There was a school, a special school, one meant primarily for nobles and families of royal blood, though other students were able to earn their way in through hard work. It was surrounded by an imposing, but decorative, wall and large, wrought-iron gates with a massive crest emblazoned. Inside the gated place was a massive school with comfortable dorms, a huge series of gardens and forested areas, it was a school almost larger than a full-sized palace. But there was a difference here. All of the students, and the majority of the instructors, were Tieflings. -- Anon Guest
On the outside, it was grim, grey, and imposing. The glimpses of architecture that loomed above the tall, sheer walls and their spiked parapets did not look all that inviting. Even the gates were grey. Old oak bounded in wrought iron that had been there so long that it had petrified, or so local legend said. The crest on it looked like an afterthought. Added, somehow, some years after the wood had turned to stone.
You couldn't even climb that, as it was a cruelly-rendered work of art. Just to look at it was to cut one's eyes on the bladed edges. Assuming, of course, that one actually wanted to get in.
Coaches go in. Boxed palanquins go in. Hooded figures, too, with anxious stance and tight fists on pieces of paper. Guards walk the upper walls, all with imposing armour and helms embellished with horns. Children are threatened with being sent there if they are bad.
Linton had been so threatened and, owing to an accident of birth, was automatically wicked. That sort of thing happened when the demons marked you as one of their own.
It may be a great source of pride to have a warlock as an ancestor, but it's not that great when the demon's alliance shows up in the bloodline after generations.
In Linton's opinion, the cyan skin wasn't so bad. The horns and the tail wasn't hir fault. For everyone else, it was rude to comment on something that could not be easily remedied. And having hooves saved on the shoe budget. Didn't they?
Ze couldn't be sure. That particular argument had Linton packed inside a shuttered carriage and sent off to Perdition Palace, the school for the chronically naughty.
Linton tried to peek through the shutters and earned yet another disciplinary smack from hir nurse's riding crop.
"A proper Voisson does not peek through curtains and shutters like a common prodnose."
Linton, age eight, kept hir mouth shut. Raising the argument that ze was not a proper Voisson if ze was being sent here was just another cause to make hir nurse hit hir again. Nurse Sefare liked Linton best when ze was sitting very still, not saying a word, and not getting into trouble.
Then again, Linton had successfully got into trouble by also sitting very still and not saying a word. Ze was still trying to figure out how it was accomplished, honestly.
Nurse Sefare was peeking through the shutters like a common prodnose. What she saw made her upset, crinkling her nose and twisting her mouth even further in disgust.
"Ugh," scoffed Nurse Sefare. "The sooner I am quit of this place, the better."
Linton could not stop hir eyes from leaking. Ze had little to no idea of how ze was wicked to begin with, but now ze was in for a lifetime of punishment.
The coach stopped. Linton sighed and re-donned the big cloak to hide hir sins from the good eyes of the world. Nurse Sefare seized the scruff of hir hooded neck and dragged hir roughly about to a hard chair in a severe hallway.
"Stay. There. Do not move until someone comes to get you."
That 'get' was truly ominous. Like the monsters in the deadly grey of night coming to get hir. Or the others that came for children who suckled at their body parts, and then snipped off or ate those parts as punishment. Or any number of beasts who came to get wicked little children who were born with orange eyes and cyan skin and hooves for feet and horns on their heads.
Tears would not stop. Fear would not ease. Linton balled hir fists in hir clothes, tensing and waiting for teeth or claws. Something was coming to get hir.
"Ah, my dear. They always cry, the new ones."
The blurry form of a kerchief entered Linton's vision.
"...'nk you," ze squeaked.
Someone eased the hood down. "No need for tears, little one. No need to be afraid." The speaker was a wine-dark purple, and had bright cherry-red eyes. In more ways than one. A wide and easy smile had more than the acceptable number of sharp teeth, but they weren't threatening at all.
Spaded tail. Wings on their back. Pointed ears. Oh yes, the horns, too.
"You're a Tiefling. Like me."
"Well spotted," they laughed. "We're all Tieflings here. Safe and sound from a world set on hating us."
That... boggled Linton's mind. "So I'm not going to get got?"
"Er. I've come to take you to your suite, if that's what you mean. Name's Henly. Duke of Polridge."
"Linton," ze offered hir hand. It was shaking, still. "Voisson of Alvine."
First days at school are always full of tears. This one for entirely different reasons.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / lineartestpilot]
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