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]

Hehe, guess I need to start writing more then. Here's a fresh batch cookies posts for you guys

Chapter VII: The Gloomy Corridor

It was almost noon by the time Nathaniel woke next morning; his dreams had been twisted and extensive, like a labyrinth of nightmares, making his much-needed night of sleep one of agitation and feverish hallucinations. He roused from his restless slumber in a cold sweat, but when he tried to recall what had plagued his mind only moments before he found he had no recollection of the events whatsoever.

Deciding to forget about his mystery dream, Nathaniel yawned and turned his attention to the pile of scrolls that lay on his ink-splattered desk. Yellowing pages and crumpled pieces of parchment cloaked the table like a make-shift cover of paper, and Nathaniel knew that somewhere amongst the heap of scrolls was his plan, his ultimate scheme for revenge. He had no need to retrieve it. It was all in his head, committed to memory, it was impossible for Nathaniel to forget.

He had roughly 48 hours to prepare before the celebratory banquet was hosted in the Great Hall, and Nathaniel’s just revenge would be exacted. The mere thought of it made Nathaniel’s mouth go dry with anticipation – he couldn’t wait to see their faces, Arch-Mage Greymane’s, Miss Harpfeather’s, all the other students who had wronged him. It was their turn to be humiliated. Nathaniel would show them that he didn’t need to pass some stupid test to be a great mage.

Revenge is sweet, Nathaniel mused.

Two days was all he had to get ready for the momentous day, but Nathaniel knew that was more than enough time to prepare. His plan was relatively simple and needed few items, most of which he already had in possession, one of the reasons why he had chosen this scheme over the countless others. During the forthcoming days Nathaniel could find out as much information as he could on his required topics, namely the patrolling routes of dormitory wardens and other, more important research.

In the meantime however, Nathaniel had to act like the perfect student at the University. He went around school as if nothing had happened, even when other pupils questioned him about his welfare or, even worse, threw cruel jibes his way about his failure and embarrassment. Inside, Nathaniel noted each person individually, knowing that after his scheme succeeded, they wouldn’t be laughing then. He would have the last laugh.

The hours went by in this routine without falter, whilst the other students were relaxing after their exams, Nathaniel would sit in a secluded area, silently watching from the shadows. He ate breakfast, lunch and supper in silence at the dinner tables, making sure he finished his food quicker than the rest so he could go and explore the routes of the university, planning his every step and movement in preparation for the big day. In the slow evenings he would sit idly in the armchair beside the hearth fire and read quietly, his stories filled with episodes of rival magicians upholding their pride and exacting swift justice on those who had wronged them.

He would be one of them mages, Nathaniel adamantly vowed. He had tried his hardest to pass the exam, despite the Arch-Mage’s and the other students interventions. To fall at the last hurdle because of some stupid bird was disheartening, but to be still called a failure despite his efforts by the other students and even his teachers was the final straw for Nathaniel.

Nathaniel’s mask of contrition and acceptance never slipped, and before he knew it, the two days passed with surprising swiftness, and the great banquet was imminent…

***

It was late evening in the dormitories, the day before the banquet. A crescent moon provided a wan source of light for the dining students, sitting round a rectangular wooden table centred at the back of the dormitory common room. The pallid silver light of the moon contrasted with the waxy yellow glow of the candles, painting half the students with a golden trim and the other with a luminous, whitish outline.

Nathaniel sat at one corner of the long table, stabbing absent-mindedly at a piece of lettuce with his pewter fork, separated from the commotion that took place in the centre of the table over the steaming arrangement of various meats and fruits. Students were whispering excitedly about the forthcoming celebration, discussing what they would wear and what food they would eat tomorrow at the banquet. The table rocked as occasional jokes were made and the students shook with laughter, clearly still in high spirits after passing their exams. In all the fuss and noise, nobody had noticed that Nathaniel had barely touched his generously-piled plate of food.

He was way too nervous to eat.

Before long, dinner had finished, and Nathaniel scraped his plate into the fire without anyone noticing. He climbed the stairs to his bedroom in silence after the other students had paraded up to theirs, cheering all the while in anticipation for the day tomorrow. Nathaniel too, was anticipating what tomorrow would bring with great anxiety, but a whole different kind of eagerness shook him with an excited fear that he drank up like a well.

His room had been cleared hours before the night of the clutter and mess, Nathaniel didn’t want to risk causing any noise or clamour in the dead of night when he was sneaking about. His eyes weary and craving sleep, Nathaniel pushed away his yearnings for rest, knowing that he couldn’t afford to sleep through this night.

Climbing into bed, he waited for a good ten minutes for the sound of the fire-lit sconces outside being snuffed out by the wardens, and then for their footsteps to die away as they paced the corridors, ushering any students that were still out back into bed. Confident that all was well and going to plan, he felt the apprehension of his night of revenge run through him like an electric thrill.

This was it. The night that he had been plotting for two days. This was the night when Nathaniel proved to Arch-Mage Greymane, Miss Harpfeather, the rest of the school – and most importantly, too himself, that he did in fact belong here in the University.

Dreaming of that so-near achievement, he turned to his oval window, seeking to occupy himself with intricate patterns that the sparkling stars wrought against the inky midnight sky.

All he had to do was wait.

***

Distantly, Nathaniel heard the bells of the Imperial Temple toll in harmony as the time struck midnight, and within an instant he snapped out of his somnolent stupor, immediately aware of his surroundings. His room was lit only by the silvery light of the moon, which glistened outside his window closer than ever, a curving sickle that shone against the ebon backdrop.

He carefully rolled his bedsheets off himself in the darkness, and then groped blindly for his shoes that he’d set beside his bed beforehand. He felt his hand brush against something leathery, and without a sound he slipped his linen shoes on, the laces already taken out so he didn’t have to endure the tiresome struggle of fitting his feet in.

Glancing to his thin, clicking horologe clock that stood on his desk to verify the time, Nathaniel silently slipped off the bed and crept across his room to the door, placing the balls of his feet before the heels so they wouldn’t clack on the tiled floor.

Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the night-time chill, and drying his palms on his linens, he grasped the brass doorknob and turned it, ever so slightly, comforted by its cooling metal touch. He winced as the mechanism clacked, but then pushed the door ajar about an inch forward. With a wary eye, he peered down the corridor through the slight gap, expecting at any moment for a warden to appear and reprimand him.

Fortunately however, the corridor was completely empty, strangely bare in comparison to the daytime where it was normally bustling with students. The majority of the lamps that ran the length of the passageway were snuffed out, though a few of the bracts were still lit and spread waxen, sallow light through the darkness to see by. Satisfied that the coast was clear and he was free to move, Nathaniel opened his door with a soft creak and left his room, shutting it behind him with the slightest of clicks.

His footsteps made small, muffled rustles on the floor as he sneaked down the corridor, carefully to avoid the light of lamps and sticking to the relative concealment of the veiling shadows.

His skin tingled and buzzed with a sort of fearful exhilaration. Nathaniel found it was a sort of thrilling, heart-pounding fear that he thirsted for, the excitement and apprehension almost too much to bear. It jolted through his veins and made his spine shiver.

He forced himself to concentrate. Nathaniel hadn’t come this far to fail for a second time.

Silently he made his way across the corridor floor, having never before noticed how damnably long it was. He wished quietly for it to end and to reach his destination, and seconds later he realised he was nearing his target.

Palms slippery with sweat, he pressed on, now concerned to looking at each door he crossed in the corridor walls to glance at the name inscribed on a bronze plaque set into the wood, searching for a specific room.

Just five metres short of the end of the extensive corridor, Nathaniel stopped, having finally reached the correct room. The sign on the door, barely legible, read ‘Damyond Modroggle’. It was the Redguard associate that Nathaniel had talked with in the common room only a few days before about the new Arch-Mage's arrival. Nathaniel knew scarcely anything of him, although rumour had it that he aced his alchemy exam with the best grades in the school, such was his skill in potion-brewing. It was that talent that Nathaniel sought to exploit from Damyond Modroggle tonight.

Nathaniel did one last sweep of the dark, shadow-wreathed corridor around him to check if there was anything amiss – and froze.

Almost right behind him, hidden from glancing eyes in the corridor’s gloominess, a warden sat in a small chair against the wall, his face unreadable...

This post has been edited by Illydoor: Jun 10 2009, 08:12 PM