Chapter Text
The black static is interrupted, a pale white mask floats in an extravagant mirror that glows strangely green. The Werecat looks around, ears back and tail more poofed than usual. Then the mask begins to speak.
“Oh my lovely Lord. The beautiful and noble flower of evil.” It rumbles.
“You are the most beautiful, number one in this world.”
MottledClaws looks at the mirror, startled. “What,” he quietly meows.
“Mirror mirror on the wall. Who’s the most-” it glitches, buzzing out in the void.
It comes back from the static, “-for thee are guided by the Mirror of Darkness. Follow thy heart and take the hand of the-” The mask freezes in place.
“Flames that burn even stars to ashes.”
“Ice that imprisons even time.”
“Great tree that swallows the sky.”
“Do not be afraid of the darkness.”
It stares down the Werecat. Eyeless eyes staring into his soul.
“Come now, show me your power. Mine. Theirs. And yours.”
A pause. A rumble.
“There's only little time left for us.”
“Do not let go of that hand at all costs.”
The Werecat gets knocked out cold. Floating in the inky void.
-- -- --
A light floods through the void, kicking out the cat from his relative peace. The sight of too many children in cult-ish robes bring back memories of the Ra’Zac’s Priests of Helgrind. Or at least the stories he was told about it. “What,” he hisses. “Am I not in my cat body?” MottledClaws said, looking at the robes on his own body. His tunic and trousers are underneath, then his Sverd Freohr dagger is in its sheath on his belt. (Sword Death in the ancient language)
I am a grown adult! This is too many cubs and kits. MottledClaws’ eyes dart around the area, slowly making his way through the legs of the people. He gets to the front, seeing the mirror from his dream. Though it floats above a fountain and isn't in a void.
A crow-person that nearly gives MottledClaws a heart attack. It looks like a Ra’Zac. But isn't. As the being smells of ink, books, feathers and magic. Near opposite of the rotting and unsettling scent of a Ra’Zac. “Time for the Sorting of Dorms!” It announces, gesturing to the mirror. “Get in a line, one at a time!” The kids then line up single file.
One at a time they say their name to the mirror. MottledClaws thought they were insane for a second. But then remembered that much larger feats of creation had been made by the Elves and Dragon Riders. But then the mirror says any mixture of seven(?) words that he figures must be a “dorm”. Certain groups seem to rejoice at a specific name. Some may be the dorm mates already in the dorm. If I am here, will I get sorted? Though the answer to that question is not too far off in the future.
Then comes four people infront of him. Then three. Then two. Then one. He thanks whoever is watching over him that he’s last. The Werecat would rather gather information to be able to run. Then comes his turn.
“State your name.” It speaks.
“I am MottledClaws, a fighter under Grimrr Halfpaw for the war against Galbatorix. Survivor and victor of the Battle of Urû'baen to defeat former Tyrant King Galbatorix.” He announced, looking the mirror in the “eyes”.
Whispers float past his ears, varying from “he’s so short.” To “what are those places and people.” “We didn't learn about any types of wars.”
“Hmm. Your soul is..” it ponders, the mask going still for a few beats.
“Is shaped of wild and free things. Shaped of two bodies. Shaped of another world. The dorm you belong in is.. Savanaclaw and none at all.” It finished. The group of animal scented cubs cheer in excitement. So MottledClaws slinks over, wishing for his cat attributes.
He slips between two males, one with lion ears and one with wolven ears. The one with brown hair radiates the feel of scorching sands, drought, and power. The lion is the king of the dorm. The Werecat grins, wickedly sharp teeth glinting in the low light.
The king of the dorm yawns, fangs glinting and showing off, “is the ceremony over? Can I go now?” The low, older voice gives MottledClaws a slight startle, making him re-evaluate the man.
Other exclamations come from the other leaders, all varying and some carrying the same sentiment; “where’s the Headmage?” To which a double door that MottledClaws was previously eyeing slams open, revealing two-three beings.
One is the same crow-man and one is a rattled, relatively short human. Then in the grasp of a whip is a cat, one with a pitchfork tail and wild blue fire in its ears. “On the contrary!” He yells,” I was just getting the lost student!” The crow-man pushes the other forward, towards the Mirror of Darkness. “I'll watch your familiar.” MottledClaws barely catches that sentence.
“State your name.” It rumbles the oh-so familiar phrase.
“My name is Yuu,” they say, faux confidence radiating off them. MottledClaws knows that because he can see them fidgeting with the inner sleeve of the robes. The silken material slightly bunching and moving where their hand moves.
“Your soul is..” it pauses longer than it did for the Werecat.
“I do not know. This one's soul is obscured, covered in mist and hidden behind a wall. Therefore I cannot sort them. No dorm is appropriate for this one.” The mask says, going quiet after saying those ominous things.
“What,” they say, quietly, as if in disbelief. The fidgeting stops, though only for a second.
“What! Why is that so?” The Headmage asks wildly. The feathery cape fluffed up as if it’s wings. The mask with the yellow pupils whip to stare at the human. The eyes bore into Yuu, who stands tall despite the fidgeting. The crow-man then looks at the mirror.
But the mirror does not answer.
The cat struggles out of the whip. Spinning around joyously and screeching in victory. “This magicless human may not have any, but I have magic! My spells’re the cats meow!” Its grating voice screeches, proudly standing on its hindquarters. A deep breath and it exhales blue bell flames. The Werecat looks in curiosity, only having seen the dragons Saphira, Thorn, and Shuriken expelling fire, and not much of it was blue.
The thing continues to run around, terrorizing the cubs. So the Werecat slowly stalks the thing, even as two other people are chasing it down. Spells(?) are sent after the cat, the magical strings of light just barely missing the cat. Cubs must be protected, cats protect their own fiercely, then so must the Werecats. Their young are both special and precious.
MottledClaws’ feet glide near silently on the stone floor. The flashes of spells and fire light up the room. How are they making that magic? It looks nothing like the proper magic we use. The Werecat looks on in curiosity, focusing on the little chase scene. “The spells are fascinating,” he murmurs, the colours bright and bold.
It looks nothing like the Ancient Language. There is not an incantation either. Such skill they must possess. MottledClaws stares, albeit a bit creepily at the three running. He is behind a pillar now, claws lengthening and body morphing.
The Werecat launches onward, into the fray. Though the small chase doesn't amount to anything like any battle MottledClaws had been in. Regardless, the Werecat streaks forward with fervor.
Both of the magicians jolt for a second, seeing a large, lanky cat dart ahead of them. What.. they both think. The other ones that hold power laugh at the sight, a cat, most likely a familiar, chasing after a rowdy hellbeast.
But the chase doesn't last long, MottledClaws catching the hellbeast within a few leaps. The creature struggles violently under the Werecat’s claws, yowling its displeasure as it does so.
The two magic wielders stop in surprise, lowering their strange little jewel ended rods. MottledClaws snarls and bared his teeth at the hellbeast, claws unsheathed and gently pricking its skin.
The clothes the Werecat was in swamps his body, to which MottledClaws is glad for. Even the ever useful Sverd Freohr dagger is sheathed on his tunic and trousers. Then he shifts once more, his body taking the shape of a short, child-like human.
That sends shock and awe throughout the crowd of cubs. Nevertheless the crimson haired boy brings back up his jewel crowned rod again, his commanding voice sounding out “Off With Your Head!” His voice screeches out, a burst of faint red-feeling magic swirls around the hellbeast’s neck, solidifying into a gaudy, strange spearhead collar.
Then at the same time the boy marches up, authority dripping off his frame. “Rule 23 of the Queen of Hearts; “One Must Never bring a cat to formal gatherings.” The entire existence of you being here is a violation of the rule,” he speaks strictly, crossing his arms and glaring down his nose at the hellbeast.
The little thing shivers under MottledClaws weight. Then it screeches out in indignation, “you really think this crappy collar will stop me!?! I’ll just roast it right off!” It yowls, the high, kitten-like voice grating on his ears, entirely too close to MottledClaws’ ears.
The Werecat feels a slight warmth gather in the little thing’s chest, evidently trying to charge up a bright, violent blast of blue flames. The thing is, it can’t. The collar is somehow trapping and stopping its fire.
The cub’s slate grey eyes gain flecks of pride, “you cannot set anything on fire. Not until I see to take that collar off. Now you are nothing but a house cat,” the pride and commanding aura colours his voice, pretty obviously proud of the magic.
Such powerful magic. Only masters of the Ancient Language could cut off a reaction of magic. How wonderful. He inwardly purrs, proud of the cub even if it isn't his.
Then the eyes of the kitten stares at MottledClaws, their mouth opening to probably reprimand the adult. “You!” They predictably say. “You used an illegal transformation potion. Along with non-wand magical usage. Which is dangerous to both the user and the surrounding area.” MottledClaws rolls his eyes internally, standing up to his “impressive” full height. The robe hood falls off, showing off his long-ish dark chestnut brown hair, slight scarred face, a left side lip scar, and dual amber and light teal blue eyes.
A little show of surprise at his stature, as the cub infront of him is already shorter than most that Mottled can see. So he laughs, looking up at the other’s eyes. “Dear little cub. It seems that I am being reprimanded by a youngling,” his voice full of mirth, joy shining as he bared his teeth.
The boy looks slightly aghast, startled and disbelieving. “You-” they start. But then is interrupted by the other silver haired cub.
“Good show as always, Riddle! Ah, how I want your magic-” he strangely stops, “-no I don’t want it casted on me.” The elf-feeling cub says, quickly changing their speech as if to hide something. The scents around the cub surely betrayed their intents, greed and longing is only natural for one of low esteem.
The Ra’Zac-like being appears over the two cubs’ shoulders, pushing them to part ways so it can see the hellbeast still pinned by MottledClaws. It grabs the thing by the collar and scruff, straightening up to nearly flinging it at the soul-blocked student. Making the poor child flinch by closing their eyes and bracing for impact. A small croon makes its way from the Werecat’s throat, worried for the cub.
“Yuu! Take care of your cat, it's your familiar isn't it? Was I not clear when I stated that you should take responsibility of the thing,” it questioned, fully believing that the being was in the right. Which it isn't the correct answer. The child was staring it down with a blank stare, though tears were forming in their eyes. They fidget with their smooth robe, rubbing it between their pointer and thumb.
“But, they aren't mine. I’ve never seen the cat before. Nor do I know about anything regarding familiars!” They claim, slightly raising their voice at the end. Their voice wobbled slightly due to the tears, though was pushed down slightly. Their voice slightly low in tone, though could pass for both high pitched male and a female.
MottledClaws, who was thrown off the hellbeast, had gotten up and slowly padded over to the two arguing people. His metaphorical ears pitched back in anger, knowing the Ra’Zac being is much, much older than the cub it's currently scolding. So, he speaks up, “sir Ra’Zac, I do hope you’re not yelling at a poor, clearly young child? The thing looks like they’re about to cry.” MottledClaws says, stepping between the two. The crow-man looks startled at the Werecat’s audacity, it's feathered cape fluffing up in indignation.
The expression on the child is guarded, wary. MottledClaws is slightly proud at the wariness, it is vital to live in his world. That is how you get scammed, forced into work, and forced to fight. Or at least how it used to be and will still be for the next few years. The Dragon Riders will be returned and pull Alagaesia out of the remnant clutches of the Tyrant King.
The child looks the crow-man in the eyes, “but the cat isn't mine. I haven't seen them before in my life. I wouldn't want a prideful, trigger happy, fire breathing cat as a partner.” They say, crossing their arms, which then shows off hands that are rough around the fingers with warts on their palms and around their thumb juncture. A faint scar can be seen between the two first knuckles of their left hand. Their hands look dry with long, somehow strong fingernails. Along their wrist are small bits of colour, little drawings, mostly hearts and smiley faces.
The crow looks at the child, quickly schooling his expression of surprise and self righteous bullshit. It coughs, “ah, I see. Then let me send this beast off campus posthaste. Because I am gracious, it shall not be made into a stew.” The crow-man passes the hellbeast off to another staff, who quickly exits the room to go and deposit the thing outside the campus.
It-He turns to the group of cubs, crossing his arms and waves a hand in dismissal. MottledClaws’ dorm started moving a bit more, but due to a missing person, an elf-like person had to step in. They shake their head, short, neon pink streaked black hair fluttering around like a curtain. Their ruby slitted eyes bore into the Werecat’s ones, sending shivers along his spine. The coloring of every part of their face sends shocks of fear, they remind the Werecat too much of a Shade. Durza had done too much damage to Eragon Shadeslayer, leaving him crippled for too long. If a Shade is in this place, then this place must be a place of magic and war.
The Werecat looks away, eyes down as they give up the challenge; not wanting to upset a Shade-like being. The black haired being looks away after another second, rounding up their own dorm to march back to wherever they reside. MottledClaws looks back at the rest, and almost panics due to his own dorm leaving. So he bounds down from the raised platform, running along to meld with the crowd of students.
The Headmaster turns back to the child, putting a clawed hand on his hip and continuing to speak in a deprecating and self reverential manner.