The small boy hissed as the leather strap fell across his back once more. Oh what torture, oh what torment that such a small, weak, little boy must endure to earn his bread and water for the day. It had only been a small trick, and that other boy had deserved it too! Zeddy had shown him, shown him that being older and stronger meant nothing in the face of being outsmarted! But how it hurt! The young boy was still contemplating whether or not the consequences were of value in his favor or not when the boot hit his bowed body in the midriff and knocked him on his side, cradling his gut with a wounded yelp.

"Get up, boy! This pain is something you will endure and learn to surpass!"

The strike of the next blow caught Zeddy's hand and he howled in response, holding his hand to his mouth as he cried.

"Get your nasty paws away from your mouth, you filthy animal!"

The exposed stomach received another kick which rolled the boy over again. Blunt trauma was a tool that quickly delivered the message that was meant to be imparted upon the young and naive. Zedrich Rommelisch was no exception.

He was seven years old at the time, a novice, and one so young that he was of a group often referred to as toads, or jokingly as familiars, as they for the most part were instructed through servitude, scholastic studies, and harsh discipline and rarely considered a human in the eyes of anyone above them. They hadn't earned that priviledge yet. Not until the first of the trials.

"Your mentor will not be pleased to know you whimpered like a sick dog and lost any sense that you might be something more, huddled there like a gasping fetus. Get up, I say!"

The boot came in towards Zedrich's face and the small boy's eyes went wide in panic. He rolled back and rose into a crouch. His crimson red robes were matted in sand as he slowly stood, wincing as he clutched his sides. The little boy wasn't schooled in anatomy yet and couldn't know that his fragile ribs were cracked or that the pain in his lower back would mean he'd **** blood later that day. He just didn't want to feel that immediate burst of pain anymore.

"You going to run and cry now, boy? Find some dark corner to curl up in and gather your knees to your chest, and let the tears roll? Its not like you have a mother to cry to. Better yet that you learn from this. You are weak. There is always someone stronger, that can cause pain unto you, whelp. But you won't be as lucky as to get away with crying. Like any other predator, you show weakness, and it only provokes them more. You can't even understand this lesson yet boy but I figure I throw enough mud at the fence and eventually it'll stick.

So gather yourself. Your Mentor and Master Mage Agriel will be needing you to perform your duties. Due so in haste, young Zedrich and remember the face of those who have come before you so that their memory might grant you the respect and knowledge to be deserving of what the Mages see in the stars for you."

Wiping his running nose, Zeddy pulled his small crimson robes about his shoulders and sniffled as he bowed as low as he could at the waist, wincing again, before standing, and seeing the recognition of dismissal in the eyes of Taskmaster Blayk Heznersmit. He dashed off, his sandals slapping against the stone floor of the temple as he headed towards his Mentor's quarters.

The corridors of the temple on Kromund Daas were dark but for the spots of light provided by the torches and glow lamps set here and there. The boy knew the corridors well though, his memory had never been of any other place. He tottered to a heavy stone door and reached up on his tippy toes to reach the heavy metal ring. He slammed it three times and then once more as according to his Mentor's orders when announcing his presence.

The door shuddered and moved, sliding up slowly into the space above. There was no light in the room but Zedrich's eyes had already adjusted to the shadows and could see into the room clearly enough to see the two shifting forms on the bed in the back of the room.

To say the Mages of Dromund Kaas lived without luxury would be a lie. It was of older fashion, the temple, having been there for what seemed an eternity, established within the muck and dinginess of the swamps of the planet, a pivotal conjunction of the dark forces of the universe in which the Mages relished. They were secret for the most part and reclusive but they managed a wealth with other sources. Sources that would never claim they received help from such a mythical group as the Mages. Dromund Kaas didn't even exist as far as the galaxy was concerned and the Mages preffered to keep it that way.

The room had bookcases against the walls and the other corner of the room was alive with noises, the small murmurs of caged animals and the gurgling and bubbles of multiple apparatus. Zedrich was the most fascinated with a statue that occupied the left corner closest to the door. It was adorned in crimson robes and armor plates to match. The plates were dressed in runes and in the statue's hands was a halberd that seemed to shine sharp even in the darkness. Zedrich wasn't allowed to touch any of it though, never ever. Or else Master Mage Agriel would melt Zeddy's hands off. Oh how he feared his skin bubbling up and off like Master Mage Agriel had showed him once upon a small vermin that had managed to invade the Mage's quarters.

The two forms shuddered underneath the glimmering sheets and then one lay still. Agriel shifted that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, only covered by the sheets across his lap. He held his face in his hands and rubbed the skin at his temples for a moment before motioning for the boy to approach.

"Novice, fetch me water."

Zedrich moved with purpose, fetching a wide panned bowl and filling it with water from the sink. He slowly scuffled forward to the Master Mage and bowed his head as he offered the bowl. The Mage accepted the bowl with both hands and held the edge to his lips and drank graciously. The boy stood there with head bowed, hands up, ready and waiting to receive the bowl once his Master Mage Mentor had finished.

"You did what to deserve the ire of Taskmaster Heznersmit this morn, Novice Zedrich? Who's face did you not keep your's to remember?"