Jack sighed deeply as she sat with her head laying against the top of her desk, stewing in misery at what happened yesterday with Rarity. The tall woman attempted to relax amid the dozens of people talking in class as they waited for their teacher.

The blonde hadn't slept well last night—she had tried her best to salvage what she could of the date, but it was hard to spring back from not being able to perform. Jack felt pathetic. Pathetic and paranoid—she knew it wasn't the case, but it still felt like the classroom knew about what she tried yesterday and were speaking in low, conspiratorial tones about it.

The door finally opened to the room, dispelling Jack's pointless brooding.

She paused on seeing who walked in, as did the rest of the class.

Before them was William Kalaallit, looking as professional as a norfolk could. He had on a set of neatly pressed trousers, along with a crumpled jacket and tie. As often as the man was bare chested, Jack doubted that the clothes saw many outings.

Iron Will pushed up his horn-rimmed glasses and took stock of the room.

“Mrs. Jubilee won't be in attendance until next week. Her family's vineyard is in harvest season. Until then, Iron Will is going to be your substitute, due to my knowledge of the subject matter--” He quickly looked at the class, suddenly apprehensive. “You all are on norfolk history now, correct?”

There were a few nods of agreement. Jack swore under her breath—she thought they were still on the European island nations. She was at least a chapter or two behind.

Iron Will pounded a fist into his wrinkled suit, his confidence restored. “When you want information out, get it straight from the bird's mouth!”

He moved over to the podium at the front of the class. Will searched behind it, eventually finding a a textbook. The giant cracked it open to a marked page and began reading.

“The norfolk are a proud and noble race of warriors from the northern lands of Caballo. Previous one hundred B.C.E., they were hunter-gathers that lived in relativity isolated tribes. This changed at the beginning of the common era, where King Pyth, the Fortunate Traveler, united the tribes against a horde of marauding diamond dogs...” He yawned, rolling his eyes. “This makes my people sound so boring!” The giant slammed the book close, making several of the students twitch like they received an electric shock. “Norfolk deserve better than this cut and dry pulp!” The giant dropped the book casually to the ground, then looked over everyone present. “You know what? Instead of reading this crap, how about you all ask me some questions? We'll have ourselves a conversation—anything goes. That's the best way to find out about someone, after all. I'm sure everyone's wanting to know about the great Iron Will and his people!” He quickly turned to the side to look at Jack. “Ain't that right, Apple!?”

“Eyup,” the farmer weakly agreed, doing her best to ooze false enthusiasm, but not succeeding in the slightest.

“Good!” he proclaimed. “Then let's see some haaaands!” he roared. In a panic, dozens of hands shot up in an attempt to appease the beast of a man. He scanned over the crowd and pointed at an exceptionally nervous looking earth-folk. “You!”

“M-me?” he weakly asked, leaning back and staring at the dark-skinned man.

“Let's hear us a question!” William ordered.

“I dunno, shit,” he whispered under his breath. Suddenly, he perked up. “Have you ever killed a man?” As soon as he said it, his face heated up and he put his palm to his face. “That wasn't even close to what I meant,” he muttered.

“'Course I have!” Will nodded. “Celestia doesn't call me 'the beast who talks' without a reason!” He put a considering hand to his chin and stroked his facial hair. “At least, I think she still calls me that. She did last time I asked, anyway. Hmm...” he trailed off in thought. After an awkward moment, he came back to the room. “Uh, anyway, next question.” He ran his finger over the moderately large classroom. “Uh, you. With the pack of cigarettes under your sleeve.”

A man with slicked back, black hair glanced to the pack resting just above his bicep. “Alright, Wills. Remember your first kill?”

“Who doesn't?” the norfolk replied, crossing his arms as Jack briefly bit her lip. “But to answer your question, yes. Iron Will remembers it clearly. Had to put down my dog at fifteen.” He tilted his head. “Unless you mean a person; if so, it was when I was a child of twenty—about twelve by Caballo's standards. A whisperer—my people's version of a soul-folk—came to me and my family's house in the dead of night and attempted to burglarize. He knew my father was away on patrols deep into the forests of my hometown and that my mother was a mere housemaid. The man thought it'd be easy for him. He didn't count on me.” Will shrugged. “Took my ancestor's sword and cut him like a holiday turkey.”

The few students in Iron Will's other class nodded, used to the minotaur's more pragmatic ways. The rest shared uneasy glances with one another, until a woman wearing a beanie raised her hand.

“Uh, yo.”

“Yo.” Will nodded back.

“So, what exactly are diamond dogs, that they caused your people so much trouble?”

He smirked, rolling up a sleeve to his elbow. At his muscled forearm were multiple deep and jagged scars, obviously from a set of teeth almost eight inches wide. “They're little runts—about four feet. But they're pack creatures. Attracted to shiny objects like gems, mirrors and blades. A handful of them mean nothing. My scar?” He hoisted his arm up slightly. “Only wound Iron Will had from a pack of fifteen.” The giant shook his head. “Individually, they caused no problems. When some of the more feral of the beasts joined together and tried to take over our land in waves numbering in the thousands—that's when they gave us 'trouble.'” He rolled his sleeve back down and shrugged easily. “Though my ancestors seemed to do well enough against the creatures—my race is still alive, after all.”

A soul-folk raised his hand, looking over his glasses at the heavily scarred man. “Hey, Iron, why are the norfolk so strong, anyway? You talk like taking down fifteen diamond dogs is yawn-worthy. Is it just how you guys are, or is there magic involved?” The lad then glanced Jack's way, briefly. “It the same reason some of the earthers are so damn strong?”

Recognition dawned in Will's eyes. “Wallace. Part of the flock I'm training, right?”

“Yes, sir. Sword and board.”

“Good. It's a reliable style.” Will moved to sit down on top of the teacher's desk, but stopped when he heard it creak dangerously under his weight. “As for your question... depends on how you view things. Several philosophers suggest that earth-folk and norfolk have no true magic to claim. On the other hand, some say every race has magic, just a bit more diluted and subtle. Myself? I dunno. I've always figured we are how we are, given strength as needed through the generations. If I've got magic in me, I've never felt it, anyway.” He crossed his arms and looked towards Jack. “What about you, Apple?”

Jack tilted her head. “What about me?”

“You ever get that... hell, I dunno, tingle?”

The farmer blinked. “Uh... tingle?”

Will gave a shrug. “Man, doesn't magic, like, tingle when you use it?”

“I dunno. Ain't exactly like I got the equipment fer it either, Will.”

Will rolled his eyes. “You're no help.” He paused, putting a hand to his unkempt chin. “Then again, I don't think you're a pureblood earth-folk anyway, so maybe you wouldn't have that tingle regardless.”

Jack narrowed her eyes, not liking the implication. Will shrugged.

“Nothing shameful about it. Iron Will just thinks you might have some norfolk in your blood a few generations back. Would explain the height, muscle, and bronzed skin, is all. Your grandfather's father, maybe.”

A haughty voice from the back spoke up. “I can trace my family six generations. All earth-folk. I've never had a... tingle, or what ever it was you said.”

Will held out his hand towards the woman in the back row. “Alright, cool. Guess that answers the question.” He frowned, looking towards the beanie-wearing soul-folk that had spoke a moment ago. “As for yours, I don't know, man. It's possible magic got your people and mine as far as it has, but I prefer to think it was our guts and integrity.”

The soul-folk nodded, accepting of the answer. Will noticed a hand raised to his far right.

“Let's hear it.” The burly man nodded. A petite sky-folk clasped her hands together and swallowed.

“A-are norfolk women as strong as the men?”

“'Strong' can mean a lot of things.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Until the last fifty years or so, they were weak in our society in several ways. They couldn't join wars, couldn't work high-risk jobs. Couldn't be a tribe leader. Was justified in our case, though. Sorry, gals.” Before anyone could say much else, he pointed to a woman in the back on a video game. “Pop quiz, nerd!” he roared, scaring the poor girl half to death. “What's Caballo's male-to-female ratio?”

“Uh...” she trailed off, racking her brain for the answer. “O-one to five?”

“Correct! Good.” He put his hands to his hips, frowning. “At one point, ours was one to twelve. Men's favor. We needed every able-bodied female with child in order to keep population levels. Nothing sexist about it, just fact.” Will gave a polite nod. “Now, though? We're at a one to six. Not ideal, but better. As such, they're allowed far more rights and strength in the community nowadays.”

He paused. “...O-or did you mean, like, actual strength?”

The sky-folk blushed, embarrassed at the attention. “Actual strength.”

“Oh.” Will coughed into his fist. “Well, in that case, yes. They're very similar to males. Usually between six to eight-and-a-half feet, able to utilize protein to great extent, allowing muscles to develop nearly as well as men. So, uh, yeah. Next question. You,” he said, pointing to the left. “With the glasses.”

An earth-folk pushed up his horn-rimmed spectacles. “Any specific cultural or technological achievements the Norfolk have given us?”

“Cultural? I saved your culture during the griffon wars. Does that count?” he sternly asked, then gave a pumped nod. “Iron Will only jokes. He did save your peoples' asses during the war, but my people have contributed to more than that. For starters, your language.” He moved to a map of the world and gave a tap to the island country of Spain. “Spaniards and the English united under Uther Pendragon's name and crossed the ocean, discovering southern Caballo. They spent a year migrating north, eventually discovering a few scattered norfolk tribes, who took them in as their own. Our languages were incompatible with one another, so it took several months to establish a rapport. Once they did, the groundwork for your language were set. You can still see norfolk influence in hundreds of words, like soul-folk. It's derived from what we called whisperers that became soldiers—sol-djinn, meaning, 'the inward strength.'” He gave a smug, broad smirk. “Not to mention our metalwork. Guess who made the railway your trains run on? Norfolk. Silver necklaces you wear? Usually norfolk. Our lands are all but swimming in minerals—we've made smithing into an art due to it.”

William pointed dead center. A timid sky-folk seated in the front row near the door slowly raised his hand.

"What can you tell us about the Griffon Wars, from your point of view?" he asked sheepishly.

“Most black and white war Iron Will has ever fought in,” Will stated, looking grim. “Bunch of pathetic worms trying to wipe out Caballo's soul-folk and my whisperers. Those griffon-folk deserve everything that's been done to them, and more.”

A younger man wearing a scarf shook his head. “Wasn't it just a group of them that fought? The Retainers were the real problem, correct? Surely not all the griffon-folk can be tha--”

Will's expression turned dark, like thunderclouds on the horizon.“You haven't seen what I have. What they did to people they captured as they moved west. How they broke them. Or worse, how they killed them. If I never see a Griffonchilde again, it'll be too soon. Next question.”

A silence settled over the class. Jack spoke up, shifting away from the dangerous mood as quickly as she could. “What's yer biggest city?”

“Whitehearth,” William automatically replied back, adjusting his unkempt tie. “It's a fortress town funded by King Pyth in his later days, holds about four thousand people, and the only damn place you'll find warmth that far north. Good mead, secure against all but the most sly invaders. Home, sweet home.”

Another hand rose up. Will shot from the hip, pointing at the fellow.

“So, uh, who was King Pyth again?”

Iron Will's jaw dropped. “Y-you're joking, right?” he slowly shook his head, slack jawed and open mouthed. “You all have King Arthur drilled into your brains, but not Pyth?” Will sighed, rubbing at his forehead. “King Pyth was one of the most legendary figures of his time—despite being barely a youth of thirty and an orphan, he nevertheless rose to power by discovering and carrying Durandell—a sacred blade embedded in stone that only a pure heart could free. With that as a beacon of inspiration, the child-king Pyth united hundreds of splintered tribes and joined them together into one—the clan called norfolk.”

Jack quirked a brow. “Y'all didn't have a name fer yer people until then? Yer race is named from a clan?”

“The original name of our people as a whole was Gendarhn, which, loosely translated, means 'to think.' We simply considered ourselves improved enough united that we abolished our previous race name.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “But Iron Will digresses. He got off track... again.” The giant pointed a large sausage-finger at a thin soul-folk.

“What are the boundaries of modern-day minotaur country?”

Will raised a brow at the word 'minotaur,' but didn't comment on the derogatory term. “At the foothills of the bald bandit mountains.”

He scratched at an itch behind his ear. “Which are...?”

“Up north.”

“Well, I assumed that. Where?”

Will rolled his eyes. “Does Iron Will need to draw a map on the whiteboard?”

“Yes.”

“Uh-huh,” a woman agreed.

“Please,” a man with a mohawk practically begged.

“Basic geography, by my ancestors...” Iron Will sulked, turning and quickly using a few markers to sketch out an uneven, rough and disproportionate map of Caballo.

"Ok. This blue dot is the academy. Up north by the Samson river is Middleburg. About a weeks travel are the bald-bandit mountains. The red marks the norfolk lands."

“What are those islands that you own?”

Iron Will frowned. “Blasted Rim and Ghost Rim. Used to even own the Sealed Rim farther west. Still do, I guess, but we don't go there for a reason."

The class sat in silence. The Sealed Rim was something that wasn't mentioned often, let alone visited—there were enough horror stories to find in the world without traveling to an entire island filled with them. The scarred man cleared his throat.

“So, any more questions?” he asked.

“Yeah,” a lazy voice drawled out from the back. A man with his boots propped up on top of the desk gave a small adjustment to the trucker cap he wore. “What kinda heroes do y'all have? Myths? That sorta thing.”

“Our legends usually stem from at least a grain of truth. Like the tale of Blackeye, the twenty-five foot tall norfolk lumberjack who was able to clear out entire forests in a matter of days.” He shook his head with a smile. “He was only fourteen feet tall, and it'd take him almost a solid week to clear out an acre of densely populated trees. As for actual myths, there's just the usual flavor of things you'd find in most indigenous tribes. Several remind me of the studies I've had over Roman myths and early deities. Things like how monsters came to be, why Father Winter abhors Mother Sun—that one's actually a pretty good story. She and the Moon were secret lovers; when Father Winter found out, he condemned them to live their lives as far away from one another as possible. It's why during the colder months when Father Winter visits his children, Mother Sun only fleetingly stays.” He cracked his knuckles and reached into his pocket. Popping a piece of gum into his mouth, he continued. “Man, Iron Will loves peach gum. Anyway, that tale is a part of why ancient norfolk considered eclipses sacred marks of good fortune—compared to some of the European Islands' old tribes, who thought it was a sign of ill-tidings.” He blew a bubble, then brought the gum back into his mouth. “There are several more, but we're starting to get pressed for time. If the idea of hearing more about my race's old legends excites you, please check Iron Will's norfolk class next semester.”

“So, do y'all still follow that sun an' moon crap?” The cap wearing man asked.

“Like, as a legitimate religion?”

“Yeah.”

“A large portion of us do not, no.” He started to count on his hands. “You'll find ancestral worship in the northern segments, a philosophical life stance that seems to have Buddhist roots in the east, your fathers introduced Judaism, Christianity, and Shintoism to us in the south. Westward is predominately dedicated to Almyra, the Goddess of war and harvest.”

“Seems like an' odd choice ta have together,” Jack said.

Iron Will tilted his head. “How do you figure? There's a season for everything. War, peace, harvest, planting—that cyclic nature is how life works.”

“I guess.”

The minotaur looked behind him, glancing at a clock on the wall. “One more, I guess, and that'll do for today.”

A bald sky-folk raised his hand. “It's a bit personal, but tell me about yourself.”

The giant grinned broadly. “Iron Will's favorite subject! What would you like to know?”

“If you've got a wife.”

His easygoing smile faded in seconds. A frown took over. “Had,” he quietly said.

“Oh.”

Will sighed, rubbing at his black goatee. “Lost her during the Griffon wars. A platoon of the winged bastards raided a town she was stationed at. Tried to break into a church where some kids were holed up.” He gave a snort of disdain. “Got twenty of them before it was all said and done. Bought enough time for reinforcements to save the kids, at least. Could barely recognize her from the wounds.”

He became silent. Lost in a memory.

“Sorry,” Jack said. Her words felt hollow, but it felt like she had to say something after that.

“Jiranda was something else. A warrior first, woman a distant second. But the days she actually did break down and wear a gown...” He wistfully smiled. Jack could see the small traces of crows-feet around his eyes. The farmer had never thought about how old William was. “She at least brought honor to her fathers and died a warrior's death. That's what she would have wanted.” He bit at his lip, seeming to want to add more, but put his emotions to the side, instead turning to glance at the clock once more. “Guess it's about time to dismiss everyone. For those in my combat class, get rested up. It's not going to be an easy patrol on Nightmare Night.” He gave a loud clap and pointed to the door with both hands, his enthusiasm from earlier returning. “Dissssmisssed!”

The students filed out, Jack being the last in a long line. She gave a look over her shoulder.

In the empty classroom Will stoically stood with his hands balled at his side, looking miles away.

Author's Notes:

That took longer than I expected, sorry about that. Don't worry, though. The next, like, legit chapter will be out saturday or sunday--I just gotta edit the beast. Stay classy, men.