The last of his strikes delivered, the Thane holstered his whip and turned towards a Neophyte presenting him a woolen towel. "Have his wounds dressed," The Thane announced, wiping his hands, "then place him in the nearest stockade." Several Neophytes responded stiffly, saluting as they did so. Tehran could feel the Thane's gaze focus back onto him from behind. "Don't look at me," Tehran commanded in his thoughts, not daring to speak the words aloud but hoping with fervor that the Thane would turn his gaze away. He heard the Thane snort obnoxiously, fading footsteps the signal that the Thane had turned and begun walking away.
Whatever unseen strength was keeping Tehran strong left his body in an instant, a nauseating weakness was spreading through him. His arms and legs quivered and his back burned as if licked by fire. These wounds, like the others, would likely scar. They would leave a permanent mark on his body, but not his mind. "I will remember this," Tehran whispered, "I will remember you."
It could have been a couple of hours, a few minutes, or perhaps a day that he spent in the stockade. Time blurred for Tehran as he waited to be released. His eyes saw, but nothing truly registered. Everything around him meshed together in a nondescript mural of colors. His mind felt numb and fuzzy, as did his body, but the pulses of pain were still present, though they felt more like an undulating itch that wouldn't subside, scratching at the back of his mind more than actual pain.
"…at me, Neophyte." Tehran's mind slowly shifted back to reality, his eyes struggling to focus and truly understand what, or who as he came to realize, was speaking to him. "I was starting to think you dead for a moment." It wasn't his Thane, Tehran groggily came to realize as the man continued to speak, "Who placed you here, boy?"
"Huh?" Tehran respond dumbly, the man's words not registering until a moment later, "It… It was a Thane that punished me. I do not know his name, sir…?" Recognition flooded Tehran's mind as he craned his neck against his restraint to look at the man in front of him, the Elder, in front of him. It was the very Elder that he had spoken to earlier.
Tehran felt fear tighten its grasp around his heart as he quickly voiced an apology, "I-I'm sorry, sir Elder, I didn't recognize you for a moment." The Elder didn't seem to care, though, as he began speaking once more, "I see, well, we will deal with that shortly. Release him," The elder commanded someone, two someones, judging by the multiple sets of footsteps behind him. Tehran's bindings were released in short order, the rough wood and cold metal lifting up and away from his neck and wrists. Try as he might to stand, Tehran's back refused to straighten, but his legs, seemingly all to eager to do so, buckled underneath him as fell to his knees, body devoid of strength. Tehran heard the Elder grumble angrily, so he tried grasping at the stockade as leverage to stand and face him.
"Do not force yourself to stand. You two, take him to his barracks after having a healer tend to his body. I have some matters to deal with in the meantime." Tehran said nothing as the two people approached him once more from behind. One of the men, likely a Thane judging by his uniform, crouched down in front of Tehran while the second person hoisted him onto the Thane's back to be carried. "Ha," Tehran mused to himself, "a Thane carrying a Neophyte on their back? I must be the luckiest trainee alive to get treatment like this."
"Oh," Tehran heard the Elder speak again, "his new barracks, not the rubbish he was in before."
"Yes, sir Elder," both of the Thanes replied simultaneously.
Tehran remained silent as they walked, attempting to ignore the aching pain now overtaking his entire body. He was weary, or perhaps exhausted was more accurate. It had been around a year ago that he last felt like this, after being whipped and stockaded just like today. Sleep was the only thing that could heal him now, and his body was clearly ready to shut down. He gladly let the pull he felt for rest embrace him, darkness creeping in and covering any form of light and color that may have been present before. Silence, and darkness, graced Tehran's tired mind and body.
Tehran stirred from his slumber slowly, eyelids heavy and nearly unwilling to open, but open they did, and Tehran found himself in a completely foreign room. It wasn't his barracks, that much was certain, the most obvious difference being the size of the room. It was less than half that of his barracks and there were, at most, eight beds in total spaced evenly around the walls of the room - they weren't even bunk beds, but individual beds for a single person. "Oh, hell, I could get used to sleeping in a bed like this," Tehran half-heartedly quipped aloud. "It's fluffy and soft. Fuck those hay-stuffed canvas beds, I want one of these things." Closing his eyes once more, Tehran let his body melt into the bed, his mind clearing just enough to realize that something wasn't right. He felt fine, too fine. His back didn't burn. His legs weren't powerless. He felt tired, more so than normal, but that was the extent of it.
Rubbing his hand along his chest, where he expected bandages to be wrapped around his body, he found nothing but his bare skin. Sitting up, Tehran twisted his arm around to feel his back for wounds and, though he felt an abundance of scarred flesh, he felt no pain or split flesh. It was as if he had dreamt up the whippings.
"Admiring the work of magic, eh boy?" Tehran nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice, whipping his head towards its source, his Thane Lamar. "Sir Thane… Was it magic that healed me?"
"Aye, it was. Probably the first of a lot of special treatment that you'll be getting." Thane Lamar grunted, looking displeased. "An' how the hell did you end up a bloody disciple anyway, ya little shit."
"Disciple? What's that?" Tehran asked, having never heard the title before. Instead of answering, Lamar rolled his eyes, and head, so hard that Tehran was sure he was able to see inside his own skull.
"Just get dressed and return to the Main Hall, you're expected to be there as soon as you're able. Which means now." The Thane pointed to the foot of his bed where, Tehran assumed, would be a set of training garb for him to wear, then stepped out of the room and disappeared. "Shitty old man," Tehran whispered with a chuckle, "And you're a four-foot tall cunt!" He heard the Thane shout from outside of the room. "Wha-" Tehran stuttered, nearly unable to believe what he heard. Though, he didn't really know what a "cunt" was, so it left him more confused than anything. He'd have to ask his language teacher what it meant some other time.
Throwing his feet over the side of the bed, reluctantly at that, Tehran stood up and looked back at it. He frowned, "I'll miss you, oh comfy bed, but it wasn't meant to last." His short moment of remorse over, Tehran walked to the foot of the bed, glancing at what lay there. It definitely wasn't his old training garb. Gone were the holes in his shirt and pants, replaced by what looked to be a light-gray tunic, black breeches that appeared to be designed with his race in mind, and a black leather jerkin meant to protect his back, chest, and stomach from bladed weapons. The jerkin was meant to fit over his tunic like a simple jacket, four leather bandings in front with brass buckles to keep it snug. The most attractive part of the armor, though, was the large golden feather embossed on the left breast of the jerkin. It likely was meant to be a crow's feather, not that he could tell one feather from another, but since the Elder had a crow sewn onto his robes it made sense. Either way, this was likely the nicest clothing that Tehran had ever been given the pleasure of possessing.
Ironically, there was also a pair of boots, obviously not something that he would need, given his… What did the anatomy instructor call them? Drigi- dig-digitigrage… "Digitigrade! That was it, digitigrade legs. So glad I have wolf-like legs and not goat legs like some other Tulkan…" Smiling at remembering the complex word, Tehran picked up the the clothing to begin getting dressed, only to notice another article of clothing that he hadn't before, since it was wrapped up in his pants. An undergarment. They actually gave him an undergarment to wear. "Aren't these for like, nobles?" Tehran smiled and laughed excitedly, stripping down nude before throwing everything on, one piece at a time.