He arrived at the Swordsman School of Training. A giant metal gate stood before him, and beyond it sat a wooden building bearing a signboard: two crossed swords before a shield.
His fists rested on his hip, his face beaming. "So this is the school where I learn to swing my sword." He rubbed his hand, grinning. "Time to finally be a swordsman for real. Ooo, I can't wait."
While he was beside himself with excitement—like a child before an amusement park—an archaic voice called out from his right.
"Never have mine eyes beheld one so brimful of childlike mirth before the schoolhouse walls."
Oswald turned to see a male elf wearing a blue bowler hat sitting above his pointy ears, a blue waistcoat over a white buttoned shirt, and matching blue trousers and shoes.
Holy Shakespearean!
"Yeah, well, I've always wanted to learn to swing a real sword, rather than playing with sticks."
The elf wrapped one hand around his stomach while pinching his chin with the other. "I perceive it clearly; 'tis but one cause among many that draweth thee hither, yet it is a childish impulse, lacking all governance and direction."
"Hey man, look. In this here land of opportunities—which I just arrived today, this morning—I chose one of many paths. As for me lacking direction, this isn't me starting a business which has to have a plan. It's me choosing a path, seeing where it leads. And maybe, just maybe, there's a vantage point along the way—a view that shows me where I'm heading next... in life."
The elf relaxed his pinch on his chin, his head tilting slightly as he listened. The condescending smirk faded into a look of genuine curiosity.
"So thou art not childish after all, despite mine own presumptions; and thy rebuttal—aye, I would deem it fully worthy of friendship." He extended his hand. "Aelindor Thalorian is mine name."
Wow. Yes! Friends would be nice in this unfamiliar world.
Oswald accepted the hand. "Oswald Jack, and thanks. I think we should head inside—I don't know when it starts, so, an early bird catches the worm and all that."
With Aelindor's nod, the two of them walked onto the school grounds alongside other, diversely raced students.
* * *
The two entered the reception area, joining a line of other students waiting to be assigned their classrooms.
"I wonder if we'll be in the same class? Would you want that?"
"Verily."
Oswald smiled. "Thanks—Oh, our turn's coming up."
He walked up to the receptionist—a Siamese Cat-eared lady wearing a nun's attire (but isn't a nun, no Christianity here). In front of her was a thick book—the school's registry—her white-feathered quill hovered above.
"Name and age, please."
"Ahem. I'm Oswald Jack. Age, 22, and behind me, Aelindor Thalorian. His age? Probably a thousand-plus years old."
"Hahaha. 'Tis only five hundred threescore and seven be the sum of mine years."
Way off.
"What he said. And also, we'd like to be in the same class, if that's okay."
The receptionist registered their name and age among the others. Finished, she looked at them. "Your classroom is Room 1-3. From this point, turn right; the room numbers on the signboard will guide you the rest of the way."
"Thanks."
They followed her directions. Just as she'd said, wooden planks hung by chains by the doors, each with a number painted in black—but the numbers were neither Roman nor Arabic. Oswald slowed down a bit, letting Aelindor take the lead. From the six classrooms—three on either side—Aelindor entered the third room to the right.
The classroom's atmosphere was just like any school's classroom, small groups scattered here and there, the discussions blending with each other like a chorus.
"I'd like us to sit at the front. I like being face-to-face with the tutor."
"Aye, was my first intent."
They took their seats at the front. Oswald opened his mouth to engage in conversation but was interrupted by a familiar voice.
"Ha! Didn't think m'self to be in the same room as ya."
The same lizard that had given him directions, walked up to their table. The lizard looked at Aelindor, its head tilted. "Who is the elf fella sittin' beside ya?"
"He's a recently made friend. How recent, you ask? Five minutes ago, outside the school."
The lizard extended its clawed-hand. "Pleased to meet ya, Zharrak Scaleshadow's the name."
"Aelindor Thalorian, 'tis a pleasure to make thine acquaintance."
"Heheh. Man, just look at us. Three friends of different races. I think our group warrants a name... How about... the Mary Band of Idiots."
Aelindor's hand met his forehead while Zharrak's hand clenched into a fist.
"Idiot? Who ya callin' an idiot? Idiot."
"I'm not calling you an idiot. I'm calling us idiots, idiot."
"I would fain tender mine own formal withdrawal."
"Denied. Once in, no getting out."
An unknown voice with an Australian accent chimed in the banter. "A Mary Band of Idiots, eh? Reckon I could tag along?"
Oswald looked to his left. The source of the Australian voice was a Koala-eared young man, wearing a shirt with a weird, blue-patterned design and black shorts. Holy shit, he sounds... and looks like an Australian.
"Join? Bro, you were already in before you uttered your request!"
"Bloody beaut! Name's Korrin Eucalyptus."
Oswald held a thumbs-up. "Exchellent! Welcome to the Mary Band of Idiots." I have to stop saying excellent like Lee, but I can't stop.
He let out a silent whistle, the yesterday's failure with his parents disappearing, making a genuine smile cross his face.
"Wow, this group is colorful like the rainbow. I hope we have an A+ school yea—"
His optimism and the chorus of conversation around him were cut short by a man—long, brown hair stopping just above his shoulders—in knight's armor with a fluttering blue cloak. His left hand rested on the hilt of a sheathed sword.
In a commanding British accent, he announced. "I am Garrick Ironveil, and I shall be the one to instruct this class."
* * *
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