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Dozens of burly men were gathered around a feast fit for royalty. Thick slabs of meat from all sorts of beasts were piled high atop their silver platters, dripping fat onto the ornate tapestries around the dining room table. One of them, Roan's father, rose from his chair with a large glass of wine held in an even larger hand. The motley of furs that covered his body rose with him, making him appear more beast than human for a few short moments. Roan's mind was elsewhere, incapable of perceiving anything but the man's bearded mouth opening and closing. It was only when a strong pat on the back hit Roan that he realized everyone present had turned their heads to him. He was being congratulated. 

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It had felt like an eternity since the day the academy had accepted him. Through a few hushed donations aided further by connections, but accepted nevertheless. Neither his brothers nor the rest of his family knew the truth, so the boy had paused every time an employee had politely asked about his background. He was relieved that the arrival was nearly over, at least. 

Roan stepped out of his carriage, nearly forgetting to acknowledge the coachman's existence. He glazed over the walls of the academy and wrapped his arms around himself in a manner that didn't look comfortable. It was the least he could do to not feel so exposed with how thin his clothes felt. For Roan who had been accustomed to sleepless nights in cramped chambers, surrounded by hand-etched glyphs up to the ceiling, hands soiled with ink and desperate to write more, the gentle outskirts of the academy were alien to him. They had nothing in common either with the wintry plains of Kyavik, that demanded one bring a shovel and a rifle at the minimum. 

[color=fa6800]"Indirect information. Instructions?"[/color] he muttered to himself. His eyes flickered towards a boy his age receiving directions. 

Unfortunate. He had hoped their welcoming ceremony would be informal enough to allow him to explore the academy to the fullest extent of his desires. Roan expected no less from such a prestigious academy, however. He reasoned it was for the best to do as told for the time being. 

On the surface, the deal he struck with his father seemed simple enough. The game piece known as Roan Borza would be relocated elsewhere so as to not drag the rest down, and as a result it would be spared from having to participate in the modern clan's battlefield, the gathering. He would use this opportunity to elevate his abilities in the refined and complex art of magic, and thus function as a sort of ornament for the rest to gawk at and admire. There were other implications, however. Having a skilled magician in the family had its uses if the relations between clans ever soured to the point of violence. It didn't surprise him that his father thought that far ahead. Sacrificing a game piece of lesser value to spare the rest was too obvious of a strategy.

He clicked his tongue. Even multiple nation's worth of distance couldn't keep him from thinking about politics again. He'd just have to approach his new life a single step at a time. As he entered the dining hall his father's advice rang crystal clear in his mind. Study well, be a warrior. No fires.