“You know why you’re here,” muttered a voice slimy enough to grease a wheel.

“Really? Do I get three guesses?” I felt a sharp pain in my shin as I was kicked by some pointy, pretentious shoes. “Damn it, two?” The shoe dug into my other shin. “Okay, shit, yes, yes.”

“You will tell me everything.”

“Ya sound like you’re a very busy guy, maybe we should pick this up later?” Now it was a slap, not too hard, though from experience I could tell this would likely get worse.

“After everything that’s happened, I have all the time in the world for you,” he spat with a click of his tongue.

My concern was that this could escalate quickly. I didn’t know what they already knew, so I wanted to buy as much time as possible. The trick would be saying a lot while revealing little, and hoping I received minimal beatings in the process. So, basically the same as a philosophy class.

He rattled my chair. “Talk.”

“Settle Petal, I’m always happy to have a captive audience when I tell a story, regardless of who’s the captive. In fact, I’ll do something spicy for you and begin at the beginning; my attempts to vacate my dorm on Day 32, Dual-cycle 04, Summer 87 of the Porungan Age. Better known as last Tuesday. One could say that I was running a tad late, something that is no doubt a surprise to you given my current uncharacteristic, yet highly studious garb.”

I used my head to gesture toward my singed booty shorts, while raising my single remaining eyebrow. Then I cleared my throat loudly and brought out my best ‘gather round children’ storyteller voice to begin my tale: may the time-wasting shenanigans be ever in my favour...

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I started my day as most reasonable people do, rising from my cadaver-esque slumber at the crack of noon. Before we go further, allow me to set the scene for you: You’ve certainly heard of the opulent grandeur of The Anjayan Guild’s sector grounds. The large marble pillars, the gaudy masonry draped in everblooming flowers, the gorgeous swirling scalloped shingles, the windows larger than houses. Yeah, my room was nothing like that. It could best be described as shit, in box form. A shitbox if you will. The ever-expanding nature of the dorms and Guild as a whole led to them ballooning outward in addition to upward, and I was at the bottom of the big sweaty man-pile that was room priority. My bed folded down from the wall to the floor so that you could pretend you actually had space if you dimmed the lights, squinted, and took a shot. It didn’t actually reach the floor so much as softly nuzzle against the lower section of the adjacent wall, but it gave me practice for sleeping through class. There was my wardrobe, and drawers filled with various things, doo-dads, and jigga-ma-whats, though I lacked the space for doovies. There was of course a questionable sink, and an even more questionable bucket, I’m sure you can fill in the gaps. I was told my room had a window, but due to renovations it just kind of glanced into my neighbour’s room and was covered with a curtain on both sides, though their side is known to part a bit after a few drinks and with audible mentions of an unloving father. I suppose one of my walls being made of shingles should have tipped me off. The shingle-wall was alright though; I used it to hang my very own Rune designs. I left barely any space on that wall; it was as spotty as my attendance.

Anyway, I proceeded to grab my freshest duds; those at the top of the pile that I had left in the sun. They should have smelled plenty fresh because the day prior I had dropped my cinnamon donut on it; bitches love cinnamon. My eyes scanned the room as I pulled up my pants. Books weren’t in view, I’d just skip them, it was just some crap on Flame Runes and binding. The potato peelings in the sink still hadn’t turned into vodka, the bucket smelled like I should put a third towel on top of it, and the clock was slow; It said 10, which meant 12, which meant late.

As such I had to casually haul ass toward the Guild Hall in the centre of the grounds. If you don’t know much about the actual grounds and its history then allow me to just fill you up with more of my meaty context. I basically grew up there, so I’m kind of an expert.

It had once been a small spire before it started attracting more students, rapidly swelling in size as it was filled up. It quickly stood erect high into the heavens and continually grew skyward, but people always said that it wasn’t big enough, so they were forced to add a pair of bulbous expansions at the base of the tower and countless small, sprouting buildings. With such size and power concentrated in a single location, The Guild was constantly preparing for a siege, so there were always Rune shapers active within; leading to the tower consistently pulsing and throbbing with magical power. This inevitably led to the construction of the mushroom-like overhang at the tower’s peak as it gave an ideal tactical advantage; those within the tower would command a height and cover advantage, allowing them to drop heavy loads on those below.

With the Guild grounds being such a clusterfuck, I had to get creative if I was going to get to class with enough time to pretend I wasn’t late. Speed was imperative, but exercise was hard and stairs are for peasants. Since my dorm was on the fifth of twelve storeys, this presented a problem, but nothing I hadn’t dealt with before. I legged it down the hallway, crumbling half a breakfast muffin for my furry neighbours in the walls as I went, and doing my best to ignore the larger neighbours with doors. Before I could reach my freedom I suffered from a great injustice; common courtesy. Another student, concealed behind the full stack of books he cradled, greeted me with “Afternoon.” I lurched forward with an awkward nod and silently squeezed past him. I reached the end of the hall without further interaction and poked my head out one of the only functional windows to find a familiar drape of vines passionately groping the building’s brick-y curves. The sort of curves that you’d buy a drink for, but not the kind you’d like to see on the side of your house.

My right hand whipped a pocket knife out of, well, my pocket, whilst my left fondled the vines outside searching for the girthiest and therefore worthiest one. With a hefty one in hand I carved a quick ‘Reinforce’ Rune into the vine’s tender flesh, my fingers feeling sticky as the fresh sap from within spurted over them. I instantly felt the magic being drawn from me and into the Rune, so I folded the knife back into my pants, and grabbed hold of the vine with both hands. My forearms were taut, the grip of my hands perfected from my many two-minute training sessions before bed. To ensure that I reached the ground I poured more of my magic into the Rune, ensuring the vine would remain rigid in my hands all the way to the base. As I reached the ground below I cut the flow of power and felt the Rune fade, the vine turning limp in my fist. I moved on, hustling my way through the back-side of the many wall to wall dormitories. I stepped my gangly ass over ramshackle fences, past audibly disgruntled and toothy creatures, and through foot-tall grass and mud. I emerged, shin deep in mud onto the clean, and shiny main cobblestone path.

This meant the only thing left between me and the Guild Hall were two mermen in a glorified pond. The Guild’s proud centrepiece, ugly enough that its mother would ask to be just friends. Channelling my inner artist, I dragged a finger along my mud caked ankles and scrawled out a sloppy brown Chill Rune on the lip of the stone rim surrounding the water. I waited a moment after the Rune was completed before I clambered over the ledge onto the now barely frozen water and began to glide across the ice, my arms windmilling majestically. I made it a solid five feet before I felt the dubious ice beneath me splinter. I threw back an arm to send a desperate rush of power to the Rune, but I felt that cheap shit blow itself out, barely giving me enough time to roll up my pants before my legs crashed into the water. As I straightened, I heard a tell-tale shuffle and looked to the path on my left to see a familiar stack of books walk by: “Afternoon”. With only 45 soggy feet remaining I thrust my chin high and strut past the frolicking mermen.

I emerged from the water feature, wet feet slapping a watery victory trail up to and through the Guild Hall doors. The place looked fancy, but a patched together sort of fancy. The stairs started thin and swirled outward as they got higher in the spire to match the expansion of the tower, like a stupid child spinning in circles that got wider as they got dizzier and pissed themselves. Then, as if to say ‘I meant to do that’, they slapped some marble on that shit and pretended it was intentional.

BANG. Bang. Bangbangbang...