27th of Winter, 497 A.V. “Now this is a tremendous, awe inspiring utter mess worthy of an epic tale sung by Rhaus himself. Now you get to appreciate that time honoured activity which all guardians impart to their charges, children and disciples. Clean this filth up!” That small diatribe was what his mentor had dropped upon Stas’ head. Every word had been accurate for at the moment, he stood in the near centre of the room that had been designated the practice area of the house. Most buildings in Avanthal were created from wood or icerock, and his home was no exception. Thick, heavy wooden planks made up the construction of this room and its two doors. At the moment, there were two wood desks in the room of a lighter wood, one with an adjustable and typically slanted surface, another with a wider and immobile flat surface. These were usually kept orderly, with various papers, quills, ink and other writing tools and accessories. Also found were books and scrolls and parchments, and in one tightly bound roll what looked very much like wands. Today, everything that may have been on them was thrown around the room, and the desks themselves lay on their sides, with a great pool of red and green ink soaking into the wood beneath the slanted one. The reason why his mentor had been perfectly correct in his statements and shouting was that the fault of the mess could be laid entirely at the feet of Stas. Why this was so, could be understood if one was able to hear his frenzied muttering that went on as he cleared it up. “That irritating old stack of kelvic piss! Two and a half hours being sat in that hard, sharp chair writing the same blasted sentences over and over and over again. And whatever the hell he has done to the desk so that if I spill ink on it, I get shocked or stabbed or nicked by something I cannot even see! On top of that apparently every letter has to be uniform, it’s just not good enough for him that he can read what I’ve written, and it must be ‘fine, elegant, in good order, attractive’ and so on and so forth. Is it so mad that I would have a snap point if I don’t have a chance for a break?! So what if I used a little, well, more than a little wind to let off some rage.” A low, tired sigh puffed free from his lungs as he righted the two desks. The cleaning took what felt like ages, but was closer to a quarter of a bell. When it was all sorted and ordered, save for a dark and roughly oval stain under the slanted desk which no amount of scrubbing could remove, he shouted for his mentor. “Have a break and go let off the rest of that steam outside. Out back not in front of the blasted house! And remember, no matter how hypnotic the forms of snow may become, stop when you feel the tiredness coming, not when you hear voices!” Having learned the value of not slamming the heavy door behind him, Stas left the house. It was situated in the Skyglow hold and its location on the relative outskirts of said hold, was something that suited him just fine. Tying the belt snug around his waist to ensure that the heavy fur coat kept the cold out, Stas did not carry the mark of Morwen after all, he made his way further through the snow. He and his heavy, crunching boots, was looking for a good clear patch that was not overly compacted. It being winter, it did not take him long to find such a place. |