[Center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Gli5XnJ.png[/img][hr][hr][b][colour=dcf3ff]Event:[/colour][/b] The Summons [b]|[/b] [b][colour=dcf3ff]Location:[/colour][/b] St. Yuri's Academy of Thaumaturgy, Sovetskaya, Vossoriya[hr][hr][/center]
Oksana was writing on the slate tablets in class. Things at the Academy have been rather turbulent over the last couple of weeks, given the events in Kirimansk. The strict ban on teleport magic had been broken as the group known as the Dieci Volti Nascosti crossed the great pond and stolen several artifacts of magical power hidden by the state. If it wasn’t for the students from Ersand’Enise Academy, it would have been far worse, a fact that unsettled many. The idea of outside help was something that greatly upset the orthodoxy, yet, it provided a convenient lie that their interference and inexperience caused the great loss of the Kingdom’s treasures.

She sighed out; she had hoped she could have rescued at least some more of them for her own people. The Kozaky held a place just outside the central control of the kingdom, acting like war dogs to keep the borders in check. With the artefacts, they could have potentially become truly free. But there was always a bigger picture to such things - so they say.

The chalk scribbled on the slates as she continued the age-old practice of rote note-taking they practiced here. Probably more to keep the students in line than to provide the best education, after all, you don’t want your food able to fight back too strongly. The chalk snapped with her frustration. She remembered asking the Ersand’Enise students for help, only to be met by the indifference of that one girl with brown hair and a freckled face, one of those goody-two-shoes who thought Sanguinares could be good people too, clearly ignorant of the world. She wondered if she would like it, to be viewed as nothing but livestock to them, to be a plate of hot food at the mercy of their whims. A sheep bleating that not all wolves are bad.

Her frustration and lack of attention were noted as she felt the whip of the cane against her fingers. The instructor barked toward her, a demonstration toward the class more than her, knowing she could not hear it. Perhaps another comment about the idle, ignorant Kozaky, unintellectual girl from the tundra, most likely. She simply picked up the broken piece of chalk as she continued to start writing again, only for her hands to feel the kiss of the cane again. She noticed the expressions of the others; there wasn’t the typical mirth, but one of seriousness. She looked up to see the instructor pointing toward the door, with one of the headmaster's attendants standing there. She had been summoned.

Her testimony had previously been under scrutiny, especially with the claims she made, though they were right to suspect some mistrust in there. After all, a Kozaky being loyal to the regime is a convenient truth that is always doubted, and it was clear she went beyond her role as a mere silent observer. However, her documentation on the traitor, Khaluin, was not false, and an exposure of someone so close to the regime by someone like her, an outsider, unsettled more people than made them comfortable. Especially if they knew her bloodline as the Tundra Princess, one of her many monikers as a descendant of one of the wayward children of King Snorri.

After the meeting ended, it went better than expected. She is to be sent out yet again in the trials. She is to sign up for the Sipenta Academy trials as an independent and to get herself recruited by one of the Ersand’Enise teams. Simple enough task; she had hopefully fostered enough goodwill with the students there to pull that off. After all, there were plenty of gifts to be given. The rest of the request? That would be another thing entirely.
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