2.08 – Class
“However,” Instructor Lauer monotoned, “that’s far from saying preparation and study is useless to a first-time delver. No two runs are the same, but certain frameworks can be applied to aid the neophyte in a successful dungeon run.”
Natalie hadn’t thought it possible, but Instructor Lauer was making delving sound boring. The dungeon was the most incredible phenomena on the planet, a labyrinth of infinite complexity and variance, a structure described as sentient by some scholars, and allegedly sprawled beneath the entire world. The riches pulled from its depths fueled half of society as they knew it. There were beasts hidden in the deeper floors that could destroy cities if they somehow surfaced. And Instructor Lauer?
He was making it boring.
Natalie’s head slowly declined toward her desk, eyes fluttering as her desperate efforts to stay awake faltered. The world went fuzzy, then—
Then Jordan kicked her ankle, and Natalie jerked up, blinking in disorientation. Jordan studiously wrote in her notebook, not even glancing over, her passive waking-up of Natalie so ingrained she might not have realized she’d done it. Jordan was the only reason Natalie hadn’t failed a grade, back at Tinford. Not because Natalie was stupid, but because she seriously couldn’t keep still. Classrooms were torture to her. And three hours a day? Less than high school, but still the worst thing Natalie could imagine.
“For example,” the buzzing, impossible-to-focus on noise continued, “the study of monsters. While your dungeoneering course will be concerned with the intricacies of traps, floor layouts, and common encounters, we will focus on the dungeon’s inhabitants, first and foremost. Much can be ascertained from a monster’s appearance, and a formal [Inspect], even more so.”
It wasn’t that the material was boring. Just, everyone knew this. As in, everyone everyone. They were truly starting from the ground up when it came to the dungeon—not taking any material for granted, not even stuff six year olds would know. Which Natalie supposed was fair, because as Harper had pointed out during orientation, some students joined Tenet from even stranger circumstances than Natalie. There were lots of myths to dispel, or holes to fill, just to be safe. But that didn’t make it not torture.
“But let’s start with general classifications, first. Consider—“
A bell went off in the distance, interrupting Instructor Lauer’s monologue. He cut off mid-sentence, and once the echoing noise silenced, said, “It seems we’ve run out of time for the day. Your next instructor will be in shortly. Remember, pages sixteen through twenty nine, by tomorrow.”
The enormous lecture hall came to life with chairs scraping against the ground. Natalie’s next class was in this same hall—as many of the students’ was—so she stayed seated.
She groaned and thumped her head onto the desk. “I’m not gonna make it, Jay.”
Jordan patted her back sympathetically. “There, there. Just two more classes.”
“Every day,” Natalie groaned.
“It is pretty boring,” Liz piped in. “I mean, how’s he even do it? No inflections, just one long string of blah, blah, blah.”
Liz had, it seemed, inserted herself into Natalie’s group. Natalie had no clue why. Not that she minded. Just, a literal, actual princess, making friends with the three of them? Why?
To the right of Jordan, Sofia leaned backward in her seat, bringing herself into Natalie’s view. “If you can’t focus on the lecture, I’d recommend reading the textbook. That’s what I’ve been doing. It’s much more engaging. And more importantly, informative.”
“Only you could think reading from a text book is engaging,” Natalie sneered.
“No, she’s right,” Jordan said idly. “There’s a compendium in the back detailing common monsters. It’s fairly interesting.”
Natalie experienced a brief bout of dissonance: Sofia being a nerd was annoying, but Jordan? Well, on her, it was endearing. Fortunately, she was saved from committing to a response by Liz:
“So, what are you guys up to after class? You going to the semester kick-off soirée?”
“Huh?” Kick-off soirée? “Wait, is that the party at the healer’s guild?”
“Yeah.” Liz leaned forward, grinning. “Apparently, it’s been six years since there wasn’t a casualty. It’s supposed to be crazy.”
“Casualty?” Jordan asked, alarmed.
“I thought they had the healer’s guild host it so things didn’t get out of hand,” Natalie said. That was what Sammy said, at least. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be the responsible ones?”
“Hey,” Liz scolded. “You shouldn’t stereotype people.”
“You were happy about being a stereotype,” Natalie pointed out. She’d had Natalie guess her role, then been pleased when she had.
“Doesn’t matter.” Liz pouted. “We’re not always responsible, okay? We know how to cut loose, too!”
Liz’s pout wasn’t doing much to help her claims. She looked way too innocent.
“There’s no way there’s casualties,” Natalie said.
“Guess we’ll have to find out. So, are you going?”
Natalie glanced at Jordan—and Sofia, seeing how she was in line of sight—who both shrugged at her.
“I am,” Natalie said, turning back. “With someone else, though. Got invited.”
“You did? Who?”
“Sammy? From the tank’s guild.”
Liz didn’t seemed to recognize the name. She turned to Sofia and Jordan. “And you two?”
“Probably not,” Jordan answered. That didn’t come as a surprise. She wasn’t a sociable person—loud, chaotic parties weren’t her scene.
“I might,” Sofia said. “I’m undecided.”
Liz, naturally, seized the opportunity. “You should! You can come with me. Ana’s gonna be there. And Johanna—she’s in our barracks too. You’ll like her.”
Sofia nodded slowly. Natalie could see the gears turning in her head. She and Sofia weren’t friends, but they did, unfortunately, know each other well. Sofia wasn’t enthusiastic about a party, but she recognized the merit of meeting Ana—a potential future teammate—and other prominent political figures, considering Liz’s family name.
Sofia was like Jordan in that way, her brain always churning over implications and strategies, even in normal life. Which was a good thing, Natalie guessed. A desirable trait in a delver. Natalie was more of a ‘in-the-moment’ thinker. She had Jordan for the other stuff.
“That sounds fun,” Sofia said eventually. “When is it?”
“Eight,” Liz said, seeming genuinely excited at Sofia accepting. “Starts at seven, technically, but we can’t be too early. We’ll look lame. That’s a death sentence at Tenet.”
“It is?”
“That’s what my brother says. And he would know. He’s the king of lameness.”
Sofia gave a bemused laugh. “Eight it is, then.”