorian voice that inherently made the young man quiver in his lacklustre boots. “I apologise for my tardiness.” His face was construed into a look of genuine disquietude. That’s when Kotton made the connection. Could this be his grandfather?
The man threw out his hand in an offering meant to assist Kotton up from his spot off the floor. Kotton took it and without any of the hesitation he had felt from recently having tromped up and down many hallways of various corridors.
Once he stood, his grandfather continued, “I’m so very happy to see you’ve made it. I’ve waited many arcs to see you.”
The ingenuity, the sincerity, and the etiquette from his grandfather were all bundled into one unbelievably beautiful present meant for Kotton to unwrap. He forgot entirely about the struggle that he recently needed to experience in trying to locate his grandfather- Routailis, urinating in an unfamiliar building, anxiously navigating a place unfamiliar to him, and suffering through the wait time taken for him to finally meet his blood relative. Kotton refused to let himself be taken away by the stupid, systematic, and utterly basic terms that resulted from
“It’s okay,” Kotton spoke nobly. Since his destination had been completed, he felt no remorse for having gone through what he had to.
“Since you’ve found yourself this far, I’d say you navigate quite well. This place can be a maze and it isn’t exactly a tropical getaway, if you know what I mean.” He gave his grandson a wink before using their connection via hands to guide him from the hallway and into the part that had been reserved only for authorised personnel; a restricted floor of the library.
“Are you ready to see what all your gramps has to show you?”
Kotton, still at a loss for words, glanced down at the name tag that had been pinned to his grandfather’s blue and immaculately ironed shirt. It read ‘Ardell Lucious’. He had the right person, thank the immortals. But was it the right person, thank to himself?
He straightened his shirt and raised his chin so that he appeared more confident before nodding and emitting a semi-convincing acknowledgement. “Yes.”
Ardell beamed. His smile was so large, so intense, and so utterly loud that it could have made a very compelling poem about just how gracious positivity could be.
Kotton let himself be drawn into the inner workings of the Viden Academy, but only with a tiny bit of worry.
All twelve trials of it.
Day two he had erroneously judged the chef of their ability to make him pasta. He wasn’t anywhere near competent enough to toss around an otherwise experienced ship chef with recommendations of tips as to how to make pasta, but he did anyway. It only ended up with him ‘walking the plank’, a fear tactic created by the ship to offset all the ‘land-lubbers’ and ‘soft citizens’ who so desperately attempted to renown themselves as 'people of importance' riding a boat that already had every notch, peel, and key that meant everything and everything.
The trials were worse for wear for an everyday individual. Kotton missed an ordinary dinner, one that didn’t consist of scallops and potatoes, the only one of which he could eat. He wouldn't make the same mistake again. Making sure the starboard was tidy was another thing, and it had left his muscles weak and depleted him of all existing energy. The flags that needed raising? He skittered on down the line of those who fell most responsible, hoping to all gods and goddesses that someone stronger than him would raise muscle and make sure those flags met their designated height. He wasn’t entirely unfit, but he was far from being as fit as the sailors that had been declared compatriots of this very ship he was travelling with. All sails to Viden!
That being said, the trials went on and on and on. They extended like the fact of time was increased sevenfold due to some unrecognized source of magic. Only a cough and shake, maybe and overexaggerated shiver, did the young man finally come to meet the destination he had initially sought to reach.
Viden.
Frost was ever apparent, and what had once been leaks of water had been like quicklime, transmuted into icicles. They had crystallised to meet the requirements of those who needed them. Where he thought warmth met cold, was the evolution of ice- translucent crystals that told stories only articulated by someone who had been present prior to it's chilling.
Still, no longer raging with the snowflakes that clouded his vision, Kotton stepped onto the platform from the ship and dared himself to look upon the city and observe. His legs shook beneath him, though due to the cold or the lack of having sea legs, there wasn't any way to tell. Still, the incontinence of his eyes spewed tears and that made him wish to evaporate such apprentice-hood.
Moving through the gate that filtered solicitors and loonies, potential enemies and unsavory tradesman, he had spent a tale in itself simply trying to figure out his bearings and communicate professionally with the locals. With that came the knowledge of appropriately taking a piss. Forget the need to figure out where his grandfather was. But still, where was he?
The local that met him had emerged from behind the front gates of the city. He was an Eidisi who went by the name Routailis. Routailis was someone who announced he 'had always been acquainted with Kotton’s grandfather'. He declared his knowledge regarding the likes of his grandfather’s whereabouts and led Kotton only so far as through the main entrance. Glorious doors of height, width, and length passed them as the soft, particles of snow drifted from the sky and landed delicately against his flesh.
The two exchanged farewells, Kotton ensuring he thanked his guide properly before making any additional stride further into the campus. And it took no more than a few strides into the campus before he became utterly and irrevocably lost. He had no sense of direction, no navigational skills what with only having just arrived in a new city. And Routailis seemed to be of no help at the moment.
To his left were corridors upon corridors and to his right were just the same. He knew of the various wings and the subjects they contained, but only three popped into his mind at that very moment: the Azure wing which taught arts, the Cerulean wing which educated those interested in technology, and the Sapphire wing which aided those in becoming more knowledgeable about secondary education and the likes. He only knew of these wings because they were all named after colours. He had spent little time teaching himself the likes of mnemonics to further his ability to memorise just where he was supposed to go. He would have to use his eyes to glance at, appraise, and intently explore his surroundings in order to jostle what little practise of mnemonics he had employed during his travel.
The young man made haste through the main lobby of the academy, cautiously looking from left to right at each of the corridors before stumbling upon something. To his right, connected via hallway of the Caesious wing, appeared to be a corridor marked by an arch appearing to have deep grooves in it; they resembled the likes of scratches. Kotton’s eyes lit up as he used a letter and word strategy of mnemonics to associate the word grisly to what the passageway was really called: The Griseous Wing. Down this very wing housed all the rooms and professors that studied and taught elements of the arcane. From what he knew of his grandfather, he was highly skilled in the likes of the arcane and magical disciplines, so it was a safe bet he could be found down this corridor.
But there was a hiccup. His journey meant ascending stairs to the third floor of the Prime Atheneum. This meant he would need authorised access since, as it seemed, this part of the academy was off limits to the likes of individuals such as he. He just wanted to find his grandfather, so how many obstacles would he have to face before he finally facing the one who had ultimately encouraged him to visit?
He tentatively passed room after room whilst on the third floor, before embracing the cold, though not without the recurring shivers that naturally rattled his body. He moved his hands up and down his arms, willing his long sleeved coat to use the heat of friction to cause warmth. Once his clothes had finally picked up on the cue and his body registered what was going on did he find his point of cessation.
He was kind of pissed. His grandfather knew of his arrival; he had been sent several letters during the course of the last few weeks detailing Kotton’s endeavours. But alas, no one was here to welcome him or embrace him or much less congratulate him on the long and forsaken journey he had undergone to get here. So he waited with a renewed sense of pettiness. He sank to the floor against one of the stony cold walls, crossed his arms against one another and feigned a smile that only those intuitive enough would come to notice as an expression that meant anything other than sincerity.
Almost an hour went by and Kotton was still keeping bay with the cold and resisting its wants to dig into his flesh and kiss his bones. He kept true to himself, remained hardy against the temperature he desperately wished to habituate to. Several people walked by him and several people looked in his direction with gazes of confusion, repulsion and disbelief, until one person in particular walked toward him rather than away and across from him. They seemed dead set on making conversation with him and this made Kotton feel a little nervous, a tad bit itchy. He took a deep breath, drew his head back against the wall behind him and looked to the side, but it was all futile- the person nearing his position against the wall was purposeful.
Once the person was standing a metre from Kotton was when they spoke "Greetings, my boy,” they announced with a stentorian voice that inherently made the young man quiver in his lacklustre boots. “I apologise for my tardiness.” His face was construed into a look of genuine disquietude. That’s when Kotton made the connection. Could this be his grandfather?
The man threw out his hand in an offering meant to assist Kotton up from his spot off the floor. Kotton took it and without any of the hesitation he had felt from recently having tromped up and down many hallways of various corridors.
Once he stood, his grandfather continued, “I’m so very happy to see you’ve made it. I’ve waited many arcs to see you.”
The ingenuity, the sincerity, and the etiquette from his grandfather were all bundled into one unbelievably beautiful present meant for Kotton to unwrap. He forgot entirely about the struggle that he recently needed to experience in trying to locate his grandfather- Routailis, urinating in an unfamiliar building, anxiously navigating a place unfamiliar to him, and suffering through the wait time taken for him to finally meet his blood relative. Kotton refused to let himself be taken away by the stupid, systematic, and utterly basic terms that resulted from
“It’s okay,” Kotton spoke nobly. Since his destination had been completed, he felt no remorse for having gone through what he had to.
“Since you’ve found yourself this far, I’d say you navigate quite well. This place can be a maze and it isn’t exactly a tropical getaway, if you know what I mean.” He gave his grandson a wink before using their connection via hands to guide him from the hallway and into the part that had been reserved only for authorised personnel; a restricted floor of the library.
“Are you ready to see what all your gramps has to show you?”
Kotton, still at a loss for words, glanced down at the name tag that had been pinned to his grandfather’s blue and immaculately ironed shirt. It read ‘Ardell Lucious’. He had the right person, thank the immortals. But was it the right person, thank to himself?
He straightened his shirt and raised his chin so that he appeared more confident before nodding and emitting a semi-convincing acknowledgement. “Yes.”
Ardell beamed. His smile was so large, so intense, and so utterly loud that it could have made a very compelling poem about just how gracious positivity could be.
Kotton let himself be drawn into the inner workings of the Viden Academy, but only with a tiny bit of worry.