Secrets and Spellbooks (Cerise)

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Eirik Maste
Posts: 36
Joined: Thu Feb 28, 2019 4:06 pm
Topics: 8
Race: Galdor
Character Sheet: CS
Plot Notes: Grumpy Scribbles
Writer: Mythic
Post Templates: Codes
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Mon Mar 11, 2019 2:26 am

18th of Intas, 2719
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Don't let any of your former classmates know...

Eirik Maste heard the echo of both Dublin Phore and Omega Sonfield's voices in his mind as the last bits of paperwork that sealed his transfer to the higher echelon of Static courses were signed away. Though the transfer had occurred more than a week before, the words were fresh in his mind. Moreover, they were fresh because the round faces of some of his former Anaxan classmates were twisted with mirth at his expense.

Three auburn-haired boys of his year took a seat at Eirik's lonely table, and though the boy could just as well leave... they caught him at the very beginning of his meal. For too long, the young sorcerer denied his body of its needs, and the rumbling of his stomach was met with the furtherment of his already pre-disposed frailty as he hunched over his table, his fork in his left hand as he toyed with a piece of chicken. He did his utmost to ignore them, but that only seemed to incense them further.

"Where's the boy wonder always off to, hmm? Skipping classes is grounds for demerits, you know!"

"I'm not... skipping class, Farris. I've got other things going on..." His voice trailed off, and his pink irises failed to meet the eyes of the instigator. Another chimed in next, laughter heard all around the Gioran boy, who wanted nothing more than to finish his food and leave. This one, however, swatted at his hand, pilfering away his fork and throwing it to the ground. He reached forward, grabbing at Eirik's chin and applying pressure. His eyes widened, and a hand rose in a weak attempt to swat away the offending digits as he shouted out,

"Get off me!"

"Not until you tell us what's going on! I bet you're getting free periods when the rest of us work our asses off in class!" the boy known as Tivalt shouted out in turn, his features smug as he made his little 'clever rhyme. The third only snickered along, seeming more like a 'yes man' than an actual, proactive participant in the bullying itself. This more than the bullies themselves upset Eirik the most. People with the power to do something about the evil around them... but don't are the worst of the bunch, he thought as he grabbed at Tivalt's hand and pushed it away.

Then, Tivalt raised his hand, wrested away as it was, and swung it straight at the Gioran's face. Eirik pulled back, but the sudden motion drove him off balance. The young sorcerer fell to the ground, a pained cry parting his lips as he struggled to rise to his feet. He'd had enough! Besides, his grimoire was within reach of the children, and if they opened it, they'd see spells that none of them were remotely close to being capable of casting. Not wanting to blow his cover, the young man at last had enough.

Monite spilled from his lips in a single syllable. His field waxed with the attraction of the mona before he performed a Push. Tivalt took the full brunt of the spell, his arms branching out in a wild effort to catch his balance. He stumbled back for several steps before at last regaining himself, though that provided Eirik with plenty of time to retrieve his grimoire and take several steps back.

"Don't you idiots have anything better to do?" he asked, his breathing heavy as he crossed his arms over his spellbook, bringing it to his chest as his form quivered with the exasperation that came hand in hand with the situation. He slowly put the book into his bag, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked to the tray that held his meal. Then, Farris, seeing the shift in Eirik's gaze, immediately moved to sweep his arm over the table. The tray fell to the ground in clutter, and Eirik looked over to the waxing cafeteria line, which was full of people and particularly, faces that were turned in the Gioran's direction.

Always eager to stay out of the limelight, he drew himself to his hunched posture and began an effort to turn tail and run the other way. However, the third boy at last interfered. Though this one, much like his Anaxan friends, paled in comparison to Eirik's height, all three were far healthier and physically stronger than he. This one's hands moved square into Eirik's chest, pushing the young sorcerer forward and right into Farris' arms. Eirik brought his head back, crashing it into Farris' nose before he leaped forward in an effort to get away.

"Stop it!" he demanded, his fists clenched over his grimoire, tightly bound against his chest as he did his utmost to fight this losing battle.

"What did I do to any of you?"

"You're keeping secrets, ersehole!" Tivalt answered, his features twisted into a cruel grin. Eirik knew he couldn't get away. Already his breath was ragged, and he did his utmost to simply keep his distance in the faint and futile hope that a professor might step in to stop the altercation.

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