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]

I'm going to France for a week, so in my absence, here's the next chapter for you guys to chew on while I'm gone .

Chapter VI: The Seeds Are Sown

The sun was already beginning its dreary descent toward the horizon by the time Nathaniel awoke, lifting his weary head from the pillow to the beam of light that poured in from his oval window. Having already reached its zenith, the brilliant circle was now slowly drifting west as midday came to an end, though its bright rays were still enough to make Nathaniel shield his vision from the dazzling brightness.

He yawned in a sluggish manner, his head throbbing and mouth bone-dry; running a hand through his dark-brown hair in a practiced fashion. With his other he rubbed his sore eyes, which felt itchy and raw from his outburst of tears that had just occurred hours before.

When he had cleared his vision, Nathaniel listlessly blinked away the sleep and saw the state of disarray his room was in.

In his apparent anger and frustration, Nathaniel had stormed into his dormitory, throwing off his shoes and blazer jacket in a fit of rage across his room, and then proceeding to fling a number of other items randomly around the chamber has he sort to unleash his anger on absolutely anything. Jackets hung from on top of his wardrobe. Vases and cups lay smashed and broken on the floor, their spilled contents like the blood of murder victims.

Amongst the ruin, he had also tossed his revision booklet to join his clothing on the floor, where it lay haphazardly amidst the mess of his destruction, the pages bent and creased. All sorts of clutter littered the floor, quills and empty inkpots, various pieces of clothing, even a few paintings. His tall, ticking horologe clock, its pendulum still oscillating in perfect motion despite its upending, whirred meticulously on the floor.

To Nathaniel it felt like a bad dream. A bad, terrifying dream he could never wake from.

Not long after his frantic rage and frenzied destruction, Nathaniel figured he’d worn himself out, and subsequently curled up on his bed beneath the covers to hide from the world and his fateful predicament, sleep a welcome relief from all the distress he had endured since this morning. He dearly wished he could return to that state of blissful ignorance, oblivious to all the pains and miseries, his back turned to the universe and everyone else in it as he slept on in peace.

The failure of the exam still hung heavy on his mind, and at every moment Nathaniel felt his spirits suddenly dip and new tears threatened seep from his already tear-drained eyes.

A chorus of shouts sounded from outside, and shaking his dazed head, Nathaniel walked with weary tread to his circular window to see what the commotion was.

Outside, as Nathaniel had reluctantly expected, the celebrations were still continuing, as various students gathered on the plaza in the hot afternoon sun to rejoice and congratulate each other on their graduation. Laughter and songs could be heard in abundance, as various spells were cast into the air, exploding in brilliance like fireworks over the students’ heads for the special occasion in the calm and beautiful weather.

An assortment of cakes, fruits and sweetmeats amongst other treats were being passed around in great amounts, students gorging themselves on the well-deserved luxuries. The smell of sweet cordials and fragrant desserts could reach Nathaniel even from his window, as the new apprentices had a miniature feast in the courtyard. Other festivities crowded the region, including an old water fountain that had been tapped by some of the alteration pupils, spraying clear refreshing water across the stone square whilst students played underneath it, dancing and singing each other like the day would never end.

Nathaniel saw students sending entire fleets of various messenger imps, fat and short, to their parents and relatives to inform them of their success, just as others were receiving messages and packages, most filled with congratulatory rewards and prizes. The courtyard was full to the brim of exuberant noise and cheerful partying, the atmosphere one of great joy and delight as merry jingles and chants filled the energetic day with a bubbly tune, not one student without a smile on their face.

Nathaniel looked upon the scene in disgust, though he knew in the back of his mind he dearly wished to be a part of the celebrations, wishing even more that his parents were alive to tell of his success, if he’d passed. His heart sank, longing to go outside and join in with the rest of his classmates, but he was too ashamed. How could he celebrate when he was Nathaniel, the only student in history to fail his apprenticeship, the small orphan boy who couldn’t pass the easiest test of his University career?

Nathaniel turned, anger fiery in his veins at his own words as his self-pity changed into a righteous sense of injustice once more. He thrashed out, kicking the heavy clock on his floor across the room.

He only succeeded in a painfully stubbed toe, and instead muttered a spiteful oath under his breath – not for his pain, but for realising his anger had once again got the better of him.

He turned back to his window and placed his elbows on the slim windowsill, resting his chin on his hands, observing enviously as the party progressed into the afternoon, letting the enraged thoughts that flittered round his mind run over. He couldn’t help thinking that he’d been robbed, cheated out of his success by the interfering bird and his untimely detention given to him. Even when he had answered Miss Harpfeather’s ridiculously hard question, the other two professors gave him no mercy when it came to the practical test, despite his pleading and the unfair distraction of the wicked bird.

It was just so… unfair, Nathaniel mused, picking idly at a grain whorl in the wood of his frame.

A loud rapping sounded at his door, but Nathaniel didn’t move from his position. He was in no mood to talk to anyone.

“Come on, Nathaniel. Come downstairs and join in with the celebration, we’re all having jolly good fun together.” A voice said considerately, followed by much agreeing and consent from the other students, and then silence as they waited for an answer.

“Look, Nathaniel, failing the test ain’t so bad. You answered Miss Harpfeather’s question. I doubt any of us would have been able to answer that one without some difficulty – you did well.”

Nathaniel stirred, surprised by the sudden show of kind-heartedness and compassion. The sympathetic voice of the student seemed to calm him. Maybe somebody did have the consideration to understand how undeserved his failure was. Warmed by their words and eager to join the celebrations, he got down from the windowsill and stepped a complex path through the sea of clutter to his door.

He was about to unbolt the lock on his door when he heard a few sniggering voices outside.

“Quick he’s coming… get the glass of water.” He heard one whisper, suppressing a fit of giggles. “Come on! He’s about to open the door…”

His hands froze on the lock.

Nathaniel’s skin crawled with fury, and his eyes burned hot with anger. How could he be so stupid, as to think they’d be sympathetic? They were just as wicked and malevolent as Patrickus Grinlime, every single one of them, about to play a cruel trick on him after winning his trust. It was they who deserved to fail.

He turned on his heel brusquely, biting his lip so hard it drew a bead of blood, ignoring the deceitful comments of the conniving students outside.

“Come on, Nathaniel, we’re all waiting – let’s celebrate! Just open this door…”

Nathaniel didn’t have time to celebrate. He had to plot his revenge.

***

The desire for vengeance imprinted fiercely into his mind, Nathaniel cleared his desk without a thought, sweeping scrolls and quills to the floor with an angry swipe of his arm. He plonked himself down on his chair, noticing with irritation the dried, spilt wax from this morning was still there, caking half of the desk in a hardened coat of the translucent substance. After a few moments of frantic scratching and peeling, the majority of it was scraped off, leaving Nathaniel with an empty space just large enough to begin his work.

He yanked a piece of yellowing parchment from the drawer beneath, drew a new quill, and dipped its sharp point into the various inkpots until he found one that still contained some ink.

The nib scratched at an incredible rate as Nathaniel began to scribble and scrawl like a person possessed, racking his brain for ideas to spur on his plan of revenge. He wrote down the names of his victims, pressing down too hard and breaking the nib of his quill. He threw it away with a curse and drew another, and resumed scratching on the piece of parchment.

Hundreds of ideas and schemes formulated in his head, swimming round like fish in a pond as he struggled to make anything of them. They were all too small, too difficult, too elaborate or too time-consuming. This wasn’t just like any prank he’d pulled; it was a full-scale operation to claim his vengeance – it needed planning, it needed preparing and exact calculations. Nathaniel wasn’t going to leave anything to chance; he wanted to humiliate the rest of the school just as they did him, even if it meant breaking every rule in the University.

Nathaniel worked well into the afternoon, until sunset arrived and the sun’s light was reduced to a thin strip of deep yellow that could be seen disappearing under the horizon. He ignored the other student’s calls and condolences, not opening his door for anyone at all, consumed entirely by his desire for revenge. He stopped for nothing, not even to eat or drink, his fingers blistering from writing so with such intense rigour.

Time ticked by, and the sky turned a rich, soft magenta, a gentle pink shade amidst swirls of golden-tinged clouds and orange hazes, the first pinprick shimmers of the closest stars beginning to twinkle amidst the mellow backdrop of merging colours. Nathaniel barely noticed the stunningly beautiful sunset outside his window as he wrote, his notes extended to three or more pages now, as his ideas became increasingly desperate and far-fetched. He’d even gone as far as to thinking up punishment for the Raven by placing poisoned food around the Arcane University.

However, by the time the sun had completely disappeared from the sky and darkness began to creep in across Cyrodiil, his inkpots nearly empty and five of his quills snapped, Nathaniel had well and truly decided upon his course of action. He had a location, a system and a time sorted out, arranging everything in perfect precision, planning everything down to the last detail. Nothing could go wrong; all he had to do was wait.

In two days time, when the graduation ceremony was scheduled to be held in the great hall and apprentices and professors alike would gather under its grand roof for a momentous, glorious celebration, Nathaniel would be there.

In two days time, Nathaniel would take his revenge.

This post has been edited by Illydoor: May 30 2009, 11:27 PM