Trials of the Amatus

Assigned to meet your praeceptor in the Hall of Appraise, you tread the extravagant chamber with anticipation. Light that crept from the outside through the stained glass, all of such depicting the positions of each Amatus in separate panes, illuminated your path. At the end of the hall stood your praeceptor with a scroll in their grasp and a dark blue mixture sat beside them. Upon your arrival, they examined your physique carefully, then extended the scroll to your reach and nudged the mixture forward. Before you were to take the delicately rolled instructions that were bound by a ribbon and a stamp with the Academy of Larua Pratum’s crest, an intricately adorned star, you were asked a question. “How prepared are thy for thee’s trials? Answer in good faith.”

Your praeceptor nods and passes you the scroll, instructing you to go to the Mystic Lake, then return to them when you have finished your first trial. Nodding, you take the scroll, journeying from the academy to the neighboring lake of an evanescent blue and remove the stamp and ribbon binding the scripture, its contents reads: “Stray Startouched, thy should feel great honor that thee praeceptor has found thy suitable to begin thee trials. On the assignment of thoust’s trials should also receive an indigo tonic, thou is to sip the tonic and close thee’s eyes. Allow the Stars to take thou sight, and welcome thee to their plane of continuance, where thoust’s trials shall commence.” How do you react upon reading the instructions?

Opening the mixture, you take a sip, placing it down and closing your eyes. For a moment, the world becomes quiet. The prior ambience of subtle wind rustling the leaves of nearby trees vanished, and the atmosphere suddenly lost any distinction. This displacement of your environment was short-lived, as gradually, wispy streams of fog would come together to create forms and other figures. Despite your eyes still being shut, it appeared as if you were looking through both of them. In awe of your surroundings, you look around, observing yourself to be in a conflict above a rookery, amidst a clashing of Startouched and invading aves. In front of you is a set of talonry, appropriate for your physique. Next to the talonry is a satchel filled with herbs, vines, and tonics. At the opposing side of the satchel is a lantern. Which do you pick up?

Lost in the rush of the mirage for what felt like hours until a burst of wind coursed through your feathers and the setting in front of you abruptly dissipated, the apparition came to an end. Lingering in your chest, you felt an odd, warm sensation tingling in its region. Snapping out of your trance, you look to the scroll, the text you saw inscribed on it prior to your trial now mysteriously had a drawing of your choice recorded onto its pages. With its change, you assumed now was the time to return to your praeceptor, and so, you did. At your return, your praeceptor greeted you, asking how your trial went as they took the scroll from your talons. How do you answer?

The next day, you meet with your praeceptor once again with the tonic on your person, you are then handed your second trial. Going to the lake, you read the scroll, it's the same text as before. Wasting no time, you take a sip of the tonic and close your eyes, awaiting the second approaching trial. Thunder crackled through the sky as light flashed in your view before clearing, revealing the storm surrounding you. Rain beat down from the clouds above followed by raging wind. On further observation of your environment, you could make out a silhouette of an injured ave in the distance, lying coldly in the center of a field. What is the first thing you do?

With the brutal storm circling around you, your sight came to a blur, soon after, you were pulled from your mirage. Like before, your choice was inked into the paper. Taking the scroll and tonic, you venture back to the academy and meet your praeceptor, giving them the result of your second trial. Prior to your leave, they ask if you have any questions. What questions might you have?

They nod their head understandingly, yet they do not respond. With your dismal, you leave. The next day, you return to them. You’re given your third trial, now knowing the routine, you find the lake, take the tonic, and close your eyes. Tranquility fills the air as you sit snugly in place. Gradually, a comforting scent of roasted mice and grub reaches your senses. Coming into vision, you’re perched in a rookery. The locals seem to be chattering in a foreign language; joyful laughs and content shouts echo in the scenery. As your eyes feast on the colorful sights around you, you’re approached by an ave who seems nervous. They’re talking to you. Do you know what they’re saying?

Soon, the scent of the food, flowers, and smithing of talonry became so overwhelming that it felt as if your nostrils were burning. Haze was all you could look through before the apparition dissipated. Like before, your choice was inked into the paper. Taking the scroll and tonic, you venture back to the academy and meet your praeceptor, giving them the result of your second trial. Prior to your leave, they ask how you believe you are doing in your trials. How do you feel about your progress?

They nod their head understandingly, yet they do not respond. With your dismal, you leave. The next day, you return to them. You’re given your fourth trial, knowing the routine, you find the lake, take the tonic, and close your eyes. Feeling the familiar stiff air of the academy’s tenor once more, you hear panicked murmurs and spot not just taloners and conquisitors lining in siege-ready formation, but scholars, too, with and without talonry alike. You notice some aren’t wearing talonry, some have a few bruises already, and that some seem nervous about the conflict ahead. What do you do?

From before, that warm feeling in your chest went from its first mild presence to a tight burning in your lungs. Breathing quickly became difficult, you stumbled backward and fell onto your back. Gasping, you open your eyes. Like before, your choice was inked into the paper. Taking the scroll and tonic, you venture back to the academy and meet your praeceptor, giving them the result of your second trial. Prior to your leave, they ask if you’re okay. How do you respond?

They nod their head understandingly, yet they do not respond. With your dismal, you leave. The next day, you return to them. You’re given your fifth trial, knowing the routine, you find the lake, take the tonic, and close your eyes. What peaceful quiet you had in the previous trials was not present in this one; chills went up your spine as you felt two pairs of eyes burning in your direction. A cry breaks the silence, and there, behind you, is a hatchling, Startouched, like you, whimpering as two aves shriek at you. What is your course of action?

Adrenaline rushed through your veins and filled every ounce of your being. You felt light-headed, as if you were going to fall over and collapse at any second. Shaking, your eyes jerked open, and you looked around to make sure the mirage was over. Like before, your choice was inked into the paper. Taking the scroll and tonic, you venture back to the academy and meet your praeceptor, giving them the result of your second trial. Prior to your leave, they ask if you saw anything strange. How do you respond?

They look at you, you can’t see their eyes yet you feel as if they’re staring directly into your being. They do not respond. With your dismal, you leave. The next day, you return to them. You’re given your sixth trial, knowing the routine, you find the lake, take the tonic, and close your eyes. Dark surrounded you. Feeling as if you were drifting in an endless void, you stumbled through the abyss. Eventually, your talons met a stone flooring, you found yourself back in the academy, but strangely, empty. You looked around for your kinsmen, yet you found none. None, but a pair who seemed erratic. They spewed delusions of grandeur, hissing with every word and loudly denouncing the Summus of Divinity. Catching your gaze, they look at you and fix their stance defensively. What do you do?

As you hurried throughout the academy, the walls began to crumble and pillars fell overhead. Below your talons, you felt the ground below you shatter, and as you fell through the floor, you were greeted by a never ending sea of stars. Momentarily, you felt as if a greater presence was spectating you, surveilling and assessing your every feature, when your eyes promptly opened. Like before, your choice was inked into the paper. Taking the scroll and tonic, you venture back to the academy and meet your praeceptor, giving them the result of your second trial. Prior to your leave, they ask what your friends are like. How do you respond?

They nod their head understandingly, yet they do not respond. With your dismal, you leave. The next day, you return to them. You’re given your seventh trial, knowing the routine, you find the lake, take the tonic, and close your eyes. Without transition, face to face, you see a peer, another scholar; they’re in pain. Gazing into their eyes, you see that they have gone mad. In every attempt they try to use their abilities, they scream in agony and sprawl as their stareye scorns them for their betrayal. They look at you and beg for help. What do you do?

The whimper and cry of your peer repeat in your mind as you carry out your choice. Your face feels hot and it's as if your own eyes string from witnessing the effect of the boastful, and what it does to a Startouched. Raising your wings to your face, you hold your head to try and make the ache go away, and in such efforts, you’re successful. You open your eyes back to the lake’s illuminated waters. Like before, your choice was inked into the paper. Taking the scroll and tonic, you venture back to the academy and meet your praeceptor, giving them the result of your second trial. Prior to your leave, they ask how you would go about handling conflicts of interest. What is your response?

They nod their head understandingly, yet they do not respond. With your dismal, you leave. The next day, you return to them. You’re given your eighth trial, knowing the routine, you find the lake, take the tonic, and close your eyes. A wintry breeze pierced at your skin, you shuttered, covering yourself with your wings as you looked around. You noticed you were treading amongst a group of peers in the tundra of Skr’ai, on some kind of retreat. Besides you, an ave pulled a cart that carried a satchel that had fabrics, yarn, needles, and other sewing accessories. It also had a lantern and coals. What do you do?

Snowfall gets heavier, soon, the mist is so strong that it's impossible to see the ave next to you. Turning your head, you try to check where your group may have gone, but all you see ahead is a faded gray from the intense blizzard. All up, until your apparition fades. You open your eyes. Like before, your choice was inked into the paper. Taking the scroll and tonic, you venture back to the academy and meet your praeceptor, giving them the result of your second trial. Prior to your leave, they ask if you are the creative type. Would you say that word describes you?

They nod their head understandingly, yet they do not respond. With your dismal, you leave. The next day, you return to them. You’re given your ninth trial, knowing the routine, you find the lake, take the tonic, and close your eyes. Through the dark, rain soothingly drops on the dirt under you. Looming trees, vines, and other foliage come into sight. You recognize this as the Wraiths’ Meadow, the only region lacking a rookery. Which is why, the figure you make out ahead of you is all the remarkable. A Startouched hatchling looks at you, alone, cowering under a bush. You beckon it to come to you, but it's scared of you. What do you do?

For some strange reason, you are hit with a faint sense of recognition. Despite the hatchling just being in your sight, you blink once, immediately losing track of it. You feel your heart drop, leaving you at a loss for words, the rain becomes the only thing you heed before your vision ends. You open your eyes. Like before, your choice was inked into the paper. Taking the scroll and tonic, you venture back to the academy and meet your praeceptor, giving them the result of your second trial. Prior to your leave, they ask if you hold grudges. Would you say that you do?

Yet again, your answer is adjoined with a daunting stare of nothing but silence, they, without fail, give no response. With your dismal, you leave. The next and final day, you return to them. You’re given your tenth trial, the last. Knowing the routine, you find the lake, drink the remaining contents of the tonic, and close your eyes. Darkness envelops your vision for a few minutes, you feel as if nothing is happening. Unsure if the mixture is no longer working, you try to open your eyes. You can’t. But, like a summoning order of a greater power, light shines through the dark. One by one, stars line the atmosphere around you. The sight was beautiful, constellations cornered every surface of the sky above you. Lowering your gaze, you found yourself standing in the mystic lake that seemed to be never ending. There were no trees in sight, no shore, just the lake and the stars above. From where you were situated, it felt like the accords painted in the sky were looking down at you, watching you. The pressure was immense, when suddenly, the stars glistened in unison, it appeared as if they were attempting to communicate. You stood there, confused, but soon, the message was recieved. It went as follows: “How would thou describe thee, kin o’ mine?”

The stars glow, flickering between each other. You can’t make out what they’re saying, but you can tell you are being discussed and evaluated by the greater power. The sound of running water soothes your nerves, making you question if the lake was always this calming before. Your attention begins to fade, black waning your vision. You want to keep your curiosity at peak but you just can’t fight the shuttering of darkness. Soon, you awoke, laying down at the shallow edges of the lake. You climb onto the shore, shaking the water off your feathers as you bestow your sight to the scroll and now empty tonic. Out of interest, you open the scroll, wondering what was inscribed in its contents. Yet, upon unraveling, it was empty. For a moment, you pondered if something was wrong. Regardless, you figured that was better left to your praeceptor. Returning to them in the academy, you gave them the scroll and the empty mixture. They took it from you. With no remaining comment, they told you to wait until the strike of midnight for your results. What do you do to pass the time?