Monthly Short Story for December: The Proving Dens (Patreon)

Hello Commissioned Pioneers! :D As promised as always, in accordance with the results of last month's poll, I present to you the Bonus Story of the Month! There were a total of four choices once again, with a majority voting for Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School Side Story 12.

In this little glimpse into the universe of WPA, we get to finally see what’s been hinted and alluded to over the course of the story so far - Thalmin’s past! We get to see more of the dynamics between him and what would later become his lieutenant, Rehlin, a character which we only got to see a glimpse of from his sight seeing flashback in Chapter 60! We also get to see a bit more of Havenbrockrealm’s traditions, their internal politics, and a glimpse into what Thalmin’s life was like prior to the events of the Academy! :D

This chapter was quite fun to write as I’ve always wanted to explore more of the main group’s backstory! And since quite a bit has already been hinted at from the sight seer, I believed this was as good of a time as any to finally take a closer look into Thalmin’s past! I really hope I did his character justice, since I wanted to show more sides to him and a bit of his character growth here, so I really hope you guys enjoy! :D

Let's jump right into it then! :D I'd like to proudly present, Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School's twelfth side story! :D

The Proving Dens

The castle walls were painted a crimson red, a thin coat of pigment that demanded naught but a moderate sum in exchange for what was more than likely an insufficient quantity of materials to work with.

This was seen in the incomplete, and frankly, amateurish paintsmanship that resulted in an uneven, poorly distributed, splotchy coating that stretched all the way from the entrance to the inner sanctum, through to the inner keep and throughout much of the accessory wings of the reception halls.

Whilst many may credit this to the paltry state of the Havenbrockian coffers, and the hardships faced following the blooding years, with many amongst our ranks praising us for our modest and frugal nature; this was not the whole truth.

For what reason was there to redecorate what amounted to a seemingly random assortment of halls whilst others were all but neglected following the fall of the prior regime? What reason was there to choose the North-East banquet hall for this seemingly shoddy redecoration, whilst the seven other halls remained as they were, a relic of the past?

Simply put, there was none.

Or at least, none that was immediately obvious.

As those splotches of uneven, poorly distributed crimson paint was born not of substandard craftsmen or insufficient materials. Nor were they born of some eccentric mind with questionable tastes in interior design.

No, those splotches of red, those flaky specks of crimson, were-

“-the bloodstains of those slain on the day of retribution.” The young, red-furred wolf spoke with a hint of shock, her eyes now darting from corner to corner, pupils fixated on what on the surface seemed to merely be an imprint of a lupinor set against crimson, but given this new context, was now colored in a whole different light.

“Indeed.” I spoke in no uncertain terms, stepping up to the plate next to the young squire, my eyes staring intently at what once was one of the greatest fighters in Havenbrockrealm; one that had unfortunately sided with the rule of needlessly cruel tyranny and oppression. “Certainly gives you pause for thought, doesn’t it?”

“And here I was… with the rest of my pack, believing this to be the work of some bumbling idiot who’d got caught mid-stride with a bucket full of paint.” The red furred squire continued, her tone straddling the line between the amusement of dark humor that was common for those who walked the path of the blade, and the sense of shock that the revelation had instilled within her.

“I can see where you are coming from with that.” I acknowledged with a regal nod. “The blast from the fireball my packfather had unleashed burned away much of this poor soul’s personal effects, including his sword, which the blood of his comrades did not manage to imprint against the wall. Thus, when our painters went to work in setting these bloodstains for posterity, we withheld on giving him his signature sword. Fitting, really, considering the proclamations of my ancestors.”

“That the fallen loyal to the old regime shall forever be forgotten and their deeds neither lauded nor hated?”

“Correct.” I nodded sharply. “You learn fast, squire. It would seem as if the position of my left attending hand needs neither a competition nor a tournament as a criterion of appointment…” I teased with a sly chuckle, prompting a huff and a look of indignancy from the minor noble, who’d since crossed her arms and maintained something of a threatening posture. At least, as far as that was allowed within castle decorum.

Not that anyone was there to see us given the nature of these walks.

“I’ll have you know, my prince, that my aims for knighthood and my martial appointments are not of your concern.”

“Oh but they are.” I responded with a self-assured chuckle. “Especially if the position in question is that of a left attendant. Or are you telling me that the great Asva Rehlin of the House of the Three Peaks somehow has aspirations for a position lower than that of the most coveted and lauded?”

“Why of course not!” Rehlin shot back defensively, her features curmudgeoning, and her muzzle scrunching up; doing everything she can to hold back a growl. Something that would’ve been quite intolerable when in the presence of royalty. “But…”

“But?” I parroted mockingly.

“But I’ll have you know, my prince, that there is more than one such position currently open.”

“Pray tell, who else within my family is currently coming of age, is enrolling in the military, and requires the services of a steadholder?” I shot back questioningly, and with a playful cock of my head.

“Prince Talnin.” Rehlin responded unabashedly, though it was clear that the act of uttering that name alone couldn’t be made with a straight face. As the red wolf’s features practically bunched up, stifling nothing short of an all out laugh.

One that I was more than happy to instigate by letting out a loud, unrepentant hufffff, followed in no short order by a bellowing, stomach-to-throat puff of air.

Needless to say, with Rehlin already holding on by a thread as it was, the squire too followed through with a series of laughs. Laughs that evolved from reserved cackling to just short of tear ridden bawling.

It took us a good minute before we both recovered, and by that time we’d resorted to leaning against the few areas of the wall not covered by the titular red paint. For despite both of our infamous track history of decorum violations, even that was a little bit too taboo for us.

“Prince Talnin.” I repeated once more, stifling a laugh this time around, as I struggled to catch my breath. “You’d sooner request for a reassignment to the southern frontier military academies than risk even the slightest possibility of becoming his left attending hand. That, or perhaps I’ve misjudged your character throughout all these years of peership, Asva.”

“Your wisdom in judgment remains intact, your highness. For I was merely speaking in jest.” The red wolf offered, quickly returning to a more proper, more appropriate tone and register. “I can assure you, your faith in my character is not misplaced. I was merely responding out of the spirit of wit-”

“-and the incalculable desire to poke fun at my cousin, no doubt.” I interjected half-jokingly. The half jocular nature of that sudden interruption was enough to bring Rehlin out of that uproarious spirit, as even in spite of nearly a whole life of friendship and comradery, the social expectations instilled within her, and the fear that inevitably came with it, was enough to cast doubt into what was otherwise an infallible bond of trust. The fear of having even remotely insinuated an insult against that of members of the immediate royal family, was a Nexian attribute that still managed to claw its way into what should have been a light hearted exchange. It was frustrating to no end, especially when I had to clear the air as a result of it. “Don’t worry, Asva, we’re on the same page when it comes to Prince Talnin’s… less that enlightened proclivities for a life of lethargy bordering on a line-by-line romanticized interpretation of a Crownlands’ gentleman.” I bluntly laid out my personal grievances to bear, something that would’ve been rare if not entirely impossible within any other adjacent realm, but was only possible due to the tight knit nature of the hierarchy within Havenbrock that had remained reasonably intact beneath the social and cultural facade of the various Nexian reforms.

This blunt and straightforward response seemed to be enough to curb the anxieties that were clearly bubbling within the young squire, as she once more nodded, prompting me to again lead the way as was tradition.

“With all that being said, your highness, I must ask…”

“Yes, Asva?”

“Why exactly is Prince Talnin so… insistent on following martial traditions? Isn’t that entirely against the narrative he spins around himself?”

“That’s exactly it, Asva. He has to at this point, because of how he’s effectively ostracized himself. I will not speak of personal affairs, but suffice it to say, it’s an open secret that my cousin needs to do something to curry favor with my father. Because despite being something of a fringe member of the royal family, and thus not even worth considering for his claims to the throne, he still has the responsibilities of my uncle to inherit. And considering the tensions that are flaring in the southwestern territories, and Lord Balnan’s blatant absence from the prior two royal court sessions, there is a growing concern that another Nexian-sponsored insurrection is brewing.”

“Which would put anyone outwardly and visibly… in favor of Nexian cultural imports and trends at risk of being ostracized from inheritance.”

“Correct. However, the situation is far more delicate than that… for Prince Talnin, either through careful calculation or blatant ignorance, has placed himself in a position that my father cannot simply ignore. As he’s made himself out to be a Nexian demagogue.”

“Him? A demagogue?”

“A visible one, yes. I am more than certain that there are actual, more serious actors spinning their webs from behind the scenes. However, it is Prince Talnin through his blatant admiration for all things Nexian that is currently garnering the attention of the Nexian Mages of the Ministry.” I paused, placing a hand against my head. “There is a reason why my father wishes to have everyone presented as a unified, unbreaking, and unyielding front; at least in front of the Nexians. As with no individual standing out from amongst the crowd, it becomes difficult for the Nexian attaches to divide up our pack. To show that we are all playing uniformly by their rules, and uniformly resenting certain aspects of their reforms, makes it such that we are judged as a whole without any idol or role model to aspire to. Prince Talnin, whether by measured daringness, or more than likely, out of foolishness, has chosen to become that which the Nexian ministers would posit as the ideal ‘enlightened adjacent ruler’ to aspire to.”

“Which makes his entry into the military that much more damaging when you think about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“By having him, a Nexian demagogue as you say, kowtowing to Havenbrockian tradition? I can foresee that being something unsavory, and even seditious, in the eyes of the Nexus.”

That revelation hit me with the force of a badlands thug in a southern brewery.

I didn’t outwardly react, merely internally chastising myself for that blatant oversight. Realizing that there was yet more that I hadn’t truly managed to piece together despite having had access to this developing intrigue for months now.

It stung, to have something that was so blatantly obvious brought up like that.

It hurt more to realize that it was an analysis that was derived so effortlessly, so seamlessly, and for good reason too.

It was obvious if I applied that much more thought to it.

And yet, I somehow didn’t.

It wasn’t a good look when a member of a minor house, when an aspiring left hand was outpacing your own capacity for political insight.

Even if that aspiring left hand was, in fact, a dear friend.

“your highness?” Asva urged, pulling me out of my short-lived reverie just as we arrived at the foot of a daunting flight of stairs.

A flight of stairs leading straight up to the Royal Tower, marking the end of my little journey with the squire.

“Yes, sorry, I was… just deep in thought.”

“If it pleases your highness, I can leave you to-”

“No, no. it’s quite alright.” I interrupted with a forced, royal smile. The thoughts brewing within me were, in a sense, not the thoughts I myself wanted. They were the result of my own shortcomings, a slight on my own ego stemming from me and me alone. It would’ve been childish and immature of me to grant these thoughts and feelings any influence on my interactions with anyone. For the only thing these feelings were good for, was to drive my actions to address their root cause. Which was exactly what brought me here today.  “I would rather we talk, Asva. For today will mark the final day I am able to do so, at least in the usual capacity with which we enjoy each other’s company.”

Those vague assertions were all that were needed for Asva to figure me out, as her eyes grew wide, and her tone of voice shifted drastically.

“So you are planning to go all-in.” Asva interrupted, uncharacteristically at that, eschewing decorum for a tone of genuine concern that blurred the line between what was appropriate and what felt appropriate.

“I am.” I replied, fully embracing the loss of decorum for what could very well be our final conversation for the foreseeable future.

“May I ask, why?” She uttered out with deepening concern. But before I could even reply, the squire shook her own head, as if to chastise herself for that very question. “No, no. That’s a foolish question. An inobservant question. A question not befitting of your time, given what is to come. So allow me to rephrase it. Prince Thalmin, why… why do you wish to walk the path of trials? There is no reason for you to endure such hardships, for there is no-”

“No chance I can ascend to the throne anyways?” I interjected, cocking my head as I did so.

“No! No. I. I meant no disrespect nor was I even suggesting or inferring-”

“I wouldn’t have been offended even if you did infer it, Asva.” I spoke reassuringly, attempting to alleviate the squire’s concerns once more as I let out a long drawn out sigh. “And to answer your question, regardless of whether or not it was or wasn’t your intent - I’m not doing this for the right to ascension, nor the right to rule.”

This seemed to shock the squire as her pupils dilated, her head cocked to the side, her ears sharply flopping as a result. “Then what purpose does entering the Proving Dens serve, Prince Thalmin?”

“To prove my worth.” I responded in no uncertain terms, my tone resolute, and my posture not once betraying the turmoil churning within. “Asva… time and time again, circumstances have demonstrated that I lack what it takes to carry the title of Prince, and the honor that comes with being my father’s son. For years I have carried the burden of coming just short of what is expected from a descendant of my line’s packfather. I wish not to be known, nor to be remembered as a Prince Talnin. It is… difficult enough that my uncle chose that name for him, making a glancing comparison all but inevitable, but I digress. I… I need to enter the Proving Dens. If not for tradition and peace of mind of my potential to ascend should circumstances demand it, then for myself. As I must improve what I can, if I am to become worthy of this title, and worthy of leading you, Lady Rehlin, into battle as my left attending hand.”

Those words seemed to cause the red wolf to outright pause. Her eyes maintained strict contact with my own, and stifles of various audible emotive expressions caused her throat to clench up.

“I know I cannot convince you otherwise, nor is it my place to do so, Prince Thalmin.” She finally spoke, breaking the nearly ten second silence that seemed to last an eternity, but was scantily considered an elven pause by Nexian standards. “But I wish to express to you my complete faith in your capacity to lead. You need not prove yourself, at least, not to me, your highness.” She offered in words strung with as much passion as was allowed, and with as much earnest intent as she could muster.

“I appreciate the sentiments, Lady Rehlin.” I acknowledged with a sentimental breath. “However, I cannot in good conscience accept them. I understand you mean what you say, and your words carry your true intent. That is all the more reason why I must do what I must, in order to see to it that your faith is not misplaced.” I responded with conviction and certainty, and a finality that could’ve only come from a royal.

Another bout of elven silence dawned following my proclamation, as the red wolf pondered for a few moments, her eyes deep in thought.

“Then I propose an offer, Prince Thalmin.” Rehlin finally responded. “We shall meet, in a week’s, month’s, or even a year’s time, following our respective endeavors, stronger, wiser, and hopefully, more ready to assume our respective roles. I shall wait, no matter how long it takes, Prince Thalmin.” Asva too responded with a renewed surge of confidence, culminating in an expression brimming with newfound determination.

A determination that was practically infectious as I couldn’t but help but to grin widely in response.

“That’s the spirit.” I acknowledged with a firm chuckle, reaching out a hand to pat the red wolf on the back, as several loud thumps could be heard resonating throughout the otherwise empty stone halls. “And who knows? Given my siblings are all planning to endure the Proving Dens around the same time, I doubt this venture will take longer than a week, or two at most. Thus, I believe I shall be the one waiting on you, Lady Rehlin.”

“I am certain that will be the case, Prince Thalmin.” Rehlin nodded confidently. “A week or two it is.”

=====

The Proving Dens did not take a week.

Nor did they last two.

I would say I’d spent upwards to double, triple, perhaps even quadruple that time… but I would be lying if I said I could say anything for certain.

It was difficult, and purposefully so, to determine just how much time had been taken from me.

Just how much time had been lost to the annals of this dark and dreary place.

A place that never saw the light of day, save for instances where said light was used as a form of challenge.

From the coldest of coldest nights, tempered only by a pile of hay and a rough, poorly-stitched burlap sack, to the hottest of hottest days whereby the very blackstone beneath my feet would become a veritable enemy worthy of the greatest contempt; there was no shortage of reminders of my newfound place in this den of horrors.

KA-THUNK!

I heard the small hole of my cell door opening, if only long enough for a cheap iron tray to be shunted in without much care, and with all of the vitriol of an underpaid guard.

From the pathetic pile of hay that I’d resigned to calling my ‘bed’, I saw the makings of a breakfast.

Or at least, I’d learned to call it that.

As the other alternative was to simply acknowledge what it was.

Slop.

Barely above that of horse feed.

Still, sustenance was sustenance, and when faced with the call of hunger, the call of indulgence and the proclivities of taste was all but a moot point.

That was lesson 39 of the Proving Dens.

A lesson that was instilled to me with each and every ‘meal’.

There were supposedly 1000 lessons to be learnt from the dens. Some of them taught, some of them read, but most of them learnt through first hand experience.

And whilst it wasn’t compulsory to learn each one by heart, it was encouraged, like all things here.

For there was always a way out.

And to do so was simple enough.

I’d simply have to acknowledge my failures amidst the successes of the rest of my siblings.

=====

THWACK

It hurt.

SNAP

It hurt so bad.

THUNK

I wanted it to stop.

THWACK

But I knew the only way for it to stop was to fight back.

“So, you had enough for the day, son?” The old man’s voice spoke, driving down his brutalizing implement to the ground with a gust of sand and dust. His words carried with it a stern severity that undercut any and all care and compassion that might have been there if it had existed at all in the first place. His weapon, a staff marked in runes and windings that glowed with each impact, thrummed with an intimidating display that held with it the promise of pain.

I got back to my feet on wobbly legs, and shaky feet. I felt a warm trickle of fluid oozing out from my scalp, running through my fur, and down the rest of my bare chest before collecting into a small pool in front of me, a few droplets staining the tanned brown of my loincloth.

“No, father. Let us continue.” I spoke, surprised that I could still even speak proudly, let alone coherently given how my throat still languished for water or any fluid for that matter. It’d been days since I last had a sip of anything reasonable, and I refused to give in. I couldn’t.

“Heh. Keep this up and we may have another contender…” The old man trailed off, as he wrung out his bare arms, switching the grip of his double-handed wooden staff in an attempt to keep me guessing as to where it was he would strike next.

“For King?” I  finished his sentence for him, which was a mistake… given how he took that vulnerability to strike.

And this time, as with every other moment throughout this grueling trial, he struck without mercy.

“For squire if you’re lucky, ya runt!” His staff made contact with my own, as splinters from the impact threatened to strike both of us in the face, if it wasn’t for the latent mana-derived physical shields that we both maintained out of both force of training and force of habit. The two terms having become completely interchangeable now given this ‘life’ I’d voluntarily been thrust into.

The force of the impact shifted back and forth, with not only our core muscles struggling to overcome one another, but our ability to draw mana as well as we channeled every last bit of it into enhancing our strength, endurance, speed, and of course… agility.

The latter which I used to move aside, breaking our strength-dependent struggle, and forcing the old man back to his side of the ring.

He was getting tired. He had to be. Just on visual inspection alone, the battle seemed as if it was going to be equally matched. The man with the title of mercenary king was practically graying by this point. Not a single patch of fur on his skin was spared from the passage of time, his whole form resembled my own, just older and with the tell-tale signs of battle scars criss-crossing much of his chest and face.

This should have been a one sided affair.

But it wasn’t.

Nothing could be further from the truth when it came to the gauntlet.

“What are ya waiting for, runt? A written invitation?” The old man egged me on, the ferocity in his voice never once wavered.

My eyes darted around the room, as if in some last ditch attempt to find something, anything to use to my advantage.

The room was bare, a small dungeon-like space with nothing but the four cobblestone walls, and a small reinforced metal door to one end of it. The space had become home for the past few months. As even the thought of seeing the skies above this dungeon had become a distant memory.  All I knew had been the same, conscious, unbreaking routine of training, sparring, and challenges.

My heart wanted to waver.

But I couldn’t let it.

I couldn’t break.

“Do you yield, runt?”  The King spoke once more, his ultimatum once more landing on me like a pile of bricks.

If I yielded… then it’d be another week in this hole. Another week of sickly porridge, stale bread, and suspiciously murky water. Another week of constant and grueling training, another week of hell.

But if I didn’t…

“Or do you wish to acquiesce?” The King spoke, giving his second offer which was completely off the table for me.

I did not have the privilege of knowing whether or not my siblings had already succeeded, or acquiesced. If I did, then maybe acquiescence might have sounded more reasonable.

But ultimately, I knew that even with that knowledge, I just wouldn’t give in.

I would not become the lesser amongst my peers.

“Acquiescence is not dishonor, son.” My father continued. His tone of voice shifted for a brief second. It didn’t waver, no, far from it. It was purposeful, like everything else he did. There was intent behind it, an intent to make me understand that should I walk down that path, I would still be able to live a comfortable life. A life of political irrelevance, of fringe standing, but a life all the same.

“Should you call for an end now, you know it would mean a return. Not to normalcy, but a new normal.” He added…

It was enticing.

But not enticing enough as I struck again with all of my force, my staff aimed straight for his flanks, but instead of coming into contact with soft flesh, I instead felt the hard unyielding wood of the man’s staff, before once again, feeling the staff coming into contact with my snout, and hearing a loud crack as teeth and bone shattered alike.

I sprawled on the floor in pain for a moment, howling, but never whimpering. Before I stood back up again, and continued to stand face to face against the man that had raised me from birth.

It was at that point that I realized something. Whether or not it was a moment of clarity in this state of complete and utter pain, or whether it was a pain-addled delusion, the rules of the gauntlet once more came to mind.

“You may leave the proving dens at any time. Either through acquiescence, through victory, or through a multitude of other means, you do have the ability to leave. I leave it up to you to decide your own fates, my children.”

What could I have done in prior fights to achieve victory aside from acquiescence? What could I do differently now that I hadn’t tried before?

I can’t give up, but I cannot simply beat him.

What if there was a third option, one that on the surface would’ve been seen as acquiescence, but was distinctly not.

My eyes, for the first time in weeks, shifted towards the door.

It was a disgusting thought, for at face value my pride would not allow such a thing.

But yet, when faced with such insurmountable odds, what could one do? But to retreat to fight another day.

I knelt down to the ground like an anchor being let loose, my hands gripping the sand and grit of the floors tight with a growling anger. I could hear the footsteps of my father coming closer to me, and I could imagine the leering look of admonishment on his tireless face.

“Well, what will it be-” The King spoke once more, only to find a fist full of pebbles and loose rock being crushed into a fine powder being pelted in his face. In that moment of confusion, of genuine shock, I leaped towards the door with all my might… and kicked it down at the hinges. The steel creaking, cracking, before breaking down entirely as I was surprised at how poorly maintained the door was, and I left.

With the King scrambling to reach the ruined door, I simply left, finding myself alone in the dungeon-like halls that had always been full of guards whenever I was dragged to and from my cell.

It was at this point that I wondered, heaving with heavy breaths, if this had been another option all along.

“This was one of the options all along… wasn’t it?” I managed out the words, struggling with a few given the state of my face, and the exhaustion that wracked me. It was a miracle the old man could still understand me, but understand me he did as he came into my view and gave me an affirmative, proud nod.

“It was, but if you hadn’t distracted me, I would’ve done everything to keep you in the ring.” His form, for the first time in this dungeon, finally shifted to a relaxed pose I had almost forgotten he was capable of.

“So this isn’t just about raw strength, or mental fortitude, or resilience…”

“It’s about understanding that there is always a third option in any battle, son.” The man proudly gleamed over me. “It’s about understanding that strength doesn’t always rely on the fortitude to push through to victory, but instead, the strength to admit that a victory can be found another day.”

Those words resonated with me…  not because of their wisdom, but because of how the lesson was practically staring me in the face throughout all those months of suffering. It’d been one of the first lessons ever since I could remember.

A lesson that unlike the rest of the lessons here, was spoken outright, and not drawn through challenges and experiences.

“How long have I been down here, father?”

“A cycle and some, son.”

That revelation hit me with a force harder than any of the physical strikes ever could have accomplished.

My father, noticing this, chose to place a reassuring hand upon my battered shoulder, shaking it lightly. “And if you are curious, Prince Talnin’s left attending hand has already been appointed.”

I felt the wind being knocked right out from under me.

“But do not fret, it was not Lady Asva Rehlin who took upon that role.” He quickly added, filling me with a renewed surge of optimism, one that was tempered just as quickly by a sudden realization.

“You know of Lady Asva Rehlin’s intentions-?”

“My son, I know all that happens within our home. But despite my knowledge, I harbor no personal sentiments towards this friendship. Lady Asva Rehlin is loyal, and I believe you to have been a good judge of character of her dispositions.”

“Thank you, father.” I acknowledged with a slight bow, my ears suddenly perking towards the creaking of a door further down the hall, and the appearance of several court healers that rushed to my side.

I paid them no mind, simply continuing where I left off.

“With all that being said, what happens next, father?” I finally asked.

“A trip to the baths, a well deserved period of rest and recreation, followed closely by a proposal I have for you, my son. For there exists an offer which I believe you to find agreeable. Or at the very least, agreeable to your non sequitur problem solving skills, as opposed to the more traditional paths your siblings took.”

“Please just be blunt with it, father.”

“I wish to offer you a position that I believe, out of all your siblings, you would be best suited for. What may your thoughts be on becoming an emissary to the Nexus, my son?”