Squirming in his seat, Tehran resisted, with all his available willpower, the urge to strip down and shred the damnable undergarment that clung to his crotch like a morphid to a corpse. "Bloody hell," Tehran cursed silently, "I'd rather have one of those flesh-eaters attached to my face over wearing this damn thing ever again." His frustrations made him wonder why the nobility would want to feel like this day after day, suffocating their nethers just to be fancy.
Tehran scanned the room he was in once more, making sure that no one was present or paying attention, before grabbing aggressively at his crotch in an attempt to unfuse the fabric from his skin. The thick breeches he wore made it all the more difficult, and infuriating, to adjust the undergarment. "Damn it, move!" Tehran whispered furiously as he pinched at the fabric repeatedly, only to freeze when he heard someone clearing their throat nearby. "Disciple Tehran," the man began, not meeting Tehran's eyes as he continued speaking, "the Elders will see you now. Please enter the office as soon as you find yourself properly… adjusted."
"Uh. Yes sir," Tehran responded, awkwardly moving his hand back to his side and standing up to follow the man ahead of him. "Sir," Tehran saluted, hand-over-breast, "what is your rank? I don't recognize your uniform, and need to address you properly." His uniform was unique and well-maintained, a white shirt under a buttoned black vest, his pants a gray dark enough to be nearly black. The three vertical buttons on his vest were a lackluster golden in color, but nothing else stood out to Tehran. There were no markings or anything else that could be used to identify his rank.
"I have no rank, disciple Tehran. I am a simple servant of the Elder and his Thanes." The man smiled warmly, "You may call me Sid, or sir, if you prefer, as you have been. Now," Sid continued as he turned and started walking," please do follow me."
Tehran simply nodded at Sid's back in response, following closely behind him. The awkwardness had disappeared, but the suffocating itch attacking his nethers hadn't. Tehran unceremoniously stuffed a hand into his pants and adjusted his underwear desperately. Relief soon flooded in as he freed himself from its evil grasp and pulled his hand back out with a smile. "Never again," he swore silently to himself.
Once again moving to the rear of the Main Hall where the Elder had tested him previously, Tehran looked once more at the stained glass windows on either side of the hall. The third mural on his right, the last of the three that he hadn't had time to look at before, seemed the most interesting. This mural depicted three men, two in front facing each other, while the third man was behind them cloaked in shadows. The two in front were stabbing each other in the stomach with the swords they wielded, while the man behind them watched, arms wide open in what seemed to be appreciation. Tehran, as first, wondered if maybe it was a duel that took place between two important people, but what he wasn't sure of is why the third man was observing. Tehran came to his own understanding that the third man probably convinced, or tricked, the two in front into fighting each other. "That's creative," Tehran mused, "get someone else to do the fighting for you."
"Quite so," replied Sid unexpectedly, not turning to look at Tehran as he continued to elaborate, "That mural depicts one of the most interesting tales from our Order. The one we have dubbed; 'Twice Beholden to Lies'. A common favorite. Perhaps you will hear of it sometime, though your time belongs now to the Elder." Leaving little time for Tehran to consider his words, Sid stopped just shy of the door in front of him, knocked softly twice with the back of his hand, then proceeded to open the door with practiced grace. His body bowed lightly as he gestured for Tehran to enter. "Disciple Tehran, if you would."
Tehran passed through the doorway quickly, while Sid remained outside, closing the door shortly after. He was nervous, but less so than when he first came to meet the Elder. This time, however, there were three people inside the room, and two of them were Elders, the third being the same Thane from before, Aaron. "Actually," Tehran realized, "I don't even know the name of the Elder from before. Did they ever mention it?" Tehran kept walking as he tried to remember, soon standing in front of the Elder's desk once more. "Go ahead and take a seat, boy. There is plenty for you to hear today."
"Yes, sir Elder." Tehran saluted, then sat down in front of the three men, making sure to acknowledge with a nod the second Elder in the room as well as Thane Aaron. They were not people he could afford to offend, though Tehran still mentally rolled his eyes. "'Do this', 'do that', and 'see what happens if you disobey' went hand-in-hand for everything. Proper formalities were a habit for most any neophyte now. Their scars kept as reminders of what was meant by 'disobedience is pain'.
"I suppose the first thing I wish to discuss is why, when I sought to find you, had you been whipped and placed in a stockade. You will speak, and I expect to hear every detail."
"Now I'm truly fucked," Tehran moaned inwardly, his inner worry likely plastered across his face as he began to explain. He told the story as it was. He and John had insulted each other, leading to a pleasantly one-sided fight and the destruction of John's ugly, now uglier, face. Of course, he toned down the spicy thoughts in his head for a more appropriate report to the Elder. But he still though about it. That was the fun part. He'd never forget that.
"Well, if nothing else you don't look very sorry," The Elder said, having digested Tehran's tale. "That sparkle in your eye is quite bright. You're smiling too. Try to hide that better next time." Tehran's smile faded quickly, his eyes looking anywhere but at the Elder. "Do not misunderstand what I said, Tehran."
"Sir?"
"Hide the emotion, but do not smother it. Think of what I said on your own time. Moving on, I'd like to introduce you to your official mentor, Elder Asbur. He will be training you to make the most of your talent in darkness magics. You are now, officialy, his disciple."
Asbur grumbled, stroking the long gray beard flowing to nearly the middle of his chest as he spoke, "You will do as I say, as I say it, when I say to do it. You will find my means of punishment for failure to exceed what is dealt by those buffoons outside. I am an avid believer that there is no greater teacher than pain, as I am sure you will come to agree. Though, I'll make sure to not kill you. If your talent is half what Elder Delos has claimed then you will become a most excellent too-," the Elder cleared his thought before correcting himself, "asset, for the Order."
Elder Delos, of whom Tehran finally learned his name, simply stared at Elder Asbur darkly. He was clearly not pleased with his words and was even more angry, it seemed, than Tehran was fearful.
"You will not be repeating past mistakes," Elder Delos said sternly, pointing at his fellow Elder. "If I find that you have damaged his potential in any way, I assure you, the Council will hear of it. This is not a seed that we will waste, nor will we be doing anything that shall fill him with hatred toward the Order. We need to create a powerful ally, NOT a powerful enemy." Elder Delos spoke angrily as he slammed his fist onto the desk to emphasize his point. "You will train him well and you will stay within the bounds of reason. Am. I. Clear?" Seemingly upset over Delos' outburst, Elder Asbur broke eye contact with him, crossing his arms and grunting once more, this time in dissatisfaction. Neither Elder seemed keen to continue the conversation, however, as both remained silent. "Sir Elders, a cup of coffee for each of you, should you want it." Somehow, Thane Aaron worked up the courage to present a distraction to the two Elders, and likely not a moment too soon. Asbur simply took the cup, but did not drink from it, while Delos sighed heavily and took a sip, his free hand rubbing his forehead in exasperation.
Tehran hadn't expected Delos to become as angry as he had, though, he figured that, from the two speeches he just heard, his problems would only get worse. One person promised that he'd suffer plenty of pain, while the other stepped in to try and prevent what seems to have happened to someone else before.
"Well, now that introductions are over I will provide you with two items," The elder opened a drawer in his desk, pulling out a pendant and a small book, and pushed both towards Tehran. "The first," said Delos, pointing at the pendant, "and most important, will be this pendant. It serves as a simple means of identification. It will allow you to enter areas restricted to others, such as the library or tome archive. It is also crafted from refined Aragonite, so it will naturally accumulate the element of fire." Hearing this, Tehran's eyes widened in excitement.
"Will it help me cast fire spells?" he interrupted, catching his mistake soon after, "-Sir."
Delos grinned, "In other words, it glows a little." Elder Delos chuckled softly, as if amused at the thought of dashing Tehran's budding hopes for flinging fireballs everywhere, "Use it as a light to read or something if need be. You might be able to light a candle with it after training for a few weeks." Tehran slouched back into his seat, frowning in disappointment.
"The second item," the Elder began once more, caring little for Tehran's change in mood, "is but your schedule. It has each of your new class' locations listed, the names of your new instructors, as well as when you are expected to be at each class. Six days per week, starting with the Day of Alm and ending on the Day of Kam, you will attend classes. The seventh day, the Day of Mar, is to be your rest day. Your first day will be the beginning of next week on the Day of Alm, which leaves you three days of which you will use to rest and recover." Delos glared Asbur one final time, likely serving as his last warning before sending Tehran away with him.
"You are forgetting something, Delos." Asbur stated, tapping his foot in impatience.
"Ah, yes, how could I have forgotten." Delos said as he turned once more towards Tehran, "Apologies, boy, but it is procedure after all." Waving his hand, thick tendrils of water coalesced from seemingly nowhere and restrained Tehran's arms and legs, bending him backwards over the desk, while another tendril skillfully undid the buckles of his vest and pulled the front of his shirt upwards. Tehran struggled to break free simply from fear of what was happening, but try as he might, the tendrils kept him locked in place. Thane Aaron then moved forward, gagging Tehran with a thick cloth as Asbur stepped around the desk and up to Tehran, looking down at his chest as he chanted several words that Tehran could barely hear. As he did, a thin smoke trickled out from his mouth and wound through the air towards Tehran's chest.
Then Tehran saw it - Aaron had, at some point, grabbed a brand from somewhere in the room and was heating it with fire from his palm. The metal slowly began to glow, transitioning from a deep red to a terrifying dark orange.
The Thane ignored his muffled pleas and choked sobbing as he shook his head from side to side in fear. As the brand came closer, Tehran lost control of his bladder, urinating in his pants and on the Elder's desk. He couldn't stop the Thane. He kept coming closer. Tehran closed his eyes so tightly it created patches of white in his now-hindered vision. Then he felt it.
Tehran screamed. His entire body spasmed in pain as his eyelids flung open and flaming iron met his weak, unprotected flesh. He could smell his skin charring and burning as they pressed the brand onto his skin for what felt like an eternity. The faces of the people holding him remained void of emotion as they seared a mark into his skin and mind that would never disappear. Tehran's voice faded as the brand was moved away, his breathing labored and voice cracking just as much as the cauterized markings in the center of his chest. The surrounding colors faded into nothing but darkness.
He never did see what the black smoke was for.