Emory sat up in his bed. He had a couple butterflies in his stomach, although his blank expression rarely gave a clue to any emotion inside him besides the occasional flutter of contempt. Training was still a fresh memory in the back of his head. Hopefully, he wouldn't make too many errors one his first day on the job. Or any errors ever. A good career doesn't include mistakes.

Emory patted down the hair on the back of his head. Rolling all about in his sleep made looking presentable in the morning sometimes difficult, but at least he hadn't rolled right off and slammed into the floor. The only thing more awkward than having everyone notice that his red hair was sticking straight up was attempting to explain how he had managed to bruise himself in his sleep. It wouldn't be particularly easy to intimidate anyone like that. But today his hair was behaving decently and went back to the position in which Emory liked it.

His back cracked a little as he stretched. Emory pulled his boots and straightened up in his uniform. He was rather fond of wearing green and black and he thought it made him look a little taller, from a distance anyway.

After attempting to kill the butterflies in his stomach the best he could, Emory went to find out what his assignment was.

There wasn't too much need to be nervous. He doubted that he'd get thrown into anything incredibly dangerous or exciting considering he was still new to the whole matter. As much as he preferred not to admit it, he hadn't really been the most amazing recruit ever.

"Emory Colingwood, reporting for duty"

The young man at the desk barely glanced at the initiate. He appeared to be engrossed with the Kingsway Post, which in his opinion was lacking something since that fun writer vanished from its pages. Sighing, he rose and snapped a salute at Emory, "Morning Cadet. Collingwood was it?" he asked distractedly. He was going through a stack of papers.

Apparently finding what he was looking for, he hefted a thickly-laden clipboard, "Collingwood. Midmorning to midafternoon shift. Southeast division."

He sat again and tossed the clipboard to the side. "Report to the Chrove Keep and acquire your animal. Have a nice day," he said with time-wearied precision. He'd been at the job for a few months now and was already sick of it.

With his official capacity complete, he turned to Emory and said a little more kindly, "Your chrove is being held in the stables, so you should probably get over there soon. You're in the Dives today. Have a good one." He settled back into his paper, as if never to arise again.

Emory nodded slightly at the young man at the desk. The man didn't seem particularly interested in his job. Emory didn't bother to ponder why since getting interested in uninterested people was a pretty pointless effort.

"...the Dives, huh," Emory mumbled. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be excited or not. Though something was more likely to be going on in the bad side of town than the good.

Emory started heading towards the Chrove Keep at a brisk pace, cautiously optimistic about the day.

Ilithyia grumpily stared at Spondola, her favorite Chrove, brow furrowed. Her long hair was down, Ilyia having gotten tired of retying it constantly, and it's auburn seemed to shine a little less than it used to. This added to her annoyance, still feeling ill from whatever the heck it was that had been bothering her the last two weeks.

"You know something about why I'm not feeling well." She glared at the enormous creature, hand running over his thick, scaly hide. Spondola, on his part, seemed oblivious to Ilithyia's grouchiness and instead nuzzled her hand, looking for more sweetmeats. The young woman couldn't help but smile; the giant thing was her baby.

"Fine, fine, I'll get you more, you lazy lump." She exited his stall, moving to the front of the complex where she knew the treat box was located, half scowling, half grinning, uniform rumpled.

Emory walked to the treat box to give Rowe, his Chrove, something nice before going out, but stopped when he noticed another Seventen. He didn't remember seeing her before, not that he bothered to remember faces very often. But Emory didn't remember meeting a girl that height either. She seemed a little under the weather.

Not wanting to be rude or at least not until he found a reason to be, Emory waved a little.

"Hello," Emory said. His voice sounded friendly and the shortest flash of a smile appeared on his face before it resumed its humorless look.

Ilyia started, staring at the new recruit, because the kid looked like one. He's fresh from the professors at Brunnhold, what on earth is he doing in Vienda already? Hasn't it been flagged as enough of a risk factor? Internally ranting at the establishment, her face remained passively polite.

"Hello there!" She courteously nodded to him, all at once very aware of her new rank. Well, I guess it's not a real promotion, but at least I'm not an initiate anymore! Looking at him askew for a moment, before smiling broadly. "Haha, here for your first official Chrove? Don't worry, they're not as scary as they look." Leaning into the coolchest, she picked up a handful of the meat, utterly unconcerned.

"Which one were you given for today? I mean, whoever it is, I'll still help make the introductions." Her extensive time in the complex had given Ilyia a deep affection for the creatures, which seemed to reflect in their behavior for her. "Oh, I'm Ilithyia Lutgardis, by the way." She stood at her full height, grin plastered across her features. Well, if I ever have to intimidate initiates someday, I'll have the stature for it.

"Yes. Well, they're for scaring other people. So I'm not scared." Emory said. ...Maybe a little...

Emory shrugged his shoulders a little as if the gesture would help make him feel less nervous and calm the thoughts swirling in the back of his head.



"One named Rowe," Emory said, somewhat glad she offered to help. He didn't want to admit he thought he knew his way around but wasn't actually sure. Even as a complete greenhorn, he still didn't want to directly state that he wanted any assistance.



She's so tall...

His yellow eyes swiveled up and down for a second as he took as better look at her.

"My name's Emory Collingwood," Emory said, another lightning fast twitch of smile appeared and disappeared from his face. Ilithyia seemed pleasant enough.

Ahhh, really now, hmm? She was very tempted to pull a cruel prank on the boy, but she shrugged away the desire. He reminded her of some of the more typical students from Brunnhold; arrogant, lofty, and totally unprepared. Something of a soft spot developed for him in that moment. Haha, well. Worse things than arrogant and unprepared. Like.. arrogant and headstrong and self-righteous.


She grinned suddenly, and she fixed her tunic. "Rowe! He's a good one for new recruits, kinda old but smarter than most of his riders, at least at first. Come on, I'll show you to him."


She nodded, and waved him down the corridor. "Well, welcome to the Seventen Emory. Soon enough you'll be rid of that initiate title." Running a hand through her long hair, she led the way through the close hall.

The cell block they followed was perhaps a little darker than the main way, and Ilithyia's field seemed slightly less assured. Rowe hadn't been her first mount, but she had always been good to him. Still, even with all the training in the world, being in a Chrove's home was minorly risky. Reaching the barred and locked stall door, Ilyia rapped quietly and threw in a bit of the meat.

"'Ello, Rowe! Remember me?" She delicately held her hand to the grate, hoping the creature would get her scent and remember her.

((I'm going to call the enclosures "cells" like the ones nuns live in, seems a good name for it.))

Rowe had been stalking up and down his cell when Illithyia appeared. He liked Illy, she had a good temperament for a biped and she relied more on skill in the saddle than spurs. He was never confused when she was riding. He appreciated that. He trundled over to her outstretched hand and snuffled her palm.

There was no food in it.

He huffed loudly, then whined.

Smarter than his riders? His riders are either total idiots or Rowe is a genius Chrove.

Emory wondered which it would actually be. Didn't really matter which it was, though Emory hoped he'd be smarter than Rowe. It sounded pretty embarrassing to be outsmarted by one's mount. How bad could a Chrove possibly be?



"Thanks. Can't wait to go up in the ranks," Emory said as he followed behind her. Emory wasn't particularly secretive about how much ambition he had.



Emory's eyes darted around as he did his best to see in the dim cell block. Noticing Ilithyia's field being less assured wasn't really making him feel any better. Emory's mind wandered off to candy for a moment as he tried to pretend he didn't have any jitters.

Emory kind of poked around to the side of Ilithyia, watching with interest. His yellow eyes swiveled between looking at her and looking in the stall.



Emory hopped a little at the sound of Rowe huffing. He hoped Ilithyia wouldn't notice. Rowe didn't seem too bad, or at least that is what Emory told himself as he looked at the animal.

He heart melted a little when the giant creature snuffled, and her smile became soft. Chroven were possibly her favorite part of her job at this point. Turning to Emory, she waved him closer. She noticed the little jump, but then again. she'd been frightened of Spondola initially. Haha, and look at the two of us now, close as kin.

"Come along, Emory. Put your hand in, the one with the meat."

She turned to the cell door, and with a flick opened it, slipping inside slowly. "Mm, yep, you'll be getting your treat in just a moment, Rowe. Also, this is Emory." She didn't know exactly how much Chroven understood her, but she liked to explain things anyway. It calmed her, and usually the animals.

Emory walked closer, holding a piece of meat in his hand. He eyed Rowe.

Emory, stop being a wimp. What kind of people would supply their men and women with animals that ate their riders? He can't be that deadly.

"Hi Rowe," Emory muttered. He didn't have the greatest fondness for animals. Talking to them made him feel stupid. As far as Emory was concerned, treats were for bribing animals into love.

Rowe eyed Emory with some mild scepticism. He could smell Emory's discomfort as much as he could smell that Ilithyia was pleased to be around him. Much like a horse, a chrove took its cues from its rider. A potentially skittish rider didn't bode well with the older animal.

He sniffed at the meat, smelled good enough. He delicately took it from Emory's hands and ate it. He breathed out a puff of air through his nose and whined at Illy again.

Maybe I need to use a bigger piece of meat.

Emory stared at Rowe, pondering how to get the chrove to like him. It was only the first day, so he still could work on it. It was obvious that Rowe knew Illy better.

Well, at least he didn't get bitten or something.

"What's the matter, lovey?" She grinned at the beast again, and looking tot he side of the cell she saw his tack. Looking at the reluctant initiate, she waved him closer.

"Kid, if you're going to linger out there all day I can't show you how to properly ready your mount." She pointed to the saddle and reigns, knowing from experience it looked like a mess of black leather and shiny affixtures and nothing that could be fit on a Chrove this size. Pulling out the treats she'd saved for Spondola, she carefully let Rowe catch their scent before grabbing the saddle pad.

"You'll have to wait til he's ready to ride, sir, before you get the rest of your goodies." She began the long work of tacking him up, giving Emory a 'you better be watching this' look.

Emory quickly walked in. He half-nodded as he watched Ilithyia tack up Rowe.

I'm somehow going to remember all this...

Emory had no idea how to tell everything apart, aside from the fact Rowe would probably be very unhappy if he forgot the saddle pad or pulled things on too tight in the future. Emory wondered if it would be faster to just talk someone into helping him every time, but then everyone would know he was incompetent unless someone was stupid enough to do it every time. Emory preferred to keep the number of people who thought little of him on the low side.