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Search for the Cure

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Daylight filtered through the stained glass in the thin windows of the student barracks, dull and contaminated with errant particles of dust. The stone walls were thick, but not enough to drown out the perpetual suffering that wailed just outside the Academy's gates. A young woman, barely out of her twenty-second summer, rubbed the sleep from her eyes before shoving the covers down with her feet. She rolled ungracefully out and up, and shuffled to one of the curtained-off washbasins to prepare herself for the day. Once finished, she made a quick sweep about the rest of the beds and found them empty; she scowled.


"Damn it all," she mumbled gruffly, still not quite awake as she strapped her leathers on.


A fortnight was hardly enough time to whip hero-hopefulls into proper form, but time was not on Neverwinter's side. Still, being the last to wake for the final class before a graduation ceremony--glorified pomp and circumstance and all useless, as far as she was concerned -- was no way to greet an occasion that would finally see her free of the place. Her armour squeaked lightly as she walked, and she groaned to herself -- the notion to oil up the leather the night previous went disregarded in favour of banter with a few of her classmates; she would pay for it later, surely.


Having the training rooms so close to the barracks themselves was useful, perhaps, but not at all favoured; it only took a few steps before the sound of clashing and clanging echoed and bounced off the walls. Training dummies, lined in rows and varied between bull's-eyes and humanoid mock-ups, were taken up by warrior trainees. Drill sergeants screamed at them all, marching up and down and barking corrections to stance and parry techniques--none of which interested her. Sole against stone shuffled as she turned heel to leave, thoroughly ignoring the shouts of an instructor who managed to catch sight of her before she managed to escape.


Just keep walking, she thought to herself, picking up the pace. Damn loudmouth can't interrupt an ongoing class, once I get there.


Those shouts got louder, and it was with a sinking realization that her pursuer either had longer legs than she, or was incredibly set on dragging her to menial grunt training. Green eyes locked onto the furthest door on the left, and she couldn't have been happier to see it open on its own. From it, a halfling woman stepped out and set her hands upon slim hips. "Eva! 'Bout bloody time you showed!" she scolded. "Ye've missed a quarter of the class already, get y'r arse in here!"


She was all too happy to oblige -- a half hour more, and she would be that much closer to Aribeth's blessing.


If only it were that simple.