B3 – Chapter 3: Evaluation

Reginald gestured for Tristan and Felicity to both stand up, and she flew up to Tristan’s head before assuming her normal perch. “Please, follow me.” Reginald walked over to the chalk board and with a light touch it slid sideways along the wall, revealing a door. He went to the door, opened it, and walked through. Tristan followed.

The passageway opened into a large chamber – a huge rectangle with several orbs sitting atop pedestals. The pedestals were different colors, and the polished floor they sat above had different colorations. “These are artificed items,” Reginald stated. “First we start with evaluating your essence crucible. Do you know of the different rarities?”

“Yes,” Tristan replied. He knew enough from Obadai’s instruction as they traveled across the Sapphire Coast. “They go from top to bottom: divine, platinum, gold, electrum, silver, copper, and that rank or rarity determines how quickly essence regenerates.”

“A near-textbook answer,” Reginald replied.

“N-e-r-d,” Felicity whispered in Tristan’s ear, the lengthened-out insult done with such exaggeration that it caused him to chuckle.

“Please approach and place your hand on this sphere,” Reginald stated as he pointed to the nearest orb on the left. Tristan walked up and began to move his hand, but Reginald interrupted, “You must remove the gauntlets. Skin contact is required.”

“Sure,” Tristan unlatched the gauntlet from the bracer, removed the armored carapace, and then took off his glove. Placing his hand on the sphere, it illuminated. Starting a copper color, then turning silver, and rapidly up through the ranks of electrum, gold, and finally settling on platinum. I knew that much already, he thought.

“Impressive, but not unexpected given the little learning we have on Winterbloom Elves. Rulers of Elvenkind, correct?” Reginald asked.

“Yes,” Tristan muttered. “Do I need to keep the gloves off?”

“Yes. Now, Felicity, your turn. Please place an appendage on the orb.”

She flew off of Tristan’s head and flapped her wings to hover in place next to the orb. Putting her small paw on it, the colors shifted up in scale until settling on a bright, shining gold. “Just one below you,” she said triumphantly.

“High for a species,” Reginald commented with a grin. “Normally most species who have sentience and become students have copper or silver at the highest.”

“I’m s-p-e-c-i-a-l,” she replied as she took her place atop Tristan’s head, crowing out her prideful statement.

Reginald produced a sheet of parchment and a small board from his robes, and tilting his staff against his shoulder, made some marks with an ink pen. “Excellent. Next step, discerning available spell types. This is the most lengthy part, as each station must be visited…”

The next few minutes confirmed what Tristan already knew. He could use ice, fire, and smoke elementalism, illusion, flora, imbuement, artifice, enchantment, and fortune. There was not an examination sphere for dragonbane, but he assumed that was because only he, Bertram, and Gisele were the remaining practitioners and it was a closely guarded secret.

Felicity’s results demonstrated her spell types as illusion, enchantment, and transmutation – the last of which caused Reginald to perk up. “That is going to be invaluable at the higher Orders,” he stated. “Given your lack of overlap, I imagine you both will be in different courses.”

That filled Tristan with some concern, and glancing at Felicity he could see the same look in her eyes. It’s going to be necessary, Tristan thought. I cannot do transmutation. At least we can have some overlap in the other categories. He spoke up as the evaluation concluded and they stood at the farthest end of the rectangle chamber. “Is there any chance I can purchase spell books as a student?”

“You could if you have the coin,” Reginald replied. “The most prosperous of our students will purchase an Omnitome. And even those who do not have monies will take a loan out from the Citadel and pay it off through working at this prestigious institution until their debt is repaid.”

“This is all free? Food, lodging, all of it?” Felicity asked incredulously. “How do you keep things going?”

“Our field trips,” Reginald replied. “Many Realms value the free essence-weaving we provide with our students. It is practical, hands-on training for our pupils, and our partners in the other Realms keep us well stocked and supplied.” Reginald gestured to the stone wall, and the outline of where a door would sit. “Last, we have one final test. I did not mention it earlier, because it can scare off hopefuls. You will try to walk through this wall.”

Tristan laughed a bit at that, “Walk through a wall? You cannot be serious.”

“Most think that,” Reginald stated with a chuckle. “This will allow entry for new pupils. It also keeps those who have ill intentions from entering, at which point they are rejected. Or, if you were misrepresenting yourself – you would be rejected. The Wall of Truth, as banal as that name is.”

“Define “ill intentions,”” Felicity stated as she crossed her paws over her chest.

“Seeking to harm the Citadel, its staff, its students, or its purpose – including Realms we work with. This wall will weed out any who might have slipped past the wards at the tower entrance.”

“That’s not us,” Tristan said with confidence as he walked to the wall, slipped his glove and gauntlet back on, and then pressed his hand against the wall. It felt squishy, and as he pushed farther, he saw his hand vanished and could feel open air a few inches through the goopy substance. Pushing through, he heard Felicity go “Blech!” in disgust – but both passed through without issue, entering an austere, empty room.

Reginald walked through behind them, “And just like that you have enrolled. Now, let us get you set up with your advisor.” He tapped his staff on the ground, and the world compressed and warped before Tristan’s eyes.

They were standing in a grand, open space. A huge square chamber, filled with writing desks with individuals in blue robes seated behind them, staves resting against the desks in simple, bronze holsters. Thousands of voices overlapped as the blue-robed people talked to what Tristan assumed were essence-weavers. Threads of magical energy traced arcing paths through the air above the desks, carrying papers, books, inkwells, and scrolls in an endless stream of shuffling scribe supplies.

Several people were coming and going via teleportation, using the staves, and when Tristan turned to Reginald the man seemed to anticipate his question. “Every student gets a brooch with a First Order, limited teleportation spell artificed into it. It allows teleportation to anywhere within the Citadel of Essence or the grounds, as the whole continent of Yustat is the school grounds. You’re only restricted from personal quarter’s interiors and certain facilities that are faculty only.” He patted Tristan on the shoulder, “Come along. We’ll be meeting your advisor.”

As Tristan walked, he took in the sheer number of people here. Of all different heritages. Old, young, Vantir, Elf, Angelblood, Demihuman, Drakonid – all of them. “Does the Citadel have cross-Realm opportunities?” he asked, as that was the only explanation he could think of for seeing so many full-heritage, non-half-breeds.

“Mhmm. We have students from all Realms present. You may meet some who have never seen The Mortal Realm outside of The Citadel and its grounds.”

Felicity gasped, “That is so neat!” she patted Tristan’s head, “We need to talk to mom about letting some of my siblings attend!”

Tristan shushed her, and Reginald glanced back but said nothing. Tristan rapidly and quietly spoke, “En halua, että ihmiset täällä tietävät asemani. Tai että tiedämme kotimme valtakunnan suojelijan.” (I do not want people here to know my status. Or that we know the Realm Protector of our home).

She nodded, and kept quiet. Reginald shook his head and spoke softly, “Ah, you Elves with your mysterious language. I tried learning it, once. But it is tricky. If you want, I can assign you to an advisor that is fluent-”

“No,” Tristan replied. “Just Standard Tongue speaking is fine by me.”

They wound their way across several raised platforms above the ‘pits’ where the desks and various students were sitting. Eventually, they came upon a full-Demonkin woman: deep, black, almost pearlescent skin, shimmering, glowing red eyes, a pair of white horns that gracefully extended from her forehead before sweeping back, holding her short, black hair in place.

Reginald gestured, “Tristan, Felicity, this is Eloise Serre. She has been working here for four-hundred years and is one of our most experienced faculty advisors.”

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Four-hundred years?! Tristan thought incredulously. I knew Demonkin were long-lived, but she barely looks a day over twenty! He held out his hand, “Hi. Good to meet you.”

She looked between Tristan, Felicity, and Reginald with a stern, unamused expression. Then, she addressed the Angelblood admissions director. “Deux de plus pour mon dossier ? Combien de temps pensez-vous que je puisse encore supporter?” (Two more for my case load? How much more do you think I can take?).

The man sighed and replied in Demon’s Tongue, “Ils sont spéciaux. L’une est une fleur d’hiver, l’autre est un dragon-fée. Aucun d’entre eux n’a jamais été élève ici. Et je pense qu’ils méritent ce qu’il y a de mieux, n’est-ce pas?” (They are special. One is a Winterbloom, the other is a fairy dragon. Neither of those have ever been students here. And I think they deserve the best, don’t you?).

Tristan smiled, but kept his mouth shut. The less languages they know I speak, the more likely I am to pick something up they wouldn’t expect.

He knew Felicity didn’t speak the language, and she had an authentic look of confusion as she flapped down onto the table, “Hey! Speak in Standard Tongue…please.”

Eloise looked slightly intrigued as the corners of her eyes narrowed, her glowing, red orbs piercing towards Felicity as if trying to scrutinize her. “A fairy dragon…” she looked up at Tristan, “And an extinct- apologies, near-extinct heritage of Elvenkind.” She looked back to Reginald, “Sure, I’ll take them on.”

“Perfect!” Reginald clapped a hand on Tristan’s shoulder, “I’ll check in with you every few days since you are…quite unique. Take care.”

Tristan was going to say “thank you”, but the man vanished as he activated his staff. Eloise pointed to the chair in front of her neat, wooden desk with perfectly maintained paper, inkwells, and quills. “Sit, please.” He followed her instructions, having to shift his weight slightly to allow for his maul and unstrung bow to hang off the side. “I also see here on your admissions paperwork-” she said as she reached into a drawer and produced a sheet of paper, “that you have several spell types compared to Felicity.” She looked between the two, “First things first – do you wish to be free students, or pay?”

Tristan leaned forward slightly, “Give us the run-down of the differences.”

Eloise smiled slightly, “Free students get room, board, and are limited to a maximum of three courses per Season. They also get spell books – to borrow – and must scribe their spells manually into their own spell book.”

“B-o-r-i-n-g,” Felicity said quite obnoxiously. “I don’t want to do that!”

Eloise’s smile vanished and was replaced with a terse, lips-drawn expression. “I can tell you and I won’t necessarily get along famously.” She looked to Tristan, “The students who pay must give a flat amount of monies up-front – or can take out a loan through the Citadel – and will be given an Omnitome. Outside of the Citadel they are quite rare, but enable you to store any number of books inside by touching them to the outside. These paid students also get to take up to five courses per Season, with the ability to swap at any time instead of just sticking out the duration.”