“Look, I have to get a message to two of the masters at least, they’ll be worried about me!” Coney said. “I was down there because I fell, they might think I’m still lost.”
“I’m sure they can handle waiting a little while longer. You will write an apology letter to them, before beginning on your REAL work.” The older man grabbed him firmly by the ear. Coney didn’t realize his ear would be quite so sensitive, and it felt worse than being dragged by the hair as he was dragged through the halls.
“Ow, ow, ow.” He yelped repeatedly. “I get it, you don’t hafta, gah, yank so hard.” He tried to say, but the guy with the sash would not let up. Coney was dragged up three flights of stairs, purely by his sensitive and… by the end quite sore ear.
“I don’t believe anyone like you should be allowed to wander these halls. This is a place for quiet reflection, not the rambunctious wanderlust your kind so often exhibits.” The man said. “I am Master Aloysius, the master of young initiates. I’ll whip you into shape young man, you’ll see!”
As he walked down the halls Coney couldn’t help but notice all the walls were… made of a similar brown stone to the undercroft. Even the cloister outside, where the stone was carved into patterns and reliefs. It was a different stone than he’d seen in the older looking caves, implying different eras of construction. His train of thought was interrupted with another yank to his ear.
“I get it, you don’t have to keep doing that.” He said, yelping. “I mean, it’s not like I’m lagging behind or anything.”
“You aren't paying attention to me. I bet you don’t know a word I said since I introduced myself. It’s rude novices like you that make this so much harder.” Master Aloysius stopped, now on the top floor, in front of a balcony. It also opened up onto the cloister. Where he could see the garden and the students within. “Yes, from here I can observe the GOOD acolytes, while also observing and making sure of your punishment. I simply can’t let you out of my sight, you will be in my office for the rest of the day.
Coney turned around and there was the door to the master’s office. Aloysius unlocked it with a simple iron key, and let him into the room. It was nicely appointed. There was a rug on the floor, and one of the walls was covered in book shelves, across from a desk. Next to the desk was a much smaller table, sized more like little tykes furniture. The master, of course, pointed at the little furniture. “Here, supplies.” He said, handing Coney a stack of paper and a pen. Set within the little table, so as to not knock it over, was an ink well.
“You will begin by sending the note to the other masters. Following that, you will come to me for further instructions. Do I make myself clear?” He had a mean glare, and Coney couldn't respond but to nod simply and move on.
Dear Masters,
As a humble novice I apologize for my tardiness in reassuring you that I managed a safe e scape from the pickle predicament you found me in. My exuberance for safety turned out too loud, and interrupted the training in the cloistered yard. As such, I am to learn my letters more thoroughly, as well as do further exercizses, all for the sake of punishment.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
I will speak to you further later, when my punishment is over.
~ Coney
It was a rather short note, but he made a variety of mistakes, particularly with the use of the dip pen. He simply didn’t understand how to use it properly at first, and the paper ended up covered in ink splotches. He hoped his language was respectful enough, because he didn’t want to get any more punishments as time went on. Looking up at the recording, Coney realized he’d have to cut most of this out for anything to be remotely watchable.
“What kind of game is this?” He asked his eventual viewers as he rolled up his paper into a scroll. “I got punished for doing something that was a part of my starter quest, without much recourse. I mean, I understand realism, but sometimes realism gets in the way of good storytelling.”
When he turned his focus back down and got ready to go up he realized he’d gotten a notification.
Skill Acquired: Scribe
As always, the statement was nebulous without much information. He supposed it was self-explanatory, but still sometimes he wished this game had more hand holding. Dismissing the tooltip he got up, legs cramped from the little chair, and walked out the office door. There, with his back to him, was Aloysius. “Ah, good. I was hoping you wouldn’t dally too long.” He said, not even bothering to turn back.
“You heard my pen stop?” Coney asked, raising his eyebrow. This teacher was far more conscious of his surroundings than he’d have given credit for.
“Among other things. I also heard you roll up your paper, and come to hand it to me. I also know that you are completely useless with writing, as you just smudged many of your last words, since they were still wet.” The professor turned, but he had a softer and less harsh expression, almost a smile. “You forgot about the sand used for drying the ink. Honestly, it’s exactly as I expected, you are practically a child. It’s good, your punishment will be more helpful than harmful.”
“I… wow.” Coney said. He wasn’t sure how to react to how quickly Aloysius assumed he was a noob, or even an imbecile. “I suppose you’re right, I have a lot to learn…” It wasn’t going to be any worse than anything else he’d forced himself to learn over time.
“Tommy, take the scroll.” Coney turned to find that there was a young boy in robes like his. In fact, the boy wasn’t much shorter than him, despite obviously only being twelve or so. The boy turned as soon as he got the scroll, and began to run. “No running in the halls.” There was a hint of humor in the master’s voice.
“Alright, what next?” Coney asked, hoping to score brownie points for being eager, and besides it would be way more interesting than doing literally nothing in protest.
“It is simple. You will spend the rest of the day copying out from scripture, line by line.” Coney sighed deeply, that was definitely not… the best thing he could be forced to do. He’d gotten out of Sunday school pretty quickly as a kid, and he’d never looked back. “Here, this should be fine.” The professor took down a leather bound volume, and placed it on the little kids table. It was beautiful, and Coney was almost afraid to touch it. With a breath of courage he breathed in and out, and opened up the book.