"Beck and the Bakk'ur"

**BEFORE YOU READ**
So yeah, I know this is probably quite bad. This was started (and never finished) many years ago when the world of Macairin was but a mere dot on the horizon. I'd like to think I've improved, but as always, please feel free to review my work. I can only get better.

**OK HERE WE GO**

“And in the hands of our protectors we place our lives, our freedom, and our justice.” Beck droned to the banner in the corner of the room. He had been repeating this speech to a flaccid cloth on the wall for the past nine years, and he had begun to spit the words as fast as he could. Every day, since joining the academy, he had been repeating himself. “Beck will be responsible for hall duty.” Groaned Mr. Urner. “What?! I was hall boy last week!” Beck quickly yelled in protest. “I know you don’t like it, but this job must fall to someone, and everyone else has been called already.” Mr. Urner said in an uncaring tone. “Now get going! There are three students missing!” Yelled the Ancient teacher as he went back to looking through the list of jobs. Beck had begun walking down the main hall, checking for missing students. He checked all the places that no one would ever hide first, then moved on to the outside. He was never one to run from class, but he disliked bringing back those who did by their ear. After he had sufficiently “checked” the outside planters and shadowy corners, he moved on to the one place all three would likely be. The Greenhouses; imposing figures of twisted and mangled plants standing thirty feet tall, with spikes running up and down their emerald surfaces. He ducked and weaved through the webs of thorny vines strung about, slowly making his way to the center of the horticulture wing. The final few branches and stems came into view along with an eerie but familiar sight. Blood. Blood on the floor in small droplets leading to a storage closet. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence to see blood strewn across the floor in the greenhouses; after all, they were used to train the third year students how to navigate the dangerous terrain in the many deadly forests of Macairin. But, something just felt… “off” here. Beck stumbled as he reached the clearing in the very center of all the plants, toppling a stack of buckets leaning on the dreary old shed to the left of the potting table. He was picking bits of shattered pots and dirt out of his hair when he saw it. A glint of glass from the slightly cracked door to the shed. It looked like someone had left a shiny new pair of blockers on one of the shelves. They looked expensive enough, so Beck wondered why anyone would leave such nice eyewear just sitting in a dusty old shed. But at a closer glance, they appeared to be covered in dark, dried blood.. “Probably some poor kid playing around, got his eye pierced courtesy of a sabreweed patch.” Beck thought, briefly remembering the incredibly painful process of spellbinding needed to heal an eye. He imagined they had torn them off in the haste to stop the bleeding. Quickly discarded on the shelf. Once again, that sinking feeling struck his chest. “If they had lost an eye, the lens would be broken.” Beck thought to himself. He had grown curious now, wondering what sort of injury would have caused them to remove the blockers, while still covering them in blood. He walked into the shed. Everything was dark, save for the light spilling in from the doorway. He picked up the blockers, holding them in the light. The more he peered at them, the more questions were raised. They seemed like perfectly good blockers, with silver setting, and hexagonal lenses. “No one in their right mind would ever leave these behind. Even if they were ruined. The replacement would cost a fortune.” He hesitated for a moment before putting them back on the shelf. “Hmm… Would anyone miss ‘em?” Beck asked himself. “Nah, I’d never get ‘em past the prefects.” He thought, before placing them back. He accidentally brushed his hand on the side of the shelf, knocking a small pot to the ground. It struck the ground and shattered without a bounce, scattering bits of broken clay everywhere. “Damn it. Now I’ll never hear the end of it from the herbology freaks in third year.” Beck quickly gathered the pieces that he could see, but his scrambling was put to a dead stop when his hand brushed past the drain in the center of the room. It was used only in the warm months to catch the water dripping from freshly cleaned pots, but it hadn’t been used for months, and wouldn’t be for a while. But nevertheless, as his hand groped at the ground looking for tiny particles of shattered clay, his hand touched something… wet.