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 IV: Pass or Fail?

The sun shone hotly on the student’s backs as they marched out to the examination room, the unusually cloudless day doing nothing to heighten Nathaniel’s spirits as he kept pace with the long procession of examinees. He scratched the nape of his neck in irritation as the heat began to prickle, shielding his eyes and peering into the dazzling brightness.

The weather didn’t seem to mirror Nathaniel’s mood.

The storm that had raged last night seemed more appropriate, he speculated, blinking and returning his attention to following the Evoker’s course without putting a foot wrong. However his shoes were oddly uncomfortable on the cobblestones beneath him and for some reason his mouth was parched and dry, his throat like a desert.

He knew, with some reluctance, it was the apprehension of the exam that was a constant threat on his mind –his nerves were shot. Despite his last-minute revision last night he knew it was no way near enough to be fully prepared for the exam. Try as he might, he couldn’t help thinking how much the odds were stacked against him.

Blocking out the pessimistic thoughts from his mind; he composed himself and tried to recall what he’d learnt during his various lessons and lectures. Yet whenever he tried to grasp on something in his memory, it slipped away and his mind went blank again, only to be replaced by the condemning face of Arch-Mage Greymane, hovering into view along with Miss Harpfeather’s. The same words ran across his mind time after time again.

You don’t belong here…

It was useless.

Nathaniel was as clueless as when he first started at the Arcane University. He’d yet to even cast a single successful Mysticism spell in all the disastrous practical lessons he’d endured, and now, when his entire career as a mage was on the line, he cursed himself furiously for not paying attention in lessons.

The only reason he’d chosen Mysticism as a subject was because he thought it would be easy; that he could flunk the lessons no problem. He was sadly mistaken.

What Nathaniel wouldn’t give to be taking an exam for Illusion, Alchemy, or even Conjuration right now. During the first week of Mysticism lessons with Miss Harpfeather, his hopes of an easy and hassle-free ride to an apprenticeship had been completely buried under the mountainous piles of tedious textbook work and brain-addling note-taking.

Struggling to take in the enormity of his task, Nathaniel realised this was the day that would change his life. It was up to him and him alone. He would either pass or fail.

Which one would it be? Nathaniel found himself asking. The answer was waiting just round the corner.

Above, a black soaring shape silhouetted in the sun’s dazzling rays, a raven cawed majestically into the clear blue sky.

Nathaniel stopped for a moment to look at the familiar pest, losing concentration as he was momentarily blinded by the sun. He stumbled and tripped on a jutting flagstone piece, giving an involuntary yelp of surprise. Nathaniel felt an arm grab him just before he fell, and hoping nobody else had noticed, quickly returned to his position in the line of examinees – gathering his jacket together to hide the wax-stain on his shirt from this morning. He turned to say thank you to his saviour.

Somebody snorted behind him.

“Nervous, Nathaniel?”

The snide voice of Patrickus Grinlime slithered coldly in Nathaniel’s ear, making him shudder. The 'thank you' caught halfway in his throat.

“Don’t worry; I’m sure you’ll pass… someday.” Patrickus sneered, and Nathaniel could imagine his stuck-up face, with its sly, unpleasant smile, upturned nose and eyes full of derision and mockery. Nathaniel’s lip curled at the thought.

Nathaniel kept walking, biting his tongue to prevent himself from retaliating. Despite the broiling anger in his stomach, he promised himself he wouldn’t sink to Grinlime’s level. Nathaniel was better than that. Patrickus' underhand taunts were the least of his worries, he had the exam to worry about.

“You’ll see, Patrickus, I’ll pass this exam no problem. Just you watch.” Nathaniel whispered back with barely suppressed rage, still facing forward and keeping pace with the line whilst adopting a stern grimace, clenching his fists and grinding his teeth viciously. He meant what he said in every sense of the word. Behind him he heard Patrickus snigger.

“You, an apprentice? Don’t make me laugh, Natty. You have less intelligence than a scamp on moonsugar. You don’t belong here.”

Nathaniel winced as the last insult hit home.

He felt fury boil in his veins once more, hotter and more intense than ever. He balled his fists so tight the knuckles went white, and he threatened to grind his teeth down to the gums. But Patrickus’ jibes just made him even more determined to pass this exam, to defy the odds, and Nathaniel channelled his hatred into pure, unbridled willpower.

He was going to pass this test. No matter what.

***

“That’s enough associates, we have arrived at the examination room.” Nathaniel heard the Evoker’s voice yell out over the empty courtyard they had just entered, and after a moment’s hesitation she hovered into view, walking out to the side to address the column of students from where they could all see her.

Above, the midday sun continued to beat remorselessly down on the courtyard, baking the air cinder-dry and making it haze and waver like ripples of liquid in the distance. Nathaniel, in his heavy blazer jacket, was being roasted alive in the incredible heat, sweating feverishly under the sweltering warmth - thought he guessed it was far more down to his nerves rather than the increasing temperature. Swallowing hard, he turned his attention to the Evoker. She appeared completely unfazed by the scorching weather and stood before the line of associates with an impassive expression, her hands clasped smartly at the small of her back.

“Students, your Mysticism test is waiting beyond the door facing you,” She addressed the students confidently, gesturing towards the building they had arrived at, and like one unified mind, each student peered round to take a good look.

On appearance it looked like any other building in the Arcane University; two storeys high, made of bleak, grey stone, a pillared roof jutting out grandly to hide a square wooden door within its shade. However on closer inspection, Nathaniel noticed the sign of the Mage’s Guild was etched perfectly onto the door’s grainy surface, catching what little sunlight that came through the shadow and glimmering brightly amidst the darkness.

Nathaniel gulped, and to what it sounded like, every other student did so too.

“Remember what you were taught, and relax, don’t let your nerves get to you – you are all capable and talented students of Magic, and I am adamant that you will all pass this examination.” Her gaze wandered over to Nathaniel. He shied away.

“Blessings of Mara upon you all. You may now enter.” The Evoker finished, fixing them with a beaming smile and walking towards the engraved door. She opened it and led them in, the students shuffling and fidgeting uncontrollably with nerves.

He found himself entering a long, unimpressive room – not that much dissimilar from Miss Harpfeather’s classroom. Like every other building in the Arcane University, numerous shelves, bookcases and cupboards lined the walls, filled to the brim with manuscripts and weird-looking potions. However unlike Nathaniel’s classroom there were no desks or chairs, and no blackboard at the front of the room.

A large space had been cleared in the middle, leaving the stone floor strangely empty and bare compared to its surrounding walls. A trio of ordinary wooden tables had been placed in a horizontal line in the centre of the room, one in the middle, and another on either side, each at least five metres apart. Along with them three, clear glasses of varying sizes had also been arranged on the tables, one on each, from big to small. On the table with the biggest glass a polished silver carafe stood, its slender form glinting sharply in the brightness.

Light streamed in from a series of thin alcove windows on the left side of the room, creating an odd, striped effect on the uncovered stone floor. At the head of the room where the teacher’s desk would be, sat three grim-looking professors, motionless like statues in the slim beam of light that speared down from their adjacent window. Nathaniel instantly recognised one as Miss Harpfeather, who glared back at him with an venomous, indicting gaze.

His heart sank – that was already one judge who was against his favour.

Amongst the others was Professor Parsedew, an old, bearded wizard, wearing a wide-brimmed conical hat that bent backwards at the middle, and Mistress Wicklefick, a rotund woman whose doughy face reminded Nathaniel of a roll of sweet-cake. Neither were teachers that Nathaniel knew very well or had dealings with in the past, so he hoped that if it came to an all-out decision between the trio as to whether he passed or not, at least two out of the three would be unprejudiced. However if it was up to Miss Harpfeather alone, Nathaniel knew he would be out that door faster than he could say ‘bird-beak’.

Of course, if he actually passed the test he wouldn’t need to worry at all.

Swiftly the students entered the exam room in silence, the Evoker ushering them in with occasional words of encouragement. Nodding once to the professors when all the students were present, she left without a word, slamming the door behind her. The clunk of the heavy door closing echoed long around the empty, silent room, and suddenly, everything was still. The tension was so thick it was choking. The oppressive and blinding brightness continued to stream sparsely through the windows into the stifling room, the only sound permeating the heavy atmosphere was the nervous panting of the students as they examined the room from head to toe with wide, apprehensive eyes.

It was a minute before Miss Harpfeather eventually stood up, her chair squeaking on the floor as she did so, and broke the silence.

“Examinees.” Nathaniel winced as her screeching voice echoed round the stuffy chamber. “Your Mysticism exam begins as of now. Test conditions are required form this point forth. This means no speaking or conversing with your fellow associates, and certainly no use of magic until you are permitted to do so. Any jewellery – magical or not – must be removed immediately.”

She stopped to allow the rules to sink in – or maybe it was to frighten the students, Nathaniel couldn’t tell.

“Arrange yourselves into alphabetical order. Once your name is called up, walk to the centre of the room to perform the examination. You will be graded on your knowledge, execution, accuracy and flair. The rest of you, wait at the back of the room quietly until it is your turn. Remember any violation of the rules aforementioned results in immediate disqualification from the exam, no exceptions.” She hesitated again, eyeing each and every student with cold, piercing eyes.

“Any questions? Good. Then let the Mysticism Exams begin!” With that, she clapped her hands rigorously and sat back in her seat, giving a curt nod to the other two professors to begin.

“Norma Ardatroke, step forward…” The hoarse voice of Professor Parsedew began to fill the room, and slowly but surely, a shuffling blonde girl emerged from the mass of sitting students and began to walk toward the centre of the room, illuminated by a shaft of brilliance that speared from one of the thin windows. Despite the distance Nathaniel could see that the girl’s eyes were wide with fear and she held her hands against her stomach to stop them from trembling – it didn’t help ease Nathaniel’s nerves much, either.

The droopy face of Professor Parsedew smiled weakly, and beckoned Norma Ardatroke to begin. Nathaniel watched with attentive eyes, as with every other student, but all the time aware of his own predicament. He felt so nervous he was afraid he might throw up, his stomach queasy and his head nauseous, but he knew he had to concentrate. Saying he felt ill was not an option; he just had to buckle down and pass this test once and for all.

He sounded so confident in his head, yet deep inside the worry remained, like an immovable black lump. He tried to shake the feeling, trying instead to discern what the exam would be and how difficult it was.

The test was simple; the student had to come up, answer a couple of questions – one delivered by each professor, and then perform a routine Mysticism spell to demonstrate their talents. The candidate had to fill a glass of water using Psychic Motion (a weaker form of Telekinesis) from the carafe on the foremost left table, and then maintaining the spell, move the glass of water across the short distance to the middle table.

The student then had to then pour the water into the smaller, thinner glass on the centre table, and repeat the spell again to move the water to the last table, where the smallest and thinnest glass stood. Once that was completed, the student had to finally use Psychic Motion again to move the thinnest glass of water all the way back to the carafe with all the water still inside. The idea was that as the glasses got thinner and smaller, the harder it was to control with telekinesis. If the candidate spilled a drop of water or dropped a glass, they would fail.

In reality, it was easy. If you had revised.

Nathaniel watched Norma Ardatroke perform the test with ease, upon which she was dismissed and returned to the throng of students with uncontained happiness and relief spread across her face, a skip in her step.

He gulped. She made it seem so easy.

Since Nathaniel had no second name, he reckoned he’d be last to be called up, so breathing heavily and shifting in his seated position to get more comfortable, he relaxed and tried to recall any information that he might need. There was nothing to do but wait.

Hours passed, and names continued to be called up, and each one sat back down as an apprentice, passing with flying colours. Praise was awarded to those that showed especial talent and originality, such as Patrickus Grinlime, who performed several loop-de-loops with the glasses – with the water still in. Nathaniel disregarded his charlatanic display with a sneer of discontent.

Finally, after three tedious hours and all the other student’s names had been called up, all eyes were on Nathaniel. His palms slippery and heart beating painfully against his chest, his name was at last rasped out by Professor Parsedew across the airless chamber.

“Nathaniel... Oh, it's just Nathaniel. Yes, please step forward.”

His legs shaking, Nathaniel stood.

This was it.

This post has been edited by Illydoor: May 6 2010, 05:31 PM