The Dawncaster Chronicles [Mages, Arcane University], Have you ever thought about taking the dark and thorny path? Options

[Illydoor]

This is my first story that I've posted on the forums, it's not finished, so I'll probably be posting updates a bit sporadically throughout the year. It entails the story of young apprentice mage at the Arcane University, thrown into a world of mystery, murder and threat as the past returns and he is plunged headlong into it. I hope you like it...

~DAWNCASTER~

Prologue

Have you ever considered taking the dark and thorny path?

The voice was so sultry and alluring it made Magnus retch. Mysteriously dark, ominously sinister, like liquid poison running through his ears. The rich sound echoed off the thin walls of his house and filled the room with a soft, reverberating boom. Magnus shuddered.

It chuckled.

I know your type, boy, I know it well, but in a thousand years of painful existence I've never seen someone with so much…potential, as you.

Magnus did not dignify the compliment with a response. He was way past speaking, or even breathing for that matter. Abject fear had rendered him beyond speech or any comprehension at all of what was happening. He was utterly paralysed.

The thing chuckled malevolently again, a deep, sonorous rumble. It sensed his fear.

Speak! Only the foolish would summon me to their whim and not have the bravery to command me!

The voice rose suddenly and thunderously in volume, shaking the floor as if each syllable had the power to crush worlds at mere expression. The words echoed inside Magnus' head long after the monster had finished speaking, chilling him to the very core as icy trepidation laced the pit of stomach and his blood ran hot under his veins.

A low chuckling sounded once again.

I can feel your fear boy, your anxiety. It warms my essence, feeds my soul. Yet I can feel your power. I foresee great things for you, boy, great things.

Magnus remained silent, staring hard at the wooden floor beneath him and sweating feverishly.

Hmph. You have summoned me, and in return for the sacrifice of your soul, I shall see your ascension to greatness and immortality, if you should so accept my divine guidance. What say you, boy?

Finally, Magnus, roused from his terrified stupor, managed to stammer a few words out.

"Th-thank you, m-my master..." Magnus winced slightly as he noticed with great discomfort how weak his voice sounded, how insignificant it was compared to that of the monster.

The thing grunted, as if sizing him up. For a moment silence gripped the room, choking and stifling.

Hmm. Yes, indeed, you will do well. Come, young Magnus Dawncaster, I have much to teach you…

***

She was miles away, but the flames were still there. The pain still lingered like a terrible after-image, haunting and chilling, flashing every time on the backs of her eyelids whenever she closed them. She wished them away in frantic desperation, but the insatiable blood-thirst of the red flames couldn't be quenched, couldn't be stopped.

They burned brightly, burnishing the night-sky a tarnished red.

No matter how hard she tried, she could not shut them out. Their fiery gaze burned through anything, destroying, ruining, killing.

And still they burned. Never to cease, visions of fire and destruction, of vivid redness and anger. Elsa watched her world burn in her eyes over and over again. An eternal nightmare she could not wake from.

Hot tears stung her eyes as she ran, the dancing embers hot on her heels, their heat prickling and their roar terrifying, cackling and howling with malicious glee.

Pain engulfed her, clouding her mind with agony. She had no strength to scream, every iota of her energy spent entirely on just keeping awake. Yet she couldn't stop running. The flames chased her.

Branches and leaves whipped her face, but she ignored their sting. Roots and stray logs threatened to trip her, but she persevered, scrabbling quickly to her feet when she fell, a new, fresh gash on her person whenever she got up again.

All the while, the incessant burning continued in her ears. If only she could get away, escape, just anywhere where the flames could not reach her and her precious, precious cargo. In her heart she knew there was nowhere, the illusory flames that cursed her mind would stay with her to the abyss and back. They would burn in the darkness, in her dreams and sleep, they would smoulder on until death took her, and even then they would follow in her the afterlife, haunting her spirit.

She kept running, and fatigue dragged at her like an iron weight strapped to her soul, though she had lost the feeling in her wearisome legs a long time ago. She knew she couldn't keep it up forever, and already she felt her pace slowing, her feet falling heavily and stumbling amongst the dark undergrowth. She could tell she was at the end of her limits, her strength drained and her willpower spent. She knew soon she would fall, and the flames would catch up with her, devouring her in a swirling inferno of suffering and agony.

She ignored the icy pain that clawed at her consciousness and pressed on, finally breaking through the shadowy woods, forcing herself onwards on sheer determination alone.

She was nearly there. So close to being liberated from her haunted life, freedom from the ravenous flames at last. She only had to make it.

Through the writhing and hissing flames that consumed her mind's eye, the Arch-Mage's Tower loomed in to view. Its steep grey walls promised salvation and release from the pain.

Deep within the dark fire that raged inside her, a shadow of hope flickered, and with renewed vigour she fought away the flames for one last time, stumbling through the giant iron gates and scrabbling helplessly at the door.

Blackness began to seep into the corners of her eyes, and the flames began to deaden. Her breath slowed, and everything went into a time lapse, her movements sluggish and her vision blurred like a misty window.

She fought it, struggling to keep the flicker of hope in sight. She knew she was living on borrowed time. Any second now, death would take her, siezing her in it's inescapable grasp.

Through bleary eyes she saw the heavy wooden door creep open, and the Arch-Mage stood there, silhouetted in the yellow light that spilled from the open gap. Not able to keep herself up any longer, she slumped to the floor with a cry of supressed relief. The Arch-Mage ran to her immediately, holding her head in his hands and uttering inaudible words.

Darkness. It was beginning to consume her, her gaze narrowing as death prepared to embrace her, to finally make the flames stop. She beckoned the release.

With her last dying breath, she pushed something into the Arch-Mage's arms and whispered a final word before her world was plunged into blackness.

"Nathaniel..."

As he watched the life seep out of Elsa's eyes and her motionless body settle against the cold stone floor, Arch-Mage Honorius Greymane stood frozen in shock and grief, and in his hands a newborn baby began to cry.

This post has been edited by Illydoor: Apr 25 2009, 08:50 PM

[Illydoor]

Chapter II: A New Arrival

By the time Nathaniel had finally left his position in the secluded alleyway it was raining heavily. The University’s courtyards were full to the brim with hurrying apprentices and scholars, dashing through the rain whilst holding outspread scrolls above their head to deflect the worst of the downpour. Nathaniel bustled through them, shrugging his collar up and tightening it around his neck as he felt cold shivers crawl down his spine.

He found out it somewhat difficult to catch his breath; but Nathaniel knew that it wasn’t because of chilling weather. He was struggling to comprehend the implications of the Arch-Mage’s threat. Nobody in the history of the University had failed their Apprentice Testing. A whole year! Nathaniel said to himself for the hundredth time, clenching his fists as his distress slowly turned into fearful anger.

He couldn’t bare the thought of taking all those same lessons again, the same teachers, the same limitations. He had been looking forward to his apprenticeship more than anything, finally a chance to have some freedom and some respect from his fellow colleagues. To have it taken away at the very last moment was heartbreaking.

Nathaniel felt a single tear roll down his cheek. No-one noticed it in the pouring rain.

He pushed his way through the crowds as the rain fell in thick sheets, blanketing his red face with a film of icy water. Raising an arm to shield himself from the stinging gale, he struggled to make out a wooden sign through the grey thrash of the downpour, a crude bed painted on its surface, swinging wildly in the wind. Shuddering again, he made for the dormitories, the clouds above brewing darkly as the violent storm continued.

***

Nathaniel pushed open the heavy oak door with some difficulty, its wooden frame swollen with rain and soaked dark. Nathaniel stepped in quickly to escape the swirling rainstorm; but moans of displeasure and callous jeering still arose from within the common room as a cold chill swooped in from the open gap. Nathaniel scowled, but shut the door anyway before removing his leather shoes, shaking his hair of the rainwater like a ragged dog. When that proved unsuccessful he took a random robe from the cloakroom and ran through his hair with that, sincerely hoping it was that smug fetcher Patrickus Grinlime’s robe.

Satisfied with his drying attempts, he trudged to the middle of the common room without greeting or acknowledging anyone, flopping himself into a large armchair by the fire and shrinking into its warm embrace. Nobody seemed to notice him – though they hardly ever did anyway – and seemed to be engrossed in some heated discussion over some lame topic. Nathaniel sneered; probably something about how well prepared they were for the examinations tomorrow, or what reward they would get for passing them.

“…haven’t you heard – some say he’s travelled all over Cyrodiil, and that he carries a staff of amazing power…”

At this Nathaniel pricked up his ears, realising that it was evidently not one of the normal conversations. He sat up in the armchair and leaned slightly into the conversation, the fire’s heat was beginning to prickle him anyway, he consoled himself.

The debate continued, the students forever coming up with new and interesting rumours about this mysterious person to topple the previous one.

“Apparently he’s met with the Emperor, and has even done errands for the Fighter’s Guildmaster! He’s even been into a plane of Oblivion!” The note of awe in each person’s voice confused Nathaniel. Who was this incredible, legendary new someone? Why was everyone so hyped up about him? Nathaniel had no clue what a plane of Oblivion was, but he was sure if he’d been listening in Miss Harpfeather’s history class he would have.

It sounded like a load of poppycock to Nathaniel. Whoever this new person was, he was sure that he wasn’t as incredible and remarkable as he was made out to be. Nathaniel doubted that he’d ever even been to the Imperial Palace to see the Emperor; nobody but the palace guards and the council were allowed in there.

Yet the matter frustrated Nathaniel. Whenever the endless rumours got tiresome and his intrigue would wane, a new speculation would pop-up and draw his interest right back again. He found himself wanting, needing to know who this person was. He waited patiently for his answer.

“…do you think the University will… change when he arrives?” A straw-haired girl sitting nearest to Nathaniel asked coyly, fiddling with her braids. A young Redguard student from across the room answered, peering up from his book.

“I suppose so – and hopefully for the better… if any of those tales are true then he’s definitely going to be popular, certainly moreso than the one we’ve got now. It’ll be great to have a new Arch-Mage who’s so interesting, I for one…”

Nathaniel zoned out from what he said afterwards, he was too busy gasping and gawping with shock. A new Arch-Mage? Old Whiskerface was retiring? Questions flittered through Nathaniel’s mind like moths round a lamp.

He had known Greymane to be old, but he had never once thought the wrinkly Arch-Mage was anywhere near resigning. Nathaniel was stunned, struggling to decide whether this dramatic change was for good or bad. From what he had heard, this Arch-Mage would probably be even more arrogant and domineering than the previous one; as well as being much more as likely to ignore him and disregard him.

Nathaniel suddenly gained a strong desire to hate this new arrival, even though he hadn’t even set foot in the University yet. Angry and confused, he blurted out his thoughts into the conversation.

“A new Arch-Mage? Pah! I bet you ten septims that this one is as boring and hackneyed as lion-face up there.”

The inhabitants of the common room turned to face him, fixing him with wide-eyed stares of frightfulness at his sudden outburst.

“But Nathaniel, the rumours say–“

“Those stories are nonsense, gobbledygook, scamp-twaddle – probably just made up by scared students. Trust me; I’ll have that Arch-Mage begging to leave in less than a week, he’s no better than the current one.” Nathaniel interrupted the straw-haired girl, who frowned and made to retort again before Nathaniel spoke over her again.

“What’s his name? Something stupid I bet – Like Honorius Greymane.” Nathaniel jibed; adopting a ridiculous sing-song accent when he said the name of the Arch-Mage.

“Illydoor. His name’s Illydoor. Sounds exotic doesn’t it?”

Nathaniel snorted.

“I bet he’s never even been outside the city. He won’t last a day here if I see to it; he won’t be able to handle my old potion-switch trick.” Nathaniel said, his mind already working on different kind of pranks to pull.

“I wouldn’t say that Nathaniel, he’s arriving today at the stables any minute now. Arriving in style too I hear. He’s arriving in his own coach, pulled by his own horse. A classy one too, purebred Chestnut all the way from Chorrol – so he must’ve been outside the city, Nathaniel… Nathaniel?”

Nathaniel had frozen at the mention of the stables, remembering his afternoon detention that Greymane had given him earlier this day. He’d almost forgotten!

Cursing himself inwardly for his own stupidity, he quickly left the common room, almost forgetting to put his shoes on as he rushed out of the doorway, more moans roused from within the dormitories as another cold gust was sucked in.

Slamming the vast wooden door shut; Nathaniel turned into the storm once more, the painful chill of the air hitting him like a fist as he ran towards the University stables.

***

Luckily for Nathaniel the worst of the storm had subsided by the time he had left the common room, though a good amount of rain still fell from the skies at a steady pace, drenching his just dried clothes and hair. A greying mist had descended on the University as well, enveloping the cobbles with a film of vapour. Nathaniel passed the crooked raven again, who was as bedraggled a fowl as ever hunched on one of the unlit lamps by the side of the road. It cawed dejectedly at him before flying off into the mist.

Nathaniel ran without abandon, not caring when he slipped on the wet flagstones, bruising his knees and scraping his elbows. While he ran, he had a lot of time to think about his current predicament, the excitement of the new arch-mage having subsided like the storm in Nathaniel’s mind.

He had wanted to study for his examinations in preparation for the bid day tomorrow, but with this detention he could never hope to have enough time to revise. Greymane had known this; otherwise he wouldn’t have given me this detention, Nathaniel thought, gritting his teeth with frustration.

If he didn’t pass the examinations, then what was the point of trying to become a Mage? What if he failed the next year? And the year after that? Nathaniel shuddered at the prospect. He couldn’t help but remember Miss Harpfeather’s words earlier this morning, her shrill voice replaying in his mind on its own accord.

You don’t deserve to be in this university…

Nathaniel found himself believing her every word. Maybe he just didn’t belong in the Arcane University. Maybe he was cut out for something else. She had asked him about his heritage, yet Nathaniel knew nothing of his. He had no parents or relatives; his mother and father had been killed during an important guild operation, or so he had been told. He didn’t even have a second name. On all the registers and charters, his title was just Nathaniel. It felt like he was half a person, incomplete.

Disturbed, Nathaniel shook his worries out of his head and concentrated on running, the rain still pouring around him and pattering on the cobblestones, playing out an odd rhythm. Above him, the raven soared, a black smudge amidst the endless grey.

By the time Nathaniel reached the stables he was breathless, and sweating despite the downpour and storm’s after-chill. Situated just outside the Arcane University’s stone walls, the stables were a refuge for the countless visitors that the University paid homage to. A ramshackle wooden shack, shaking rather precariously in the wind, filled with hay and horse-dung. Nathaniel’s detention venue for the next few hours.

He grimaced, the wind blowing his hair across his face, and walked slowly towards the stables. Fortunately there didn’t seem to be many occupants today; probably the storm seeing to that, Nathaniel reckoned. When he arrived at the wooden pen he saw a piece of parchment pinned to one of the supports, a broom and bucket leant against the wooden pillar beside it. Nathaniel plucked it off and read it with difficulty in the drizzle.

Nathaniel

In response to your despicable actions this morning, you are to clean the entire stables for two hours and a half. Make sure you clean all the dung out and move the rotten hay to the back of the shelter.

No magic!

Nathaniel shrugged. It was not the worst punishment he had, but neither was it the easiest. And as for the magic prohibition, Nathaniel wouldn’t be as stupid to try it. He had once, though, and it produced less than desirable results. The stables had been left in more of a mess than before when he had tried it; and when Greymane had finally arrived to relieve him of his punishment, he received a magicked clump of dung to his face as a result of Nathaniel’s attempted cleaning spell.

Amusing thought it was, it had earned him another two hours of cleaning, so Nathaniel knew better than to try again.

Sighing despondently, he grasped the brush, taking out a nose-peg he had especially made for this punishment and clipping it onto his nostrils. Without hesitation he set about to clearing out the first stable, trying not to gag as he separated the waste from the hay. As he began to settle in to a routine, he fell gradually more and more into his own deep thought stream, and before he knew it time began to flitter by all too quickly.

About halfway into his allotted detention time, he was woken suddenly from his musings by the distant sound of clipping hooves on the cobblestone road. He looked up from his work – which by now he was quite proud of, having already reached the fourth stable out of ten – along the direction of the straight road, peering through the greying mist to see if he could discern the arrival. When he couldn’t, he gave up and set about to work, the clacking of the horse’s hooves getting gradually louder and closer.

Soon when the clipping had become so loud it was an annoyance to Nathaniel, he looked up from his post and saw a horse dragging a coach compartment along the road. A golden, chestnut horse.

Nathaniel gulped. Could this be the very Arch-Mage they had been talking about in the common room? He was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of fear and anticipation as one by one the different rumours of the new arrival’s history came back to him.

The horse continued to trot slowly along the lengthy road, and even in the drizzle Nathaniel could see that its coat was definitely chestnut – glossy and sleek in the rain, its rich brown colour not dampened or tarnished in any way by the downpour. A single white streak ran down its elongated nose.

Okay, thought Nathaniel. One rumour is true. That doesn’t mean all the rest are. And what good is a horse anyway when you just ride in the back of a coach?

The horse drew up near the stables, whinnying at Nathaniel and shaking its brilliant mane. Nathaniel shrank back a bit, holding the broom tightly to his chest defensively. He waited and the horse continued past the stables, drawing the black, gold-trimmed coach along with it.

As it drew past, a lone figure within its cabin caught Nathaniel’s eye. Through a small gap in the curtained window, Nathaniel saw a man, enrobed in garbs of a deep red; his face darkly hidden by the cowl’s concealing shadow. Slowly and terribly, the black maw of his hood turned to face Nathaniel, fixing him with a blank, imperceptible stare like one single deathly eye. Nathaniel found he couldn’t move at all, his eyes seem to be hypnotised, fixed on the inky blackness within the mysterious arrival’s hood.

A second passed and never once did the man break his stare. Not until the coach drew out of view and rolled slowly through the cast-iron gates of the University did Nathaniel’s eyes avert from the coach and its occupant.

Nathaniel shook, quickly turning back to his work at the stables, his palms sweating and his throat suddenly tighter than before, sweeping a little quicker than intended.

This post has been edited by Illydoor: Apr 30 2009, 07:36 PM