Berke Bayamaar's Test
One of the other students finished his demonstration. Professor Emilya Vance marked down a few notes on her clipboard, then turned to Berke. "Mr. Bayamaar, you're up. Please demonstrate what you know of magic."
Stepping forward dutifully, Berke picked up a nearby lump of iron and went to work on it. He had not done this a lot, but he had tried his best to practise back home. He had learned to do it on demand, though he had not experimented much at all. Eventually, with a little struggle and effort, Berke produced a crude looking short sword from his metal lump. "Did I do good?" He asked.
Emilya scribbled down notes on the clipboard during Berke's demonstration, and at his question, she looked up and examined the shortsword. "You have a good understanding of the structure of iron, Berke. Keep practicing and you should be able to work out the kinks in it. You passed this part of the test with flying colors."
"Ah, thank you so much, ma'am." He responded, treating her with the respect due in spite of her childish appearance.
She nodded up at Berke in response. "You may return to the group. Mr. Karatos, if you will..."
Once the entire room had performed their demonstrations for Professor Vance, it was time for the combat test. Emilya looked to Berke once more. "Mr. Bayamaar, it's your turn to take the combat test. Feel free to take your shortsword with you once you've secured your mask."
The tiny professor moved over to the blast door and pressed the button to open it, once more revealing the Deadlands-esque environment. Nothing was moving inside.
Berke couldn't be more nervous. He had known that entering into this career path may lead him to kill things and face danger, but it didn't make him any less apprehensive about it. He had in fact killed things back home; the creatures that were hunted around Altay for sustenance. He had never liked it, but his dad had explained it as a necessity for people to live. They had to kill or they couldn't eat, especially as Altay was not surrounded by good farmland. Berke steeled himself with the knowledge that what he did now was necessary; he had to do it. He would just have to live with the deaths of these creatures if he wanted to continue.
Stepping into the chamber, gas mask adorned and shortsword in hand, Berke had no idea what to expect. Feeling there was little else to do but test his environment, Berke lightly banged his sword on the ground. He was hoping it would provoke the creatures into a confrontation, as standing here not knowing where they were was creeping him out. Better a straight fight than stumbling around in the dark.
The blast door slid shut with a solid thud behind Berke, and in seconds the room filled with a thin white fog similar to what was shown in Deadlands pictures. Taking off the mask now would be a very, very bad idea. When Berke struck the ground with his sword, the feel of concrete covered in a thin layer of dirt responded, but there was still no motion in the room for several seconds. A soft wave of energy pulsed through the room, almost imperceptible, though it prompted a very light tickling feeling at the base of Berke's brain, and seconds after, he heard some of the plantlife in the room rustling to his left, his right, and directly above him in the pitch dark vines overhead. A glimpse of a brown shell could be caught through the crystalline grass to the left out of the corner of his eye. The Ashhoppers seemed reluctant to attack right off the bat.
Reflexively backing up on the sight of the creatures, Berke gradually came to the realisation he would have to attack first. He didn't want to rush in and attack, however, as he felt like that would be a huge mistake in an environment like this. Instead, he manipulated a small chunk of metal out of the back of his sword, just enough to make a little sphere out of. With that in hand, he threw it with all his force at the one he had spotted in the grass. With luck, he might pierce it's shell. If not, he might provoke them into the open.
In the darkness, it was hard to tell what exactly he had hit with the iron ball, but the sound was like a loud crack, and some of the crystalline grass blades split and fell onto the ground. The movement on that side of the room had stopped, and the instant the noise stopped echoing around the concrete walls, a loud buzzing came in from the other side of the room, heading straight towards him.
Readying himself, with his back towards the blast door, Berke prepared another few metal spheres, as many as he could without weakening his blade to the point of worthlessness. Upon catching sight of the bugs coming towards him, Berke intended to nail as many as he could with his spheres before they were right upon him. Once they were, that was when Berke would have to fight with all his might.
The insectoid shape flashed pink and violet as it flew through the soft glow of the room. It was far bigger than the one in the cage - perhaps three feet long and twenty pounds of hunger and legs. But it was no more durable than any other insect, and with its great size, it wasn't able to move out of the path of the first iron ball thrown with the force of a slingshot. The ball punctured the center of its head with ease and with a loud, crunchy 'pop', and the creature fell out of the air, crashing to the ground and rolling to a stop just inches from Berke's feet. It wasn't the same sound he'd heard when he threw the first ball. But the remaining Ashhoppers didn't intend to give him any breathing room, and a heavy, chitinous form landed directly on the top of his filtration hood from his blind spot above. This one was smaller, at only one foot in length and seven pounds, but it was faster too and immediately tried to dash down the front of the hood for his filtration cartridge.
Berke felt a jolt of panic run through him as the bug landed on top of him. As he saw it pass down the front of his hood, he reached for it, trying to grab at it and tear it away. If worst came to worst, he would probably panic fully and start swatting at it frantically if it got too close to his filtration cartridge.
The Ashhopper's gaping maw passed over one of the lenses of Berke's hood, revealing rows upon rows of grinding toothlike projections of dull, waxy black, very faintly illuminated by the room's bioluminescent plants. He successfuly grabbed the creature, but its powerful rear legs were firmly wrapped around his hood and it was refusing to let go, though it wasn't making much progress either. Flailing legs tried to pry Berke's hand away from its outer shell, and it fluttered its outer shell and wings to try to get his hand off of it. It seemed more afraid of him than anything, but its hunger for carbon kept it pushing forwards. A soft rustle in the grass to the left, less loud than before, could be heard faintly over the buzzing of the more immediate Ashhopper's uselessly flailing wings, and the Ashhopper on Berke's face accidentally broke its center left leg's "knee" joint on his mask.
Fed up with this display, Berke strongly but carefully forced the creature off his hood, bending and breaking it's legs in the process. With the creature wrenched off him, Berke hurled it away, tossing it in the direction of the grasses. While he had little expectations for that thing to work as a projectile, he did at least hope it wouldn't be coming back to bite him, literally. Something that tiny and weak would probably explode, thrown by Berke's great might. Once again, Berke steeled himself near the door, readying the spheres he had left over to toss at the right moment. This time, however, his eyes flitted intermittently towards the ceiling, remembering his first unwelcome friend.
The small Ashhopper left Berke's hand, flopping as limply as a brittle insect could through the air. It had terrible flight characteristics when it wasn't flying under its own power, and it tumbled to and fro, carving a path through the misty atmosphere until it struck the tufts of transparent grass. Rather than being propelled through the grass, though, the creature was impaled upon the bladelike plants and slid down to the base, pushing aside the rest of the grass and leaving a dark smear across the vicious silicate spikes. Berke could just barely see a glint of purple off of the third Ashhopper's shell in the grass behind the dead bug. It wasn't moving, but the test didn't seem to be over either, judging by the blast door still being closed. A light weight at the back of Berke's head told him where its rear legs had gone, as they clearly weren't still attached to its lower torso. And it was beginning to itch ever so slightly at the back of his head, where the legs had been.
Feeling the back of his head, Berke's first instinct was to panic and swat them off. He ended up holding himself back, however, as he was aware of the importance of keeping the hood intact. He hadn't taken the bug off of him carefully earlier just to freak out now. Taking a deep breath, Berke reached back and slowly removed the legs from his mask. He felt he could take his time, as the other insect didn't seem to be determined to rush him just yet. With the legs taken out slowly, Berke refocused himself on the task at hand, and took one of his spheres and hurled it in the direction of the third Ashhopper. He was quite keen for this to be over, at this point, and he dearly prayed that it was indeed the last threat in this environment.
Once more, he heard a loud crack just as he had with his first throw. His aim was spot-on, and the Ashhopper carapace lying just beyond the grass crunched, buckled, and split as it bounced the sphere upwards where it slammed into the concrete wall behind. It had no reaction. Too little reaction for the hit it had just taken if it were indeed still alive. There was no movement or sound in the room aside from Berke's breathing, but still the blast door didn't open.
Taking a moment to register the lack of activity, Berke eventually found the conclusion that this wasn't over, and that it was not his final opponent that he had just struck. "Dear goodness..." Berke muttered under his breath. He was unfomfortable with all this uncertainty and apprehension. Deciding upon his next gambit, Berke banged on the blast door with his hand a few times, hoping that the sound might rouse his final test. "Come out, come out and play with big ol' Berke..." He called out, albeit timidly.
The taunting worked - perhaps too well. These creatures seemed slightly more intelligent than normal bugs and almost seemed to be able to comprehend his taunting. With a soft crack, a sound came from the far end of the room, directly across from the blast door, and the last Ashhopper came hurtling towards the gas mask filter sitting on Berke's chest at almost the same speed he had thrown his spheres at. In the glimpse he caught of it before it arrived, he saw that its back was asymmetrical and covered in a dull wet gleam. His first shot had definitely hit it. But it was quite alive, and its circular maw was wide open, aimed at the filter canister.
Somewhat terrorised, Berke reacted to the sudden assault by raising his shortsword in front of his canister, while bracing with his other arm to try and shield it. With luck, the Ashhopper's momentum would carry it directly into his blade. Else, Berke would have to engage in a desperate defense of his canister. At the very least, he was confident that he had the advantage trying to fend it off up close.
The Ashhopper flying through the air towards Berke lifted its remaining wing flap, sending it into a spiral the instant it recognized his almost instinctive response to its attack. It crashed into his hip, with its remaining wing flap torn at the very tip by his blade, and it fell to the ground. A split second later, a splatter of thick, dark brown fluid struck Berke's hood's right lens. The exchange was over in a fraction of a second, and the Ashhopper was back on its legs beneath Berke, preparing for a second lunge from below. It tried to leap up towards his canister again, though it was slightly sluggish from fluid loss.
Although slightly vision impaired and feeling harassed, Berke was still in the game. At this distance, his instincts fell to defending his cannister. He wrapped both his arms around it, hoping to shield it from any harm with his very flesh if need be. Rearing back, almost in tune with the hopper, he thrust himself forward, hoping to smack into it with his forearms. While he was concerned about the damage it might do to his arms, he hoped that the force of his push might knock it down for good.
Berke's sudden movement threw off the injured Monster's entire game plan, but it was too late to change course. Rather than striking his forearms, it crashed into his belly, bounced, and kept going until a short jerk tugged at Berke's forearms and it flopped back down onto the ground on its back, legs flailing wildly. One of its four eyestalks was bent in the most unnatural position possible, and it seemed to be in severe pain, though that didn't dissuade it from its attempts at feeding on the filter cartridge. Instinct overpowered its pathetic intellect and it made weak attempts at flipping itself back upright with its remaining, broken wing shell, clearly intent on either having its meal or dying in the process.
Initially backing away from the creature, Berke quickly realised it was in no shape to continue fighting in earnest. It was a broken thing now, just mindlessly attempting to fulfill it's purpose. It would have filled Berke with pity, had he not been on something of an adrenaline rush right now. Wasting little time, Berke approached the hopper and stomped on it, crushing what remained of it's life. With the adrenaline dying down in his system, Berke was starting to feel a little bad about how callously he had just snuffed out a life. But he had resigned himself to this when the test began. With his opponent out for good, Berke returned to his state of awareness, wondering if this was the end of his trials or not.
The pathetic form had crunched beneath Berke's foot, spewing a jet of more dark fluid out of the crunched gaps that formed in its sides, and it jerked once before being still and properly dead. A few seconds later, rustling noises could be heard all around him in the plants in the room.... Followed by the sound of the ventilation fans getting up to full speed. The gases in the room swirled out through a vent hidden in the shadows of the upper northwest corner of the room, and fresh air came in, pushing the remaining gas away, and the quiet sound of the blast door rolling back open was accompanied by white light pouring into the dark test chamber. The splatter on Berke's hood disappeared in an instant, along with the corpses of the three Ashhoppers, and Berke heard Professor Vance's voice from outside.
"Congratulations, Mr. Bayamaar. You passed the combat test as well. You may leave if you'd like, after you take off the hood. We'll give your test results to you tomorrow. You have the rest of the day off."
Exiting the chamber eagerly, Berke gave a deep bow to the professor. "Thank you so much, ma'am. Thank you so much." He removed his hood shortly after, quite glad to be rid of it after that ordeal. While he did feel like leaving for some rest and relaxtion, Berke decided to wait nearby in order to witness the results of his fellows. It wouldn't do to leave Mark behind without being there to cheer him on or comfort him in failure, and he would do the same for Joseph, even if he wasn't as close with him.
Stepping forward dutifully, Berke picked up a nearby lump of iron and went to work on it. He had not done this a lot, but he had tried his best to practise back home. He had learned to do it on demand, though he had not experimented much at all. Eventually, with a little struggle and effort, Berke produced a crude looking short sword from his metal lump. "Did I do good?" He asked.
Emilya scribbled down notes on the clipboard during Berke's demonstration, and at his question, she looked up and examined the shortsword. "You have a good understanding of the structure of iron, Berke. Keep practicing and you should be able to work out the kinks in it. You passed this part of the test with flying colors."
"Ah, thank you so much, ma'am." He responded, treating her with the respect due in spite of her childish appearance.
She nodded up at Berke in response. "You may return to the group. Mr. Karatos, if you will..."
Once the entire room had performed their demonstrations for Professor Vance, it was time for the combat test. Emilya looked to Berke once more. "Mr. Bayamaar, it's your turn to take the combat test. Feel free to take your shortsword with you once you've secured your mask."
The tiny professor moved over to the blast door and pressed the button to open it, once more revealing the Deadlands-esque environment. Nothing was moving inside.
Berke couldn't be more nervous. He had known that entering into this career path may lead him to kill things and face danger, but it didn't make him any less apprehensive about it. He had in fact killed things back home; the creatures that were hunted around Altay for sustenance. He had never liked it, but his dad had explained it as a necessity for people to live. They had to kill or they couldn't eat, especially as Altay was not surrounded by good farmland. Berke steeled himself with the knowledge that what he did now was necessary; he had to do it. He would just have to live with the deaths of these creatures if he wanted to continue.
Stepping into the chamber, gas mask adorned and shortsword in hand, Berke had no idea what to expect. Feeling there was little else to do but test his environment, Berke lightly banged his sword on the ground. He was hoping it would provoke the creatures into a confrontation, as standing here not knowing where they were was creeping him out. Better a straight fight than stumbling around in the dark.
The blast door slid shut with a solid thud behind Berke, and in seconds the room filled with a thin white fog similar to what was shown in Deadlands pictures. Taking off the mask now would be a very, very bad idea. When Berke struck the ground with his sword, the feel of concrete covered in a thin layer of dirt responded, but there was still no motion in the room for several seconds. A soft wave of energy pulsed through the room, almost imperceptible, though it prompted a very light tickling feeling at the base of Berke's brain, and seconds after, he heard some of the plantlife in the room rustling to his left, his right, and directly above him in the pitch dark vines overhead. A glimpse of a brown shell could be caught through the crystalline grass to the left out of the corner of his eye. The Ashhoppers seemed reluctant to attack right off the bat.
Reflexively backing up on the sight of the creatures, Berke gradually came to the realisation he would have to attack first. He didn't want to rush in and attack, however, as he felt like that would be a huge mistake in an environment like this. Instead, he manipulated a small chunk of metal out of the back of his sword, just enough to make a little sphere out of. With that in hand, he threw it with all his force at the one he had spotted in the grass. With luck, he might pierce it's shell. If not, he might provoke them into the open.
In the darkness, it was hard to tell what exactly he had hit with the iron ball, but the sound was like a loud crack, and some of the crystalline grass blades split and fell onto the ground. The movement on that side of the room had stopped, and the instant the noise stopped echoing around the concrete walls, a loud buzzing came in from the other side of the room, heading straight towards him.
Readying himself, with his back towards the blast door, Berke prepared another few metal spheres, as many as he could without weakening his blade to the point of worthlessness. Upon catching sight of the bugs coming towards him, Berke intended to nail as many as he could with his spheres before they were right upon him. Once they were, that was when Berke would have to fight with all his might.
The insectoid shape flashed pink and violet as it flew through the soft glow of the room. It was far bigger than the one in the cage - perhaps three feet long and twenty pounds of hunger and legs. But it was no more durable than any other insect, and with its great size, it wasn't able to move out of the path of the first iron ball thrown with the force of a slingshot. The ball punctured the center of its head with ease and with a loud, crunchy 'pop', and the creature fell out of the air, crashing to the ground and rolling to a stop just inches from Berke's feet. It wasn't the same sound he'd heard when he threw the first ball. But the remaining Ashhoppers didn't intend to give him any breathing room, and a heavy, chitinous form landed directly on the top of his filtration hood from his blind spot above. This one was smaller, at only one foot in length and seven pounds, but it was faster too and immediately tried to dash down the front of the hood for his filtration cartridge.
Berke felt a jolt of panic run through him as the bug landed on top of him. As he saw it pass down the front of his hood, he reached for it, trying to grab at it and tear it away. If worst came to worst, he would probably panic fully and start swatting at it frantically if it got too close to his filtration cartridge.
The Ashhopper's gaping maw passed over one of the lenses of Berke's hood, revealing rows upon rows of grinding toothlike projections of dull, waxy black, very faintly illuminated by the room's bioluminescent plants. He successfuly grabbed the creature, but its powerful rear legs were firmly wrapped around his hood and it was refusing to let go, though it wasn't making much progress either. Flailing legs tried to pry Berke's hand away from its outer shell, and it fluttered its outer shell and wings to try to get his hand off of it. It seemed more afraid of him than anything, but its hunger for carbon kept it pushing forwards. A soft rustle in the grass to the left, less loud than before, could be heard faintly over the buzzing of the more immediate Ashhopper's uselessly flailing wings, and the Ashhopper on Berke's face accidentally broke its center left leg's "knee" joint on his mask.
Fed up with this display, Berke strongly but carefully forced the creature off his hood, bending and breaking it's legs in the process. With the creature wrenched off him, Berke hurled it away, tossing it in the direction of the grasses. While he had little expectations for that thing to work as a projectile, he did at least hope it wouldn't be coming back to bite him, literally. Something that tiny and weak would probably explode, thrown by Berke's great might. Once again, Berke steeled himself near the door, readying the spheres he had left over to toss at the right moment. This time, however, his eyes flitted intermittently towards the ceiling, remembering his first unwelcome friend.
The small Ashhopper left Berke's hand, flopping as limply as a brittle insect could through the air. It had terrible flight characteristics when it wasn't flying under its own power, and it tumbled to and fro, carving a path through the misty atmosphere until it struck the tufts of transparent grass. Rather than being propelled through the grass, though, the creature was impaled upon the bladelike plants and slid down to the base, pushing aside the rest of the grass and leaving a dark smear across the vicious silicate spikes. Berke could just barely see a glint of purple off of the third Ashhopper's shell in the grass behind the dead bug. It wasn't moving, but the test didn't seem to be over either, judging by the blast door still being closed. A light weight at the back of Berke's head told him where its rear legs had gone, as they clearly weren't still attached to its lower torso. And it was beginning to itch ever so slightly at the back of his head, where the legs had been.
Feeling the back of his head, Berke's first instinct was to panic and swat them off. He ended up holding himself back, however, as he was aware of the importance of keeping the hood intact. He hadn't taken the bug off of him carefully earlier just to freak out now. Taking a deep breath, Berke reached back and slowly removed the legs from his mask. He felt he could take his time, as the other insect didn't seem to be determined to rush him just yet. With the legs taken out slowly, Berke refocused himself on the task at hand, and took one of his spheres and hurled it in the direction of the third Ashhopper. He was quite keen for this to be over, at this point, and he dearly prayed that it was indeed the last threat in this environment.
Once more, he heard a loud crack just as he had with his first throw. His aim was spot-on, and the Ashhopper carapace lying just beyond the grass crunched, buckled, and split as it bounced the sphere upwards where it slammed into the concrete wall behind. It had no reaction. Too little reaction for the hit it had just taken if it were indeed still alive. There was no movement or sound in the room aside from Berke's breathing, but still the blast door didn't open.
Taking a moment to register the lack of activity, Berke eventually found the conclusion that this wasn't over, and that it was not his final opponent that he had just struck. "Dear goodness..." Berke muttered under his breath. He was unfomfortable with all this uncertainty and apprehension. Deciding upon his next gambit, Berke banged on the blast door with his hand a few times, hoping that the sound might rouse his final test. "Come out, come out and play with big ol' Berke..." He called out, albeit timidly.
The taunting worked - perhaps too well. These creatures seemed slightly more intelligent than normal bugs and almost seemed to be able to comprehend his taunting. With a soft crack, a sound came from the far end of the room, directly across from the blast door, and the last Ashhopper came hurtling towards the gas mask filter sitting on Berke's chest at almost the same speed he had thrown his spheres at. In the glimpse he caught of it before it arrived, he saw that its back was asymmetrical and covered in a dull wet gleam. His first shot had definitely hit it. But it was quite alive, and its circular maw was wide open, aimed at the filter canister.
Somewhat terrorised, Berke reacted to the sudden assault by raising his shortsword in front of his canister, while bracing with his other arm to try and shield it. With luck, the Ashhopper's momentum would carry it directly into his blade. Else, Berke would have to engage in a desperate defense of his canister. At the very least, he was confident that he had the advantage trying to fend it off up close.
The Ashhopper flying through the air towards Berke lifted its remaining wing flap, sending it into a spiral the instant it recognized his almost instinctive response to its attack. It crashed into his hip, with its remaining wing flap torn at the very tip by his blade, and it fell to the ground. A split second later, a splatter of thick, dark brown fluid struck Berke's hood's right lens. The exchange was over in a fraction of a second, and the Ashhopper was back on its legs beneath Berke, preparing for a second lunge from below. It tried to leap up towards his canister again, though it was slightly sluggish from fluid loss.
Although slightly vision impaired and feeling harassed, Berke was still in the game. At this distance, his instincts fell to defending his cannister. He wrapped both his arms around it, hoping to shield it from any harm with his very flesh if need be. Rearing back, almost in tune with the hopper, he thrust himself forward, hoping to smack into it with his forearms. While he was concerned about the damage it might do to his arms, he hoped that the force of his push might knock it down for good.
Berke's sudden movement threw off the injured Monster's entire game plan, but it was too late to change course. Rather than striking his forearms, it crashed into his belly, bounced, and kept going until a short jerk tugged at Berke's forearms and it flopped back down onto the ground on its back, legs flailing wildly. One of its four eyestalks was bent in the most unnatural position possible, and it seemed to be in severe pain, though that didn't dissuade it from its attempts at feeding on the filter cartridge. Instinct overpowered its pathetic intellect and it made weak attempts at flipping itself back upright with its remaining, broken wing shell, clearly intent on either having its meal or dying in the process.
Initially backing away from the creature, Berke quickly realised it was in no shape to continue fighting in earnest. It was a broken thing now, just mindlessly attempting to fulfill it's purpose. It would have filled Berke with pity, had he not been on something of an adrenaline rush right now. Wasting little time, Berke approached the hopper and stomped on it, crushing what remained of it's life. With the adrenaline dying down in his system, Berke was starting to feel a little bad about how callously he had just snuffed out a life. But he had resigned himself to this when the test began. With his opponent out for good, Berke returned to his state of awareness, wondering if this was the end of his trials or not.
The pathetic form had crunched beneath Berke's foot, spewing a jet of more dark fluid out of the crunched gaps that formed in its sides, and it jerked once before being still and properly dead. A few seconds later, rustling noises could be heard all around him in the plants in the room.... Followed by the sound of the ventilation fans getting up to full speed. The gases in the room swirled out through a vent hidden in the shadows of the upper northwest corner of the room, and fresh air came in, pushing the remaining gas away, and the quiet sound of the blast door rolling back open was accompanied by white light pouring into the dark test chamber. The splatter on Berke's hood disappeared in an instant, along with the corpses of the three Ashhoppers, and Berke heard Professor Vance's voice from outside.
"Congratulations, Mr. Bayamaar. You passed the combat test as well. You may leave if you'd like, after you take off the hood. We'll give your test results to you tomorrow. You have the rest of the day off."
Exiting the chamber eagerly, Berke gave a deep bow to the professor. "Thank you so much, ma'am. Thank you so much." He removed his hood shortly after, quite glad to be rid of it after that ordeal. While he did feel like leaving for some rest and relaxtion, Berke decided to wait nearby in order to witness the results of his fellows. It wouldn't do to leave Mark behind without being there to cheer him on or comfort him in failure, and he would do the same for Joseph, even if he wasn't as close with him.
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