☸Not an Unexpected Journey☸
Everything was packed...
What books he'd been allowed to take with him to help further his education were securely tucked away in two foot lockers currently being secured to the top of the carriage that sat outside, awaiting his arrival so he could be whisked halfway across the world to a school he had only just now learned of.
On the one hand, he couldn't have been more excited to be getting the ever loving hells out of the Manse. Since Saul had begun taking his advanced courses he'd become – frankly – insufferable. Warslik had no illusions that attempting to take his brother down a peg would have done any good – more likely it would have gotten him killed.
Yet, all the same there was some trepidation at the thought of leaving the “safety” of the Manse. However, it was as much by his own choice as by the will of his father that he was leaving – and he wasn't in any particular mood to argue.
Gathering the last of his things, he slung his pack over his shoulder and pulling up the hood of his cloak, made his way down the grand staircase to the front door of the manse. His new life awaited him through those doors – a life of not having to worry where the next dagger in the dark, or vial of poison lay.
It was with a small frown though that he stepped upon the step of the carriage as the servant opened the door for him, as he thought of leaving Lancaster behind. But surely, a horse such as Lancaster would have no place at such a place as the Academy. So with a shake of his head, and a hope that his best friend would remain safe and unmolested during his exile, Warslik Witherson finally allowed himself to sink into the plush seat of the carriage across from his father.
That's when he realized they were not the only ones in the carriage...
The woman wore a cloak much like he and his father, her hands were slim but well formed. No blemish showed upon her skin, nor line of wrinkle. In her lap lay a round, clear orb and coiled around one arm was a small green snake. It looked up at Warslik, but did not hiss, nor did it move beyond a few flicks of its tongue. Warslik could not see the woman's face, for her hood was lowered, but he was not about to ask to see it – nor talk to her at all. That just wasn't the way of things. Leaning back on the bench, he watched as his father reached into the sideboard and procured from himself a goblet and a bottle of Tasean Red. Pouring it – he corked the bottle and sipped at the goblet, looking out the window as they moved along toward What Warslik could only assume was the port.
“It shall be many hours before we arrive,” the woman said as she lowered her hood from her head, dark brown ringlets framed a familiarly shaped face, for Warslik had seen such a shape in the mirror many times.
But what stuck out most were the green orbs staring back at him. His eyes. No...
His mother's eyes.
She could be no other – for it had been said many times he had gotten his father's hair, but his mothers eyes.
“So I thought it prudent that I we talk before you are gone forever,” Melissa said, watching her son with a soft and knowing smile. “For even should you do poorly at school, your father and I beg of you, do not return to the Manse. You are not suited for such things. You should be free to live the life you chose to live.”
His father nodded slowly and continued to nurse the goblet of wine, eyes not watching as they traveled down the road. Warslik was not surprised. His mothers' appearance today was completely against tradition and his father was nothing if not a traditionalist.
He nodded his assent to his mother – his mind and heart burned with many questions for her – but he had too much respect for his father to cause him more discomfort than necessary. He may not particularly care for him – but he was his father.
After Several hours, the carriage stopped at port, and Melissa remained aboard as Warslik and Mathias boarded the ship to the island from which Warslik knew there would be no return.
The travel by boat was uneventful – and his arrival was hardly worth telling. However, he was continuously looking around, eyes wide in something akin to fear and wonder at all the strange things that lay about every corner. He had never seen the like – not in all his life.
His father left had left him when they had arrived on the island – they had exchanged no pleasantries, no heartfelt goodbyes – there had been no need. Now Warslik gathered his things, and began the arduous task of locating his room.
Once he found it, he dropped his things by the bed, pushing the footlockers as close to the foot of it as possible, before taking stock of his surroundings. There was a switch on the wall, and some device on the desk. Approaching the desk, he flipped the switch on the device and then jumped back.
“BY THE SEVEN HELLS,” he yelped as his hand stuck the lamp from his desk, causing it to fall to the floor with a loud clatter. The light remained on – bulb unbroken. Warslik nudged it with his foot. “What sorcery is this... light with no candle, no flame.” Frowning, he leaned down and flipped the switch again, then noticing a strange string like attachment, he pulled out his knife and cut it – freeing the desk lamp from its cord. Moving quickly to the door, he threw the lamp out of the room, not looking to see if he hit anyone, before turning toward the switch on the wall. With a flip, he once again swore loudly, and covered his head, his hand moving to the switch to turn the painful light off. It thrummed in his eyes and it made his head hurt. He shook his head, and looking up for the source, he noticed two small squares on the roof.
He could not reach it – nor would he attempt to. Instead he made a resolution to himself NEVER to flip that switch again. Instead, he moved over to his pack, and pulled out several candle sticks, candles and two lanterns and oil. It took a few minutes of careful arrangement, but soon the room was “properly” lit.
Moving to his footlockers, he dragged them to the book shelf – and popping each one open, began to go through them, stacking the rare and unearthly tomes upon the shelf.
He might just be able to get used to living here, provided there were no more surprises.