Savaric gazes out the window of his dormitory, looking over the castle grounds, the arching structures, pillars of stone and towers stretching into the sky to kiss the heavens and whatever lies there. The castle stands proudly with the mountains it was built on, as if it were a natural extension of the stone and snow sleeted beasts that peer down into the valley where the city lies, like a cat at the foot of its owner.
For years he gazed up at this very castle from the vastly different perspective of his father's black smith shop window, the behemoth structure set up above the reaches of the slums he lived in solidified its position of raw power, and illustrated the castle's unwavering authority. Sitting within the walls that controlled the fabric of his life was something that he did not imagine ever doing, and this is more than likely his last time looking down at the city in this manner.
He survived six months of intense course of study that has the sole purpose of rooting out those who don't acquire the intellectual abilities that make up the arcane arts. The fact that he has made it to Apprentice Initiation is nearly miraculous. It is rare for a commoner to handle such intensive study with how little education that social class is offered. Nonetheless of his success, ridicule from his peers is something that he could not escape. Your race does not nearly compare as a show of your character as the amount of coins in your family name's pockets. The lower class belong scrubbing the shoes of the wealthy, and it's an ideology the young mage had to learn to live with
"Oi, Apprentice Initiation begins in ten minutes. Come on, commoner."
Savaric breaks away from his thoughts, turning to see a fellow mage-to-be slipping on ravishing robes the color of a deep navy. Their silky nature was a clear sign of his wealth, and the subtle glow on the inside of his cuffs indicate that his robe is blessed with runes that improve thinking, and magic stamina. Savaric dorn greying robes that belonged to a student years ago and was left behind for the school, which was the only thing comparatively he could afford. It only made it less taxing for a person to find the poor one in the group.
"Alright, lead the way."
Following the boy in navy robes who Savaric had grown to know as Geralt from his months of studying with him, the two take off down the winding corridors of the castle. They pass by many servants preparing to keep the royal family fed and tended to as they watch the initiation, and some of their former instructors. The instructors give them polite nods, but Savaric couldn't help but notice the subtle glint of disapproval towards him, before they turn sharply away. They tried their best to kick him out for six months and the fact that they have officially failed was clear on their expressions.
Geralt and Savaric arrive at a chamber that empties into a small bridge overlooking a chasm between the mountains, leading into the castle courtyard. From where Savaric stood, he could make out quite the attendance of people.
"Ah Geralt, sorry that we couldn't have walked with you to the Initiation, you got stuck with the commoner."
Savaric turned to the familiar brutish voice. Alizon and a couple more of their student peers floated around him. He was a tall man, a few years shy of Savaric's twenty-five. He had short hair, the rotting color of rust, and a full beard that was shined and shaped to perfection. His role of favored son of a rich family feigning royalty was all too apparent, and his obnoxiously good looks only caused Savaric to resent him more. He had sleek black robes trimmed with gold embroidery, and he walked over to Savaric in a manner that said he was teaching a stray servant a lesson.
Geralt cast a nervous expression to Savaric, but offered no assistance and continued down the bridge and to the courtyard.
"I must say, congratulations on making it this far. It's quite the achievement for someone who grew up in a rat hole. What? Did your mother have to spread her legs for the community just to scrape by? Or lemme guess, your father is a farmer or a black smith who couldn't sell shit?"
He snickered with his annoying deep voice that slurred syllables together.
Savaric turns on heel to him, keeping his composure.
"I had to work twice as hard to get to where I am. Instructors waved a passing grade at you once they saw your family's sigil on your robes."
His crowd chuckled at Savaric's attempt of coming back at him, as if he was a kid who muttered something under his breath.
"Your hard work is meaningless because those Masters in there will not choose a filthy peasant who barely passed, as an apprentice. You might as well drop the robes and go back to the local whore house you slithered out of."
Alizon spat, practically shoulder checking Savaric as he and his onlookers took to the bridge, leaving Savaric alone in the chamber. Savaric tried to keep his composure, to hold onto his pride, but his peer's words dug deeply in the chink of his armor and he couldn't help but admit that Alizon was right.
His studying will amount to nothing if he can't get a Master today. His pursuit of becoming a mage will be cut right at its beginning and he will be sent back to his father and mother. Savaric closed his eyes briefly, and attempted not imagining such events, but was finding it exceedingly difficult.
Savaric walks across the bridge, and the cold gusts of mountainous weather coil around his body and robes until he is between the shelter of the courtyard's stone archways that are strangled by the vines sprouting from the contained plots of gardens scattered decoratively throughout the wide space. Stone statues of historical symbolic figures reach their lifeless fingers above the crowds of people, fountains trickling water from thin air around the statues' calm and somnolent faces.
At one end of the courtyard, raised slightly by a small podeon, was the King, Queen, and their small son doddling at the edge of the raised floor, jumping up and down, a knight dressed in gleaming armor facelessly scolds the child behind a visor, more than likely telling the rebellious fellow to calm down. Masters stood surrounded by students and apprentices at the edges of the courtyard, their robes a magnificent and sophisticated contrast to the dress of the people observing.
The King stands, and a magic knight guarding the royal family blows a horn that reverates its bassy call through the jowls of the courtyard. The idle wave of voices calm to a silence and attention is drawn immediately to the King.
He stood straight, a man bejeweled with ornaments of wealth and power, a yellow cloak dorned with thick white fur trailing over his body, the small details of gold glinting sharply in the sun high over the mountains above us. His crown was placed lazily over scruffs of greying curls, and his wrinkled face forms into a smile looking over his audience.
"Welcome, to the 155th annual Apprentice Initiation! Today, we see these youths to one of our fine selection of Masters here today!"
His voice was practiced in the art of public speaking and its raspy sound fills the courtyard, he stands confidently with his hands outstretched, animating his words.
"Now, without further introduction, may the selection commence! Good luck!"
Chatter and movement crashes over the crowd, and the ceremony comes to a life. Savaric for a moment is overwhelmed by the volume of activity, and stares incredulously at the crowds of people.
Young mages in student robes flock like insects to a lamp in the night to the Masters surrounding the courtyard. This was it, he had to find a master here or now. He had to prove Alizon wrong. He may have been a peasant all his life, but he has earned his graduation from his schooling just like the more wealthy students around him. Feeling more confident of himself, trying to keep his heartbeat calm and his mind collected and sharp, Savaric presses through the crowds of citizens come to spectate the event. A thin Master standing in a sweeping garb of violet robe was speaking to a freckled young sorcerer Savaric could recognize from Spell Casting Theory.
Something about the tan appearance of her skin and the shape of her face was puzzling Savaric, until he neared her, he realized that her face was covered in dark spotted fur the color of ivory. She was a leopard beast-woman. The woman nodded to the boy mage before her, having to slightly slouch to level herself because of her tall and slim form, and the mage excitedly walks off, clearly satisfied with their conversation.
Savaric, his throat suddenly the texture of sand, cleared it nervously as he approached her. She looks up to the mage as Savaric spoke.
"Um- Good afternoon, Master..."
Savaric trails off, realizing he didn't even know her name. The beast-woman regards the tall mage cloaked with threadbare hand-me-down robes with perplexion, her eyes a teal glow.
"Master Anishika."
