#chimeowrical

“Now, if you could explain to me what just happened?”

Greagoir stared across his desk at the man in front of him. Still shaken, he clutched a bundle of cloth in his arms like it was his only lifeline to the world. Plates rattled as he shook in place, blurring the sword of mercy embossed on his breast plate with his trembling.

He was scared. As he should be.

“S-Ser… we couldn’t follow. He got to the water before we could reach him.”

The Knight-Commander sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “It is best if we start from the top. I need to understand how one apprentice managed to outsmart some of my best men.”

---

“One more lap before you can break for water!”

Depending on who was asked, the weekly outside exercise was either the best or worst part of the week for the mages of Kinloch Hold. Those who got a little antsy loved the chance to get out and stretch their legs, even if it was under the watchful eyes of the Templars. Others, more used to the cool darkness of the library, groaned as they were put through their paces and counted down the minutes until it was time to go back inside for another week.

At the moment, two of the newer members of the Order were watching the mages as they walked or ran a few laps around the island the tower was situated on. The sound of cloth sleeves flapping in the air was rather reminiscent of a flock of birds, adorned in somber hues of purple and blue. These were the apprentices, not yet ready to face their Harrowing or the brand of Tranquility.

One of them, an older one, had been squirrely all hour. He kept glancing around, keeping his eyes on the Templars who had been assigned to watch them. Once in a while, he sucked in his lower lip, huffing out a sigh as he kept a steady pace of jogging.

Anders; they had been warned about him. A four time escapee, he technically shouldn’t have been let out at all. However, First Enchanter Irving had stressed that all the mages needed time to get some fresh air, even those who were considered a little more troublesome. Maybe the small boon had placated him for the moment.

The lap was nearing an end for most of the mages – some had already started heading back to the tower in order to freshen up and get some water to cool their parched throats and sweaty faces. The remainders were either lollygagging or just too slow to keep up with the rest of the pack. The blonde was in the middle of them, looking as though he was about to head for the tower.

At least, they had thought so. At the last minute, his fists clenched, and the young man from the Anderfels took off like a shot, streaking towards the docks and the lake. He bounced down the shore, legs pumping wildly as he made his dash to freedom.

His mistake had been attempting his run too close to his jailers. The Templar who had been watching him grimaced and reached out, catching the young mage by the back of his robe. Thanks to his strength, it was easy to lift the attempted escapee in to the air, his feet kicking uselessly.

“Just where do you think you’re going? The tower is this way.”

Anders offered his best smile, eyes glinting. “Oh, really? Hadn’t noticed, my mistake. You know how everything looks the same when you’ve been inside for too long.”

He paused, grinning again. “I don’t suppose you’d let me go?”

His captor didn’t even dignify his request with a response. Instead, he turned on his heel and started to head back to the tower, charge in tow. Together, they were going to have a nice long chat about poorly timed escape attempts during PE. Next time, they’d be sure to keep the man indoors.

Maybe it was because of the glare of the sun beating down on his armor, but the large man didn’t notice Anders had been squirming around as he dragged him back. Suddenly, he grinned, and with a motion of his arms he freed himself from his robes, sliding down to the ground naked as the day he was born save for his shoes.

“Bye, assholes!”

The mage took off once again, his path clear of Templars or anyone else that might try to stop him. Left holding the robe, all the man could do was watch, eyes wide, as he sprinted towards the shore.

“Somebody grab him!”

Plate mail was great for many things; it blocked swords, axes, and even a mace on a good day. However, one thing it didn’t do was aid running. Templars by nature were slower creatures, preferring to wait it out than chase after their target. It did them no credit as they charged after the young man, grunting.

Anders hit the surf before anyone could get him, and then he was gone, paddling towards the shore with surprising speed. His captors were left standing on the shore, wide-eyed as they watched him disappear from sight.

Still clutching the discarded robes, the young man in heavy armor had only one thing on his mind as he turned to his fellow Order members.

“Greagoir is going to kill us when he finds out.”

---

Indeed, the Templar-Commander looked fit to be tied in an unpleasant manner as the man in front of him finished his story. A vein had started to throb in his forehead, threatening to burst if he heard anything else that didn’t result in the capture of an escaped mage.

“So you just watched him jump into the lake?”

“I couldn’t help it, ser.” A hard swallow, another shake. “It… you weren’t there. His… maker, forgive me for my crudeness, but his ass was blinding. Like the holy brazier in the Grand Cathedral.”

Greagoir pinched off a headache that was forming as he glanced across the table. “You didn’t catch him… because of…”

Nope; that headache slammed him like an ogre. The Knight-Commander groaned as he leaned back in his seat. “Just find him. That’s the last time we let the mages outside for exercise.”

No doubt somewhere, the mage was making it to the shore, dripping wet. He wouldn’t get far naked, but enough escape attempts had proven Anders was nothing if not resourceful. It could take days, longer even, to find him and him blinding behind.