Back home, your father kept a particular trophy - an Orc, stuffed, embalmed, and rogered on a metal pole, with the head sewn back on to the neck - which he keeps in the lobby. Visitors would drape their coats over the outstretched arms, or hang their hats from the teeth that jutted from the lower jaw and the black metal spikes that bristled on its armour. At parties, women would laughingly adorn it with their jewelry and clothing.
Even then, it had been terrifying. Something about the spheres of amber inserted where the eyes had once been really creeped you out. Like they were watching you.
It is a vivid memory to work from. Closing your eyes, you focus everything on that image, slowly allowing it to spread out from your mind to envelop your body.
Even with your eyes closed you can feel Father Dulu scrutinizing you. An age seems to pass. Then you feel something smooth like ivory sliding over your upper lip as it grows from inside your mouth. Tusks! It's worki-! Oh no, I'm losing focus! Focus! Focus! Focus!
Your nose widens and flattens against your face. Your skin grows thick and rough as a callus, and flushes with dark green pigment. Soon you have the low, animal brow, and the filthy hair crusted and matted to the skin with decades old, dried blood.
Breathing a heavily but satisfied, you open your eyes and are relieved to see Father Dulu break into a slight smile. He's impressed! Curious, you wonder. Has it becomes dusk already? The entire study seems bathed in yellow light, turning everything the colour of... amber.
To your alarm, Dulu casually reaches across the table and plucks out your right eye. He stares at it thoughtfully in his palm and you stare right back up, reeling with disorientating in your chair now that your sight is divided. He holds the chunk of amber up to the light that streams through the high windows, examining it like a jeweler searching for an imperfection. With the tip of his little finger, he traces a burning emerald sigil across the the surface, which slowly fades and sinks into the depths of the gemstone. Finally, he resets the eye into your socket with a flourish, like a grandfather plucking a coin from behind the ear of a child.
"Hmf. Passable. Very passable. Although here in the Jade Order we favour living forms. Lessons begin tomorrow at first light. Do not be late."
"Ye-yes, Father."
"That sigil grants you access to the first level of the library and the training grounds. I expect you to make good use of it. Might I mention that the only way to revoke it is to remove your eye, so make sure I'm not given need to."
"Yes, Father."
"One last thing," he added as you rose shakily but elated. "Narash'kok nor ka trok." He allows himself another of his slight smiles at your dumbfounded, Orcish expression. "It takes more than just a face to fool even a Orc. Tomorrow you'll start to learn that changing your appearance is the easy part. Oh, and change back already, Mead. Before you lose an eye."
"Yes, Father," you nod with such urgency that your eyeballs nearly dislodge themselves. You scurry from the study, finally able to relax. You were in, and with entry to the library no less! It was rare for the Colleges to place that sort of trust in sorcerers so quickly.
You spend the rest of the day preparing for next day's lesson, your first training as a wizard. It is...
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