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 sorry about the wait guys, with all the end-of-term turmoil I suffered a temporary lapse in interest. You'll be pleased to hear it's back though. Here's the next part:

Chapter IX: The Corkscrew Staircase

Silvery moonlight danced amongst the paved promenade, lustrous and glittering as Nathaniel slinked through the University walkways. It panned off the drab grey stone and bejewelled the cobbles underneath until they appeared more like unhewn diamonds than coarse, worn rock. The midnight air was calm and still, cooling on Nathaniel’s sweat-misted forehead as he traversed the courtyards, sticking to the edges of the pathways and using what little scrub and shrubbery that presided in the dark garden alleyways to conceal himself.

Everything was eerily silent under the ebon skies; no noise disturbed the tranquil serenity of the University grounds except the soft murmur of Nathaniel’s own footsteps, padding gently through the undergrowth, his over-gown trailing behind him. He had twice thought about taking the unruly garment off, but decided against it after realising he neither had the time or patience to find a suitable place to hide it where he could find it again.

He moved noiselessly but at a swift pace across the promenade, avoiding the revealing yellow glows of any sconces hung upon the building walls and using the shadow to cover his movement. The claustrophobic fear that had possessed him inside the dormitories to look round every corner and passage had lessened now he was outside in the open, not constricted to the cramp confines of the corridors. The danger of being caught had pretty much passed over, he’d escaped from the two Wardens inside – albeit narrowly, but as far as Nathaniel was concerned the hard bit was over. However, he still kept a wary eye ahead of him just in case.

A faint musical clangour of ringing bells suddenly sounded across the University, permeating the midnight silence. It had been roughly one hour since he had woke up in his bedroom and set his plan for revenge into motion, Nathaniel speculated. He was making good progress. All that was left now was to get the last, final ingredient, and the plan would be set. It was so close now he could almost taste it.

The tolling of the bells soon faded away into quietness as Nathaniel continued to slink in the shadows of the night, the Mystic Archives, his destination, nearing with every passing second. He was about to round the final corner when all of a sudden, a new sound began to echo across the promenade. At first Nathaniel took it for the ringing bells again, but discarded the notion as he realised all too quickly that they only sounded every hour, and it was way too soon for them to be tolling again.

What in Zenithar’s name could be in the University at this hour? Nathaniel hissed under his breath. All the Wardens should be inside by now.

He quickly receded further into the relative darkness of the bushes, seeking to lose himself in the knotted leaves and branches of the vegetation, all the while listening to the noise as it steadily got nearer and nearer. It wasn’t long before the sound was more distinct, and Nathaniel could discern what it was. They were footsteps – but not the soft whisper of shoes on the ground, they were much heavier, a clinking and clanging sound like metal upon metal or steel striking stone.

Those weren’t the footsteps of normal Wardens. They were armoured.

Nathaniel gulped, feeling the trepidation blossom in the pit of his stomach as he reached forward and pried open a small viewing hole in the mess of twigs and brambles that served as his camouflage, eyeing the promenade with growing apprehension.

The noise drew ever nearer, soon followed by a pair of fully-armoured Imperial Battlemages rounding the corner and coming into view. They were resplendent in silver-steel plate armour, carapace-like cuirasses polished to a glimmering sheen that, even in the midnight darkness, shimmered like mirrors in the luminous moonlight. Long, blue-coloured hoods concealed their faces, while each carried a huge, menacing sword sheathed at their hip; the blade almost as long as Nathaniel was tall.

They patrolled the courtyards in grim silence, hooked steel-capped boots clattering on the cobblestones and playing out a staccato rhythm as they marched in unison, hands firmly grasping the wire-wrapped hilt of their weapons as if ready for any action.

What by Greymane's whiskers were they doing here, in the University? Nathaniel wondered, somewhat bemused. He hadn’t even expected a single warden to be out patrolling the grounds at this hour, let alone two, armed Battlemages. It looked like he’d certainly picked the right night to exact his revenge, Nathaniel joked ruefully.

The pair of Battlemages passed Nathaniel in seconds, oblivious to his presence, their noisome march fading to a distant echo that disturbed the silence of the night as they continued their patrol.

Nathaniel took a few, hesitant moments until they were out of sight, and checked the coast was clear again before setting off and resuming his surreptitious journey across the courtyards, fervently hoping that they weren’t any more Battlemages up ahead. Sneaking past the two wardens in the dorms was hard enough; he had no wish to go through the whole terrifying ordeal again.

Constantly on the path at all times, Nathaniel kept to the edge of the cobblestone promenade where the shadows were deepest and darkest whenever he could to avoid any chances of being seen. He was as stealthy as an assassin in the night, using the shrouding darkness as hidden passageways to his target.

So concentrated on staying invisible and unseen, Nathaniel failed to realise how quickly he had covered the distance, and in surprise, soon found himself standing in the shadow of a huge, foreboding building, at least four storeys tall and a testament to the might of Imperial Architecture. Its sheer, intimidating face was wrought in cold grey stone, painted with the silver hue of the moonlight, where illuminated by a single flaming lamp hung above a solid, iron-banded door there read – in clear black paint: ‘The Mystic Archives.’

Without hesitation, Nathaniel grasped the iron-cold handle of the door before any further doubt could cloud his mind and swung it inwards, slipping into the gloomy shadows within that were more than willing to embrace him in their veiling depths …

***

Having entered the Mystic Archives, Nathaniel found himself in peculiar-looking room filled with all-sorts of strange furniture and amenities. It appeared to be a long, rectangular shaped room, made cramped and small due to the furnishings arranged inside it. Tall, lengthy bookshelves lined the two walls like fortress barricades, crammed with different books of varying size, colour and language, each tome thicker and older than the last. Fixed in the far corner of the room was a semi-circular desk, sat alongside an assortment of various-shaped cabinets, cupboards and drawers, tall and short, that Nathaniel presumed were full to the brim with even more books. A spiral staircase, wrought in grim iron, spun round a stone pillar in the other corner of the room and disappeared above into the ceiling and an unknown darkness, like a stairway into the abyss. By the desk and littered on the floor piles of scrolls wafted gently in the breeze, lisping quietly in time with each breath of wind, their surfaces scribed with symbols and letters that Nathaniel had no hope of comprehending.

The room was eerily dark and the air strangely chill – suffused with a heavy, musty scent of age-old parchment and melted tallow. Expecting to be back inside the relative warmth of a heated room after traversing the Universities courtyards under the breezy midnight skies, Nathaniel was surprised to suddenly find himself in a deathly, bitter cold. The Mystic Archives’ walls apparently provided no protection at all from the night time chill and to Nathaniel, it seemed the temperature hadn’t changed at all; in fact it felt like he had become even colder since he’d entered the murky room.

How that was possible he didn’t know, but Nathaniel continued regardless, rubbing his arms under his sleeves and pleased with himself for having the foresight to bring his over-gown out with him. Suppressing a shudder, he walked through the unnervingly quiet library room, examining the hall from head to toe with wary, observant eyes.

Mirroring the tomb-like silence that choked the room around him, Nathaniel too was as quiet as a mouse as he walked, not wanting to disturb the unbroken stillness of his surroundings. He made his way noiselessly across the freezing stone floor, pulling on the collar of his gown to wrap it closer around his shivering body, whilst above him; the stuffed heads of different woodland animals hung upon wooden braces stared at him intently with blank, glassy eyes. Stags and boars and even wolves watched him in silence as he crossed the room, appearing strangely animate and aware despite their motionless state. Frightened, Nathaniel was quickly forced to avert his gaze somewhere else before an uneasy feeling of discomfort made his stomach quail.

Once he reached the rear of room Nathaniel noticed that there were three huge arches cut out of the grey stone of the back wall, that moments before he had thought to have been just windows. The three archways were big enough to be doors, and let a gentle breeze waft through the open niches and into the room, explaining why it was so cold in the Archives. Through the vista that was framed in the hollow Nathaniel could discern the stars against the midnight sky outside, sparkling like dewdrops upon black glass.

Casting a quick glance down, Nathaniel precariously reached over the large, curved desk beneath him, careful not to disturb the pile of manuscripts and empty inkpots scattered upon its smooth wooden surface. Breathing in to stretch his arm out to the longest possible distance, Nathaniel then plucked a small candle from the sill of the archway, and putting a hand to its tiny, flickering flame to protect it from the breeze, returned to the tall, imposing bookcases to begin his exploration.

Checking that nobody was around in the dark, gloomy room of the Mystic Archives, he began scanning the surface of the ceiling-high bookshelves, running a finger along the spines of the tomes as he read off the titles in the dim report of the candle, searching for his desired item in the weak yellow light it provided. He worked his away along the many rows and columns of books as quick as his eyes would allow him, stretching on his tip-toes as he inspected the uppermost rows and bending over double like a withered old man to check those on the bottom.

Despite his concentrated demeanour while he hunted, he found himself thinking hard about what he was about to do and whether it was worth it or not. If he got caught, he couldn’t begin to imagine what kind of punishment could be inflicted on him. Whenever he felt his resolve fail or his focus wane however, he only had to think of the harsh words of Miss Harpfeather and the leering face of Arch-Mage Greymane, and his resolve would return with renewed vigour.

Determined as he was, several minutes of frantic searching had passed but with no such success. Before long he had completely scoured the first wall of books, and it became annoyingly apparent to Nathaniel that whatever he wanted was not going to be on the first floor of the Mystic Archives. All the books and scrolls here provided no use to him whatsoever, what he needed was obviously more valuable to be put in the bookcases on the ground floor. He accepted the naked truth of the fact though; he wouldn’t have needed to steal Damyond’s chameleon potion if he thought it was going to be that easy.

It’s never that easy, Nathaniel mused ruefully, chuckling to himself before retaining his indomitable grimace.

To get the last component, the final item Nathaniel needed on his treacherous quest for revenge; he would have to go where no other student had ever gone.

Up the twisting, spiralling iron staircase, past the locked door and into the chamber where the Mystic Archives kept their most precious and important documents, barred to all but the curator and the most trusted scions of the University. Not even some of the teachers were permitted to set foot there; such was the significance of its purpose.

The highest, very topmost level of the building. The Restricted Library.

Nathaniel gulped as he accepted this ominous realisation. It was by far the most difficult part of his plan, mainly because unlike the corridor and the dormitories, Nathaniel had no clue what was up there on the secretive top floor, except strong warnings from the professors about what would happen if a pupil was caught up there. It was completely unknown what was kept on the highest level of the Archives, except that it contained the most valuable – and dangerous – items in the entire University. For all Nathaniel knew, there could be magical wards and all sorts of traps to deter unwanted thieves and invaders, let alone an associate student who was not even an apprentice yet, and could barely cast any spells above a novice level.

Nathaniel realised with a great degree of fear that when he broke into the Restricted Library, it was the point where he turned from just a revenge-fuelled student prankster into a true, genuine criminal.
There’s so many things that could go wrong, so many things that are uncertain, Nathaniel thought, and shook his head. It was a dangerous all right, there was no doubting that, but the question was whether Nathaniel would have the courage to do it.

Did he really want revenge that badly?

Heart beating loudly, Nathaniel set down the flickering candle back on the desk, where the flame wavered for a moment before diminishing. He walked over to the winding, iron staircase and placed a hand onto its thin rail. The metal was so cold it immediately sapped all the warmth from his bones. Cautiously, he peered upwards, blood hot in his ears and his heart pounding.

He could see nothing, only the warped ironwork of the stairs disappearing into the thin darkness above, consumed by a maw of shadow. Nathaniel gulped. Whatever was up there on the top floor, he would have to meet it head on.

Here goes. Nathaniel whispered to himself, setting a foot on the first rung of the staircase. The cold iron clanged loudly as he did so, echoing around the room and up the stairway. He waited for the clamour to die down before climbing the twisting flight of steps in the darkness, using the curved railing as a guide as he made his way to the awaiting chamber of the Restricted Library…

This post has been edited by Illydoor: Aug 6 2009, 12:04 AM