[center][h1][color=silver]Lucas[/color][/h1][/center]
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[center][h3]Journey[/h3][/center]
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Lucas's journey was exactly as he remembered it, a polite morning greeting for his mother as they pass, than sitting with his back straight and loooking out of the window, surveying the city as they pass. Of course his thoughts are rather different this time, then it had been a slightly nervous anticipation of another year at the Collegem, even at 15 he'd been rather unstatisfied. This time his thoughts were more focused on the city watch and men at arms, he wonders how many of them survived the city's fall, and when that thought passes his mind returns to his plans to be better this time, he's not sure how to improve the outcome this tiem, but at least he probably can't do worse.
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[center][h3]Orientation[/h3][/center]
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Lucas pays the Orientation only half of his attention, seven years of basically the same thing rather robbed it of its mystique, rules, speeches, boasting that they'll probably never back up and the Elite class being exactly as unlikeable as he remembered.  Then Vincent stuck his hand up, that certainly hadn't happened before, who even told him about this and why does he think he has a chance? Is it related to that noise he heard on the other floor, actually he seems to be dressed less ridiculously too.  
As much as Lucas had loathed the attempts to foster rivalry, he was still going to copy his half brother here. His hand rises in challenge, he might lack his strength and aura, but none of these students have his experience, most of them probably haven't even fought a single real battle.  

He issues his challenge against a member of the noble class by the name of Auxentius Bardas, a 16 year old who thought himself something special with the sword, and more importantly one of Blaise's hangers on. 

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[h3][center]Outside The Arena[/center][/h3]
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The wooden staff topped with leather and straw is noticeably lighter than a proper poleaxe, and as Lucas hefts it he's confident his own lesser strength will not an issue, part of his mind can't help but notice the bottom end and haft are not padded, though if they'd actually padded every contact point he'd be wielding a hay bale.