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Fléin entered his classroom, walked a few paces, then stopped short.
He looked around the room, awestruck. Seated at three tables at the front were... five Dwarves! Dwarves!
In all his sejourn in Mordor, Fléin had never seen more than three Dwarves, himself inclusive, at the same time. This was amazing.
The professor did not seem to share the enthousiasm spreading across Fléin's face. "Wipe that grin off you face," he rumbled in an odd voice, fluctuating wildly in pitch. "I don't see anything funny about being late for your first lecture. Take a seat."
Fléin sat down next a Dwarf who had, for some reason, decided to coat his or her axe edge with ketchup. He smiled and shuffled into his seat.
"As I was saying," the professor turned around, "before I was rudely interrupted- WHERE IS YOUR PAPER BOY?"
Fléin carefully addressed his apology to the floor two feet in front of the professor. "Sorry sir... I didn't think we'd need any."
The professor, a squat stone figure, made a sound similar to that Fléin made when producing cats from his stomach; Fléin interpreted this as a laugh. "No paper? How are you to learn the Theory of Defense for Short People? Hah! I'm sorry, but there's little physical activity in this class!"
He didn't sound very apologetic - more gleeful than anything else - and apparently, Fléin was not the only one to suffer from this misconception. The other Dwarves murmured, annoyed, but the professor ignored them.
"You will have to borrow paper from another student. You will pay this back tomorrow, with a 50% interest rate, and I shall take 500% of the total repayment personally in Forgotten Paper Taxes to attone for your lack of effort." He turned back to the board, and finished off his sentence. "I am Professor Trunchbull."
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