The first question still mocked him.
"Calculate the trajectory of a Tier 3 fire spell in a crosswind with forty percent humidity, factoring in the Aetheric resistance of a standard defensive barrier. Show your work."
He smirked. 'Sure. I'll show my work.'
He bent over the paper and drew a long, curving arrow. Then he sketched a stick figure waving its arms and wrote under it: This is me running away when the fireball comes.
Another arrow crashed into the stick figure. Under it, he scribbled: This would be the trajectory.
He leaned back, biting his lip to keep from laughing.
Tssk.
The silence of the hall made every scratch of his quill sound like a hammer.
He flipped to the next question.
"List the five kingdoms that border the Sand-Wastes of Jora."
He tapped his chin.
'Do I look like a geography teacher?'
He wrote: Five kingdoms? No, the Sand-Wastes border pain, misery, death, poverty, and sand.
Satisfied, he moved on.
The next question was worse.
