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Sekhandur's opinion on this trip had already soured. He now wished that he had truly overslept and missed the train altogether. This western chauvinist appointed as their professor seemed to take umbrage with the fact that Sekhandur wasn't enthused by his incompetent lessons. The likelihood of Sekhandur learning anything from this man seemed to drop even further, given that he was now the whipping boy for soothing his bruised ego. Over the past few weeks, Sekhandur had heard of  Class C's reputation for being the refuse pile for outcasts and idiots, and he was beginning now to understand where that reputation came from.

Rising to his feet, Sekhandur scoffed loudly enough for the other students to hear. "[color=aba000]Might as well,[/color]" he muttered, again at a clearly audible volume, "[color=aba000]I'll gain as much from that as I have from anything else you've told me to do.[/color]"

After mincing back to the rear of the car, Sekhandur leaned against the wall as it lightly jerked and bounced from the motion of the train. He produced his grimoire, unfurling the ancient scroll, and began to read through it for what must have been the thousandth time, just to pass the ride along more quickly. His eyes fell upon a familiar passage, which after rough translation amounted to, [i]"...descended the Presence of the Judges, magic given voice and shape. They fell upon the wayward tribes of Man, the scorpion held high in their battle-standard. Sons of the stars, men born of fire, as the earliest peoples of our race were born from dust and clay."[/i]