[center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/cd6fc343-6dbd-4ce9-9493-e893103813a0.png[/img][/center][right][sub][@Hero][/sub][/right]
To Jorah’s considerable surprise (and delight), his day, for once, did not start with a thunderous rapping on his door by a certain red-headed morning church bell. As such, although even this seemingly late hour would have been considered inhumanely early when he was still living at home, he was allowed to sleep blissfully well further into the morning than he could usually manage since his arrival at Garreg Mach. So, instead of bells or hurried door knocking waking him, he was able to sleep until the sun streaming in his window passed over his eyes, rousing him just enough to make him stir. 

While he would normally have been content to pull the sheets over his head and go right back to sleep, Jorah was unfortunately roused [i]just enough[/i] to notice that something was bothering him. He kept his eyes stubbornly closed in hopes that whatever that nagging feeling was would get tired and go away, but something still felt… off. Was there something he was supposed to do today? It wasn’t like he was one to stress over shirked responsibilities. Someone he needed to meet? Sadly no; the usual gaggle of comely maidens was a bit harder to come by in Garreg Mach, considering they were all either tight-laced daughters of lower nobility who’d probably been warned to steer clear of him or otherwise pristine young ladies in preparation to give themselves over to the Goddess rather than him. Did he have somewhere to [i]be[/i], then? Class, probably, but that never really bothered him before—dammit, the meeting!

Audibly groaning into his pillow, Jorah was even [i]more[/i] tempted to shove his head under his sheets and dive back into sleep knowing that this was the morning of their special stupid meeting before class. He had more than an inkling what the meeting was going to be about, and seeing as how the last one ended with an unbecoming cut on his cheek (that still hadn’t completely healed, to his dismay) and half his House lucky to be alive, Jorah wasn’t exactly eager to get to this next one. 

Goddess above, he should have bolted when he got the chance. 

Against his better judgment, Jorah levered himself out of bed and splashed some water over his face, pulling on his shirt and uniform in a sleepy yet frustrated daze. He kept the buttons at the top undone in protest – or what would have been protest if that wasn’t how he normally wore it – and walked out the door, leaving his shoulder cape behind. Truth be told, he kinda liked the thing – it was flashy and excessive, both qualities that suited him fine – but he was a little too irritated this early in the day to want to draw even more attention to himself. The thought made him smirk; Clarissa would run a victory lap if she heard him say that out loud. 

He made his way across the Monastery in such a way that he looked like he was rushing without actually going much faster, taking a detour to the dining hall to grab a soft, colourful fruit the attendant described as hailing from Morfis. The skin had flamboyant leaves sticking out from it and the flesh inside was brightly coloured and almost pasty, and tasty enough for Jorah to immediately add Morfis to his adventuring bucket list. He was forced to roll his sleeve up as pink juice dripped down his arm, but that just gave him an extra second or two to linger outside the Blue Lions classroom, flicking off the worst of it before he crossed the threshold. 

Jorah took care of the rest with a yellow handkerchief produced from his pocket as he took his seat near Clarissa and… some others he didn’t recognize. Er, wait—was that one of the Gloucester boys? What was it… Ermes? No, Ezra—Ezekial! Yes, that one. A bit of a snob ever since his father died, but it was hard to blame the kid for that. Still, Jorah always did give him a wide berth; as much as he held himself together, his emotions always swirled around him like a dark gathering storm that made it hard for Jorah to relax in his company. Besides, he was always picking arguments even before his father passed, and that was just plain irritating. Maybe that was how Jorah managed not to hear that he was attending the Officers’ Academy. 

He’d arrived just as the alluringly stern geography teacher – who was here, for some reason – started asking for volunteers, and Jorah visibly deflated. He missed the briefing, but it didn’t take much to guess; the map of Magdred Way on the board and the cloud of mixed emotions fogging up the room told him all he needed to know.

[color=FFAB66][i]“Saint’s taint…”[/i][/color] he murmured sourly, rubbing his temple and realizing that he had forgotten to paint his face in his half-hearted rush. A sign that this mission was just as damned as their last, as far as he was concerned. A wave of dread, some from others and some his own, washed over Jorah; as pissed as he was about Kayden’s reckless behaviour last time, he still hadn’t forgotten – nor fully gotten over, if he was honest with himself – his own poor performance. He’d clammed up when it mattered most, paralyzed by the fear and grief and panic of those poor townspeople as they watched their homes burn around them – and the ones they couldn’t save. 

He felt his fingers brush over the mark on his cheek, not having realized he even raised his hand. He’d managed to snap out of it that time, sure, but not before some lowlife bandit came within inches of putting an arrow through his skull. What about next time? If he froze like that again, he very much doubted he’d get so lucky a second time. And making matters worse, there was nothing he could do to stop it! Crest classes had only been underway for a week, and though he’d been looking into ways to control his sensing ability, nothing yet was bearing fruit. He’d be helpless in the face of such a wave of emotions again, and it would put not only him, but his House and who knew who else in danger. 

Who ever thought it was a good idea to put [i]him[/i] on the battlefield?

Jorah exhaled sharply through his nose, a mix of feelings both foreign and domestic racking his nerves. The mix settled on irritated, and his wine-coloured eyes flashed with agitation as he crossed his arms, shrugging with a huff. [color=FFAB66]“Fine; if this is what we’re doing, just put me far away from any screaming civilians.”[/color]

[center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/8ee83226-1695-4044-ab2b-9ae88beef451.png[/img][/center]