Dimension 20: Fantasy High – The Seventh Player
Some quick notes before we begin. In order to make the campaign more or less the same with seven characters, I will be increasing the number of "minions" for fights where that is the primary relevant factor. Other small alterations may be made to fights as enemies die at different points. Most of the original content occurs during downtime. Otherwise, this will be near identical to the Fantasy High campaign as uploaded since this is the best D&D campaign ever. A lot of this includes direct quotes, which is partially responsible for the poor punctuation. Also, it should go without saying, if you haven't seen Fantasy High, some of this might not make sense.
Chapter 1: The Beginning Begins
Machaira Mekhit opened her eyes to the predawn gloom and grunted, reluctantly slinking out of the pile of furs and blankets that made her bed and throwing on a set of sweat pants and a T-shirt before striding down to the creek five minutes north of her camp. Every day, without fail, Machaira washed her fur twice. She didn't avoid getting dirty when necessary, but she always felt more comfortable when her coat was clean and dry. She washed quickly, the cold water helping her wake up. She forced herself to look at her reflection before redressing, a daily ritual to strengthen her resolve. The goddess's words echoed back to her: know what you are, and accept it, before you can change it. Her claw tips slid out to part the damp strands of tawny fur, a soothing sensation in its familiarity.
Most tabaxi were tall, thin creatures with delicate cheetah builds that almost seemed ethereal in their movements. Machaira was built more akin to a tiger or jaguar, certainly not bulky, but more muscular than others of her kind. At 5'3, her broad shoulders, skull, and muzzle made her quantifiably ugly to other tabaxi. Her arms, toned and hard as stone, resembled training dummies for broad sword classes. Abdominals defined through her coat were marred by a thick curve of white from where she HAD been struck by a broad sword. Machaira rubbed herself dry, feeling the uneven skin on her left side where a displacer beast's tentacles had raked her. Black rosettes blossomed over her body as her fur dried and fluffed. Tight jeans came next, hiding the blink dog bites on her legs. She pulled her tail, as long as the rest of her body and thick as her arm, through a hole in the fabric, ignoring the nick at the end. A sleeveless white vest followed, a relic from her more promiscuous days, soothing against the old burns on her back. The V at the neck was a little too deep for her taste these days, but the vest was comfortable and replaced the need for a bra. She paused, examining the claw marks that ran across her chest through the dip in the fabric before pulling on a wyvern scale jacket. Machaira buttoned the little white bone buttons up to her neck and tugged at the sleeves. The jacket was the only nice thing she owned, and Machaira had kept it in excellent condition.
Machaira slung a ratty backpack full of second or third-hand books over her shoulder and sheathed her saber at her side opposite her crossbow. She walked for a few minutes through the Far Heaven Woods before stopping on a ridge that offered a view of Aguefort Adventuring Academy. Machaira took a deep breath, ears and tail flicking. She tapped her bracelet, a band of blue scales with red scales forming the symbol of Bast. For as long as she could remember, Machaira had been the one taking care of herself. She had been subjected to the various stereotypes surrounding tabaxi, and Elmville was a largely human-centric town. In the weeks she had been knocking about town Machaira hadn't seen even one other tabaxi. Since Machaira was an outcast among her own kind, this strangely worked for her. She had abandoned their culture years ago, a fact she silently flaunted with her bracelet to Bast and damaged ears. Machaira had only a few small white cuts on her muzzle and a tear-shaped poison burn on her neck, but her ears had been shredded from rough living. Leaving them exposed in public would be considered obscene back home – not that she hadn't been considered obscene before. At Aguefort, she might at least be tolerated by some of her peers.
Machaira kept walking, reminding herself why she subjected herself to this. Machaira wanted nothing more than to make the world a better place. But when puberty hit, the unsupervised teen nearly destroyed her life picking ridiculous fights, dressing dangerously risqué, and putting substances into her body that had no business being there. As a young, lonely, female tabaxi she had attracted all the wrong attention. A warning from Bast went unheeded, and eighteen hours later a traumatized Machaira had to take a good look at herself in the mirror to see how low she had fallen. Getting fully clean took six months, time Machaira rapidly matured in. She realized that killing a monster here or a thug there just made room for a new monster or thug. She needed direction and training to learn how to really improve the world, and Aguefort did not require guardian approval, proof of citizenship, or identification of any kind. She had passed the physical exam with flying colors, scraped by on the written, and applied for enough scholarships that she could cover tuition. A weekend job mowing lawns and doing yard work provided enough money to afford a few required books and notebooks, pencils, toiletries, a basic first aid kit, and thread to mend her clothes. Coming here was an admission that she wasn't good enough. Coming to Aguefort would be an exercise in strength and patience.
Machaira's tail swished over the grass, ever betraying her thoughts. Aguefort required students to form a party that would work together for the entirety of their time at school. She didn't know what she really wanted from the other students. She knew to expect poor treatment, but she hoped for some basic respect. She had temporarily tabled the idea of dating, but maybe this could be an opportunity for something…different. Her mind carefully omitted the term friend, not sure quite what that meant to her. Her claws flexed over the strap of her backpack. Truthfully, she did not know where she fit in the world anymore. She understood, or thought she did, right from wrong. But where did she come into the picture? As the stone and steel of the school flung its shadow at her feet, Machaira answered the silent challenge and tilted her chin up. Metaphysical questions could wait. Class would start soon.
"Everything is just like something else" – Wilma Thistlespring
"I'm Fabian Seacaster! Son of Bill Seacaster! And I'm here to be great!" Machaira kept her face calm as she ascended the front steps, the only student not gawking at an unprovoked attack against the towering half-orc. As Fabian finished his declaration, Machaira took one step past him, whipped around behind his back, and slashed down his spine from shoulders to waist. The feel of flesh tearing under claws brought a strange reassurance. Fighting she understood. The half-elf staggered, and she kicked out one leg, dropping him to his knees before stomping on his back.
"Bullies are never great." Machaira turned to the half-orc, who was being nursed by a freckly redhead in a tie-dyed shirt. "You ok?" The half-orc, still holding a metal flower he had offered to Fabian, was trying to mutter some kind of chant to himself. The redhead girl was speaking to him in a soft, friendly tone.
"You seem really non-violent, and I think that's really cool. Violence is never the answer." The half-orc went into a rage. Machaira darted into the crowd. She didn't have a problem with orcish people, but she knew better than to stand next to a berserker. As The half-orc decked a rising Fabian, Machaira realized that her plan of hiding in a crowd of people staring at her, the only tabaxi present, with fresh blood dripping off her hand was not her best move. Fortunately, the hulking dragonborn with the cricket bat was so focused on the boys that she managed to slip under the radar.
As she pressed herself against the wall, back turned from the vice-principal, Machaira heard someone say, "Uh, I freaking love your orb. That thing is huge." Machaira glanced behind her to see a pretty, willowy senior with a stack of fliers on the stairs over an elven girl holding a gigantic crystal ball. Machaira frowned. Intrigue over the ball aside, the elven girl was the only student present wearing a uniform. Was she supposed to wear one? If it was a religious garment, Machaira didn't recognize it. In her musings, the conversation continued. "Listen, I don't know if you have space to carry it with that giant orb you're carrying, but this is, uh, this is a little ballot. We're basically having, like, a vote, because for, like, a long, long time, it's, like, never, Aguefort hasn't had a king and queen at prom, and me and my boyfriend, Dayne, we're, like, trying to, like, I'm a part of the yearbook club, and we're basically trying to, like, get that back, like, bring that tradition back."
"What does that mean? What does being prom king and queen mean?" Machaira thought at first that the elven girl had been asking what that run-on sentence meant. That's what she was wondering anyway.
"Well, there's, like, a vote, right, that has, if enough students say they want it, we'll do, like, a vote, and people can, like, vote for prom king and queen, and they'll have a special dance, and it'll be really fun."
"They just get a special dance? That's what that means?" To Machaira, it was a fair question. But the sunniness immediately evaporated from the other girl's eyes. The elf with the ball saw this at once, and their body language announced what would happen milliseconds before she swept on. "Is that, yeah, ok, I'll vote. Yeah, I don't really understand-"
"You should vote for it. And just as, like, an aside, like, it's going to be a lot easier for you at Aguefort, 'cause I can tell you're a freshman, it's gonna be a lot easier if you ask less questions, 'cause, like, probably, like, it'll become clear the more time you spend."
"It's actually fewer questions." The elf's reply was hardly a whisper. Machaira almost didn't notice it, her head hazing in the elf's fear-scent. But the younger girl stood straight and stared directly at her elder as she spoke. Machaira's opinion of her quickly shot up.
"Sorry?" The older student's voice carried a thinly veiled threat as only a young woman could.
"No, okay, I'll sign it." Machaira hated the instant retreat but reluctantly accepted it. This was a type of tyrant that had to be fought subtly, and no freshman on her first day could muster the necessary social power. A big blonde human in a letterman jacket turned half-vacant eyes on his girlfriend.
"Babe, it's fewer questions. Less questions is wrong, grammatically." Ironically one of the dumbest moves on his part probably saved the younger elf. The senior shot him an unamused simper before turning back to her target.
"Fine, Dayne. Okay, so, um, why don't you just, like, take the ballot-"
"Yeah, I'll take it, I'll take it, thank you."
"And you can vote-"
"Yeah, I'll vote. Where do I, where do I, where do I vote?"
"There's little boxes out in front of the assembly which we're going to now."
"Oh, great."
"Welcome."
"Thank you."
"Cute outfit. It's like you go to a different school than here." The senior giggled. Machaira hated every second of this social dominance. "Fun. Let me know if you need help stashing that orb." The freshman girl panted loudly, small chest heaving noticeably. Her irregular heartbeat shook in Machaira's ears. The elf with the orb managed a nod and a fast step toward the assembly, trying to juggle a pencil and the paper. Machaira repressed a snarl, waiting to head to the assembly until it was clear that she was not following anyone in particular. Machaira took a seat on the bleachers off to the side. A wood elf with Tiefling horns sat on the row in front of Machaira and immediately placed her hand on the fire alarm. With that lovely omen, a microphone crackled to life.
"Ladies and gentlemen, your principle, mister Arthur Aguefort!" A man with dark skin and a purple corduroy suit stepped out to the podium, umbrella in hand. Everything from the monocle barely covering his left eye to his waist-length beard screamed wizard. But, for clarity's sake, he pulled a hand out of his pocket with a saucer and a cup of tea on it. One enthusiastic goblin covered in trash began to clap, hesitantly followed by the redhead cleric from before until they realized no one else was joining in. Machaira's whiskers twitched up before the principle spoke.
"Welcome, one and all, to another exciting year here at the Aguefort Adventuring Academy, where we train the next generation of adventurers. And what is an adventurer? One who goes on adventures? I say that an adventurer is a hero, and what is a hero? A hero is someone with the strength of heart, courage of spirit, and the might of will to go to strange lands and enact violence on things there. We go to places where there are things that must be destroyed, and we destroy them. Wandering from town to town, getting into trouble, meeting in drophouses and taverns, and getting into scrapes with the law, and otherwise finding ourselves engaged in all matters of tomfoolery and shenanigans, sometimes violent, sometimes fatal. Yes, fatal. And a hero is a violent wanderer who enacts their will bloodily and with strange magics upon the world."
"But does a hero truly stand alone? Ha ha ha ha ha, no, the strength of the hero is the strength of the party, and what is a party? A gathering of friends, perhaps with some alcoholic beverages, some fun music, ha ha ha, a jape! For all of you, a party is a group that comes together to embellish each other's strengths and eradicate each other's weaknesses. A party is composed of those who have sworn themselves to each other, to make themselves greater than the sum of their parts. Perhaps we have flaws within us, perhaps we don't cast magic and we need someone who can cast magic to help us when we need magic. Perhaps we're very tough and can sustain a lot of injuries, but we need somebody who is very good at hurting people there with us as well. Perhaps we need a sneaky person to sneak. Not always, sometimes you don't need that. But occasionally, in circumstances where you do need one, you REALLY need one, right, with traps and other things like that. That is the meaning of party, and party is the meaning of hero, and never forget, all of you - "
He took a sip of his tea and grimaced. "Uhg, it's bad, never forget that the greatest magic of all is chronomancy, the magic of time. Welcome to your first year, freshmen, at the AGUEFORT ADVENTURING ACADEMY!" The principle burst into light and disappeared. The tiefling in front of Machaira slowly removed her hand from the fire alarm with a soft whoa. The dragonborn Goldenhoard moved up to the podium and talked a bit about potential orientation events. Machaira bit her lip, pondering, before deciding the insight class for rogues and wizards would be a good starting point.
As she approached the library, she noticed the elf with the crystal orb in the entrance way. The elf worried her lip for a bit before holding her hand out. A book zipped into her outstretched palm. The girl stuffed it into her backpack and blinked. She blinked again. Slowly her expression unraveled into incomprehension and her breath came fast and shallow.
"Oh shit, oh god, oh my god." Machaira could smell her fear, a sour flavor to the scent alerting her to the problem. A panic attack. This girl wasn't so much a coward as she was untreated. Something twisted in her heart for this girl that had tried to stand up for herself against the school's social power. Machaira knelt in front of her and spoke softly.
"Hey." The elf looked up, already wide eyes flashing as she beheld Machaira's scarred muzzle, glowing eyes, shredded ears, and hooked fangs. So much for comforting presence. Machaira thought bitterly. But she had already committed. Pretending that she didn't know this girl was clearly terrified of her, Machaira placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Is this about the book?" The elf nodded shakily. "That's ok. That's a fixable problem, alright. Look at me, ok, and just breathe." Machaira took a long, deep inhalation and slow exhalation. Then another. "There you go, you're ok, we can fix this." The elf's eyes latched onto hers, and Machaira hoped she would begin to calm down. Then the redhead cleric girl walked up.
"Hey, are you ok?"
"No." The elf exhaled, barely audible.
"I saw what you did, and I thought was pretty awesome." The tiefling from the assembly had popped up unseen despite her red skin, punk clothes, and horned bass guitar.
"Oh god, no, the goth kid thinks I'm cool." The elf's voice trembled as she tried to hide inside her shirt.
"That was so cool." The tiefling confirmed.
"Oh, I like your giant orb. Here, let me make it glow." The cleric cast a light cantrip on the orb, and the hallway filled with pulsing golden light, immediately attracting the attention of all students present and one vice principle Goldenhoard. Machaira barely held back a groan.
"Very nice use of a light cantrip. What is your name, young student?"
"Oh, I'm Kristen Applebees."
"Kristen Applebees, wonderful to meet you. I'm vice principle Goldenhoard."
"Oh, hi." The dragonborn turned his attention to the elf.
"Young lady, are you alright?" The elf gasped and gulped for air. Machaira gently squeezed her shoulder.
"I found this book." She breathed. Goldenhoard arched a scaly eyebrow.
"You found – Sorry, you found a book?"
"She's covering for me, I stole it; and she caught me stealing it." The tiefling interjected, flashing a smile at the VP.
"No I didn't, I didn't, she didn't steal, I stole it. I'm so sorry, I was, I was, I'm sorry. I'm new. I don't know what I'm doing." The elf blurted.
"We all fall short of the grace of god." Kristen told her.
"Mm, you know, I wouldn't, that's a bit strong for this, I would say, that's a bit strong." Goldenhoard moderated. "This is not appropriate, that you've done this. Kristen, would you mind taking the book to Principle Aguefort's office for me?"
"Yeah, sure." Kristen turned on heel and walked off, completely unconcerned with how much she had compromised the situation.
"Now, young lady, what was your name?"
"Adaine Abernant." Adaine hardly had the breath to enunciate her name.
"Miss Abernant, oh yes, you've come to us from Hudol. I'm afraid I'm going to have to give you detention. So, you'll be staying late after school today. Do you understand?" Adaine nodded, the worst of her panic attack beginning to subside as the consequences no longer loomed over her. "Alright, this is not fun for me. You're clearly having a bad time. I'm second guessing what I'm doing, even as I'm doing it, wondering if there's some medical stuff going on that I don't know about. But I'm going to do it as I've already talked out loud, and other students can hear this."
"Yeah, I can hear it all, hi." The tiefling interjected, smiling and shaking her brown hair to the side.
"Hey, for real, we're not gonna do this," Goldenhoard told her, waving a red finger between the two of them. "You think we have a thing, but we don't have a thing. That's where you're wrong. We don't have a thing. You have a thing."
"Who's running detention?" The tiefling giggled. Machaira honestly didn't know if she had a crush on the VP or just wanted to make everyone uncomfortable.
"Good grief, you are going to detention, here's your slip – young lady, why is there blood all over your hand?" Machaira's ears flattened as the disciplinarian's attention swiveled from the tiefling to Adaine to her still bloody hand on Adaine's shoulder. Oops, she thought. Machaira took her hand off Adaine as if burned and stared up at the principle. "Are you the one that slashed that young man, Fabian?" Machaira opened her mouth, closed it, then spoke.
"I, uh, really want to say no, but I don't think you're going to buy that, so…. detention well earned?"
"Very much so," Goldenhoard responded, handing her a slip as well. The hulking reptile stomped off. The tiefling smirked and flounced away without a word, leaving Machaira kneeling awkwardly in front of Adaine. Adaine seemed to be just shy of another attack, and Machaira felt her own posture shrink inward.
"Um, sorry about that. I, uh, feel like I made things worse."
"It's, it's fine," Adaine stammered, glancing between Machaira's bloody hand and fangs. Machaira bit her lip, forcing back the familiar dread ostracization. "Listen, um, I'm sorry if I freaked you out with the blood, and, um, fangs."
"It's fine." Adaine repeated. Machaira swallowed the irrational sense of shame that came from knowing that wasn't true. She stood, holding out her not bloody hand to Adaine who reluctantly accepted.
"Uh, look, let me make it up to you. I can, um, carry your orb to your locker for you, or something, if you want." Machaira awkwardly held out her hands. "You look really uncomfortable holding it." She wasn't sure why she was trying so hard to be on good terms with this girl, but for some reason she wanted Adaine to be more at ease with her, or at least less afraid of her.
"Oh god, my dad gave it to me," Adaine muttered. "Sure, yes, thank you." Machaira took the still glowing orb, surprised by its heft. Why on earth would anyone fight with something so big?
"Um, I'm Machaira." The tabaxi held out her right hand, realized it was still crusted red, and shuffled the orb into the crook of her right arm to hold out her left hand twisted around for Adaine. Adaine shook her hand, looking about as comfortable as Machaira felt.
"Hello, I'm Adaine Abernant, but then you already heard me say that." Machaira felt her tail lash across the hallway, sweeping in a huge arc left and right, forcing students to scramble out of the way. She swore her blush was showing through her fur.
"I, uh, heard you talking to that senior, Penelope," Machaira said without thinking, desperate to break the silence. Adaine's face crumpled. "You, uh, got a read on her pretty quickly. And, uh, it was cool how you called out her bullshit about the dance and her grammar. I, uh, really respected that." Machaira's shredded ears were pressed as hard as they could be against her head, eyes flickering between Adaine's face and the stupid orb.
"Oh, um, thanks, I guess," Adaine stammered. Machaira forced herself to breath evenly.
"So, um, if you don't mind me asking, why did you take that book?" Adaine sighed and closed her eyes.
"Because my stupid sister told me it was something you were supposed to do on the first day, and she always lies, but I did it anyway, and I don't know what I'm doing here - "
"Neither do I," Machaira stepped in. "But isn't that why we're here, to learn?" Adaine looked at her, tilting her head a bit.
"I guess so." Machaira shuffled her feet a bit, hind claws flexing in her socks.
"Look, um, I don't know where my locker is, much less yours, so…"
"Oh, god, right, of course." As Adaine and Machaira walked together through the halls, Machaira was painfully aware of Adaine's gaze going toward her fangs and ears. Students yelled at Machaira as her tail whipped low across their path, and she kept her eyes determinedly on the orb in her hands. "I'm so sorry, I'm being so rude." Adaine spoke up, looking away from Machaira's prominent teeth.
"It's alright, I'm used to being stared at," Machaira muttered.
"No, it's not, I'm sorry," Adaine took a big breath and switched topics. "So, why did you attack that boy?"
"Oh, um, I don't like bullies." Machaira responded hesitantly. "People like that Penelope girl, they're bullies you can't fight directly. You need to undermine them by getting other people to stand up to them. But that Fabian guy was just a jerk trying to be big. People like that are easy to fight. Fighting is simple. I'm, uh, not a smart girl. The simplicity of fighting appeals to me because it's something I can actually do."
"I think you're smart." Machaira knew Adaine was just trying to be polite, but even that little bit of effort was appreciated. Her tail lifted up with her lips and whiskers, smiling without showing her teeth.
"Thanks. Hey, if you don't mind me asking, what exactly is this for?" Machaira lifted the orb slightly. "It seems kind of… impractical?"
"It is one hundred percent impractical." Adaine confirmed. "Some friend of my dad once used it, but my dad never did. You're supposed to use it as a focus point for spells, but it's so big and heavy I feel like it's going to get me killed."
"You could drop it on their feet and pin them to the floor," Machaira suggested. Adaine gave her a genuine smile, and Machaira's tail rose higher. Maybe this school wouldn't be all bad.
"Elves are so lame. Oh my god, just so many –th soundings." – Figueroth Faeth (Fig)
Machaira awkwardly sat next to the other six kids with detention, Kristen brushing creamed corn off of her bible. They had sat together only because there was only one table at the edge of the room available. The tiefling Fig waved at the lunch lady one last time before lighting up a cigarette, eliciting a gasp from Kristen and attracting an increasing annoyed Goldenhoard. Machaira, who couldn't afford a school lunch, had accidently stood in line with the others and was forced to quietly decline the foul-smelling meal. She pulled a cloth bundle from her bag and unwrapped her lunch, a thick strip of dried meat.
"What is that?" Fabian asked Machaira imperiously, poking at his 'tuna' surprise.
"My lunch," Machaira told him, alert for potential retribution for her earlier attack.
"Well yes, but what is it? What is wrong with it?"
"It's jerky," Machaira told him, hackles beginning to rise. "As in dried meat. Have you never seen jerky before?"
"Why would you dry your meat?"
"To make it last longer." Machaira already didn't like Fabian's attitude and his superior confusion was grating her nerves. Whump whump. Her tail thwacked against the chair legs on either side of her. Adaine, who had chosen to sit on Machaira's immediate right, started. Surprisingly, it was Fig who intervened.
"I love your jacket." The tiefling lit up another cigarette. "You look awesome." Machaira immediately brightened, tail flicking up as she turned to smile at Fig.
"Thank you, I made it myself."
"You made that?" Fig's eyes widened with her grin. "That is so cool." If Machaira was honest with herself, she was a little starved for positive reinforcement in her life, and she lapped up Fig's enthusiasm like milk.
"It looks like it's made of scales," Adaine piped up.
"It is." Machaira realized her error as she made it. Everyone at the table turned to look at her. Machaira winced but straightened up. She'd given the game away; now she had to face the music. "I, um, hunt. Not trophy hunting, I don't know quite why people do that." The mental exercise of tracking and stalking, the anticipation building to the rush of power in the attack, the thrill of life and death, her mind supplied, reminding her that hunting was a sensation rooted in her blood and brain, a hunger that went beyond food. "Subsistence hunting. I, uh, grew up with it." Not a lie, but an obfuscation of the truth. "It's a good way to practice fighting and helps keep monsters under control. Plus, one good kill can feed me for weeks, so I don't have to go to the store where a lot of the food gets wasted." Numerically, her way of feeding herself meant that only a fraction of the number of creatures had to die to sustain her. "I don't let anything go to waste."
"So you're wearing the skin of something you've eaten?" Fabian asked, incredulous. Machaira's lips twitched in the beginnings of a snarl.
"Ever worn armor or boots? Then you've probably worn the skin of a cow." She countered.
"But why kill anything?" Adaine asked, a little alarmed. Machaira clenched her jaw. She didn't want to lose the progress she'd made with Adaine, but that was a tired and flimsy protest.
"Even if you're a vegetarian, you're killing a living thing to eat. Everything kills to eat, that's just how life works. By the time a human dies, thousands or millions of creatures died to sustain it, whether plants or animals. Plus, I can't digest plants too well. A lot of fruit and vegetable make me sick." Machaira looked the teens around her in the eyes one by one. If this cost her potential friendships so be it, but she would not ashamed of this part of her life. "I kill one monster, and I save the lives of everyone it was going to kill plus I keep myself alive. I can honestly say that I know and respect my food." Adaine tilted her head. Machaira could see the gears turning in there as she processed what Machaira was saying. The little goblin, Riz, The Ball, peered at her.
"Is that…wyvern skin?" He asked, awed. Machaira nodded, pride and self-consciousness fighting inside her. She briefly explained how a wyvern's mating display drains it of its venom supply and energy, preventing it from flying away or properly fighting back. "That is so rad." Fig and Adaine each felt the sleeve of her jacket, and Machaira had to fight back her instinct to push them off. Adaine quietly cast the identify spell, eyes glowing with magic.
"Oh my god," Adaine said, a touch of astonishment in her voice. "This is real wyvern skin."
"You sure you didn't buy it?" Fabian asked scathingly. Machaira gave him a dead pan look and showed him a set of red thread letters seamlessly sewn into either cuff on the jacket, one spelling her name and the other with her initials.
"Dude, that is metal ass fuck," Fig said, fingers dancing a riff over her bass. Adaine finally smiled.
"Ok, yeah, that's super cool." A laugh worked its way into her voice, and Machaira smiled. "Is that what you're eating, wyvern jerky?"
"I have before, but this is just boar. Good boar though." Machaira ripped off a bite of meat with her teeth, allowing the flavor to seep over her tongue before chewing. She preferred it freshly cooked, but jerky had been a staple of her diet for a long time.
"Can I have a bite?" The half-orc Gorgug asked quietly. Machaira smiled and ripped off a piece for him from the other end. There was something so genuine about him that she just adored. Riz asked next, and soon everyone but Fabian had tried a bite. Fig and Kristen weren't fans, and Riz would clearly eat anything, but Gorgug and Adaine seemed to enjoy it. Although she only asked for a small piece, Adaine smiled as she nibbled her bite while Gorgug wolfed his. Machaira knew elves, unlike orcs, didn't eat a lot of meat, but she was thrilled to finally have someone to share with. At the end of lunch, they all rose and walked to detention. When the little gnome Mr. Gibbons replaced Goldenhoard as their moderator, Machaira felt a glimmer of hope that this would be a bearable experience.
"Okay, so how do we feel about what we did?" Machaira's hope died.
"I technically have diplomatic immunity and – do I have to be here?" Adaine asked. Machaira frowned at the statement.
"I feel bad," Gorgug chimed in. "I didn't mean to punch you; I got so mad."
"I didn't do – I DID punch you, but it wasn't worth it, but I shouldn't be here. My crime was being too good for the blood rush team, and you scratched me." Fabian said with a long-suffering sigh and a finger pointed at Machaira.
"I scratched you, ok, maybe too badly, I'll admit, but I scratched you because you attacked him out of nowhere." Machaira rebutted. "You were being an ass."
"You punched him." Kristen frowned at Fabian.
"Yeah you punched him." Adaine repeated.
"Okay." Mr. Gibbons said, face blank and voice ethereal.
"Yeah, you punched him." Riz clarified. Machaira loved that the focus was not on her ripping a boy open on the front steps as everyone turned to Fabian.
"You punched him for no reason, even."
"Yeah, she had a reason."
"You're not being objective."
"I also admitted that I – " Fabian coughed. "I also admitted that I punched him; I said that."
"Wow, okay, so that's a lot of feelings, okay." Mister Gibbons droned on. Machaira wondered if he was high. "How's everything at home guys. Everything good?" Machaira utilized all her willpower to not react.
"It's great," Riz offered.
"Everything good at home?" The gnome repeated. "Okay, now, hey, now – "
"Why are you crying?" Kristen asked Fig.
"Why am I crying?" Fig asked, voice thick. Kristen hummed an affirmative. "Um, because I guess you tapped into something that, you know, maybe home's not great."
"Okay." Machaira wondered if the guidance counselor kept his voice vapid to dissuade people from thinking he was analyzing them.
"Maybe home's not great." Fig repeated, her voice breaking a bit.
"Okay, now those are strong feelings, okay, and I'm here to talk about anything, okay? If you have any problems – yes, right here?" Mister Gibbons broke off to address Adaine.
"Can't we just do lines instead of talking?" Adaine asked.
"Yes, Jesus Christ," Fabian agreed.
"Wow, wow, strong feelings all the way around." Mister Gibbons intoned. Machaira's previous theories lost credibility to the idea that maybe he neither knew nor truly cared about what anyone was saying. "Now there's something that I want to talk to all of you about." A piercing female scream tore through the room. Riz leapt up and bolted in the direction of it, Machaira and Fabian pounding on his heels. Kristen looked about for a moment and jogged behind the fighters. Fig yelled something about a jail break while Gorgug and Adaine glanced at each other nervously before scurrying after the group.
"Now hold on guys, don't go rushing into anything." Mister Gibbons warned. As the teens, ignoring the 'guidance' counselor, neared the source of the scream, Fig gasped.
"Doreen!" She yelled pouring on speed to crash through the cafeteria doors. Fabian, Riz, and Machaira poured in just after, the others a pace behind. Machaira's hackles rose at the sight of the dog-sized creatures that zipped about the room, wings buzzing as they snapped and snarled. A cob of corn with husk wings alighted on a nearby tabled, its cry half gnashing shriek and half baby burble, serrated leaf claws flailing wildly, eyes bulging over a wide mouth.
"So cute," Kristen gushed. Agreements drifted from the detention crowd. Other corn cuties were tearing at the walls and banners. At the far side of the cafeteria, lunch lady Doreen was slowing turning to gaze at them, sunken eyes glowing sickly yellow as arcane energy wrapped around her ladle.
"Hey kids, it's lunch time again, because we had lunch earlier, but bad lunch this time." Doreen intoned.
"I feel like if you have to explain the joke then it's not a good joke," Kristen offered.
"It was bad last time," Fabian rebutted.
"It's a bad lunch this time, it's a bad lunch." Doreen insisted.
"No!" Fig protested. Why Fig was defending a possessed woman's cooking, Machaira wasn't sure. A monstrous ooze of creamed corn began to pseudopod its way from the kitchen, gurgling angrily. A grin worked its way onto her face. Machaira unsheathed her saber with a growl of anticipation, tail twitching with the excitement before a fight. Fighting was simple. Fighting she understood. Machaira liked fighting.