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]

Here's Chapter 10:

Chapter X: A Locked Door

Nathaniel ascended the winding, creaking corkscrew staircase for what seemed like an age in the eerie darkness. The rusted iron frame groaned like a restless ghost in protest as he climbed, threatening to collapse under his weight, the haunting echoes that wailed from the old metal chilling Nathaniel to the very core. He had no idea how high he had climbed or for how long, time and space seemed to be nonexistent in the pitch blackness that enveloped him and the stairs in an inky opaqueness and obscurity. There was nothing to do but hold onto the cold, twisted rail of the staircase and keep climbing, into the enveloping gloom and the insidious unknown.

It was so dark Nathaniel could barely see his hands an inch from his own face - he had twice tripped on the rungs in the blackness, barking his shins painfully on the sharp metal edge of the stairs. The perpetual darkness seemed to make his every fear and nightmare thrive, and any second Nathaniel expected a step to fall away and he would plunge into the empty gloom, or a ghostly hand to brush against the bare skin of his neck.

His heart hammered in his chest and his thighs burned and throbbed from fatigue, but he knew he had to continue. There was no going back now.

I can do this, Nathaniel whispered, gritting his teeth and thinking of happy thoughts, trying to ebb away the fear that the darkness fed into his terrified conscience. He gripped the rail ever tighter, and continued his treacherous climb into the abyssal blackness ahead, one, wary, cautious step after the next…

***

Finally, after what felt like an age of traversing the winding steps in the unfamiliar gloom, Nathaniel arrived at the summit of the corkscrew stairway, panting with effort as his lungs burned and his mind raced. His gown was soaked in sweat and where he had scraped his shins, a crimson stain had seeped through the fabric from the painful wound like a dark blot of red ink. Every muscle in his body was aching from being rigid with apprehension; his breathing tearing out in harried rasps.

It was only after Nathaniel had taken a moment to compose himself and restore some of his strength that he could eventually take in his surroundings. He had little go by however; the landing he had arrived on was only meagrely lit by the waning glow of small oil lamp, resting in bract set into the stone beside him. Wishing it could have been brighter and wishing even more that he knew the correct incantation for a luminosity spell; Nathaniel reached toward the miniscule lamp and carefully took it out of the sconce’s protective wire bracket, holding it in front of him to ward off the encroaching shadows.

By the yellow globe of light that emanated from the candle, Nathaniel made his way forward, eyes constantly ahead of him and his tread wary. It wasn’t long before he came across an obstacle at the end of the small room atop the stairway, barring his path. Sweeping the lamplight across Nathaniel found himself standing before an ancient, decaying doorway, its whorled surface coated with a thick layer of dust and by the weak light of the flame, revealed to be succumbing to years of dry rot.

Despite the door’s condition, Nathaniel had no doubt that the thick, iron-reinforced wood could withstand all but the strongest of onslaughts. He moved the lamp down towards the handle, which was encrusted with dull red rust and tarnished with blackened scorch-marks. Nathaniel could only wonder who or indeed what could have made such marks trying to gain access to the Library. It only made his fears worse.
He lifted the candle-flame upwards again, inspecting every inch of the grained wooden surface. When the fading report of the lamp touched the top of the door, his attention was suddenly drawn as something caught the light and a glimmer flashed past Nathaniel’s eyes. There, hammered into the rotting lintel of the door with crude nails, was a wooden sign reading the ‘The Restricted Library’, the words ‘NO ENTRY’ painted under it in bold, capital letters.

A small grin escaped his mouth as he realised he had found it. The locked door. All that remained now was to unlock it…

***

Careful not to spill the oils that were pooled in the brass dish around the flame, Nathaniel set the small lamp in his hand on the hard stone floor beside him, where it burned quietly beneath him as he moved to examine the lock on the door. By its feeble light, Nathaniel placed two hands onto the deeply whorled surface of the door, and pressed his ear to the panel near the lock, just as he had done to Damyond’s door.

He turned the handle experimentally and listened carefully as it clicked and whirred beneath the wooden surface, like some kind of restive insect contained within. Nathaniel had picked a lock many a time during his years at the University, and was experienced enough to deduce from the various sounds that despite the aged appearance of the door, this lock in particular was of a very good quality. No surprise there. Out of all the doors in the University, Nathaniel doubted there was a lock more difficult than this one, and Nathaniel had lived in the school since he was born. There wasn’t a single nook, cranny, chest or container in the student’s section of the University that hadn’t been searched or unopened by Nathaniel.

At least it’s a challenge, Nathaniel sighed, flexing his hands and wrists. He’d gotten this far, what use was their wasting the opportunity. This was just another obstacle on his path to revenge, and he would reach that goal, no matter what. He would keep his promise.

Enlivened by this new measure of determination, Nathaniel cracked his knuckles and from within his pocket, procured a brass lock-pick, about as long as his middle finger and wire-thin. Whispering a short prayer to whatever divinities he could name, Nathaniel held the pick between his forefinger and thumb and by the light of the candle beneath him, inserted it carefully into the keyhole.

After a few seconds of manoeuvring the wire pick experimentally around, Nathaniel found one of the tumblers, and used the hooked head of the lockpick to raise it with a deft flick. There was a slight winding sound as the spring compressed and then relaxed, returning the tumbler to its original position. Breathing coolly, he flicked tumbler up again, and quickly pressed the catch in. He heard a clink and snapping noise as the thin metal wire of the lock-pick broke. He cursed under his breath, he had pressed the lock in too fast, and the pick had broken under the pressure. He pulled the useless pick out of the pad-lock and stuffed it into his other pocket.

Wiping his palms of the sweat on his jumper, he shook out his wrists in an attempt to calm his nerves. He had only seven of these lock-picks, so he couldn’t afford to rush things. His mission would be compromised before it had even started if he couldn’t even get in to the restricted library area.

Concentrating hard, he pulled out a pick and slotted it once more into the lock. Another chinking sound and Nathaniel withdrew a second, broken lock-pick. In his cautiousness not to repeat the first error he’d made, he’d pressed the latch in too slow this time and the tumbler had already fallen back into place. He cursed again, this time louder, and the sound echoed discordantly in the darkness.

Below him, the candle flickered, threatening to snuff out. He took out another lock-pick.

A moment later and Nathaniel growled as he stuffed the two halves of a third snapped pick into his pocket. He was beginning to panic, beads of sweat forming beneath his brow and anxiety gripping his guts tightly. He broke a fourth, and then a fifth, and finally a sixth. Frustrated and fearful at the same time, Nathaniel could feel nervousness and panic beginning to cloud his harrowed mind.

He tried to block them out, for he knew that the more agitated he got, the less he would concentrate and the more chance there was of making a mistake. Sweat now flowed freely from his forehead, following the edge of his sideburn and trickling down the side of his head. He wiped it off with his sleeve in annoyance.

Come on Nathaniel. You can do this.He said to himself quietly, gritting his teeth in determination and balling his fists. He procured the seventh and final lockpick from his pocket, stared at it hard as if willing it to be unbreakable, and then inserted it into the rust-rimmed keyhole.

He closed his eyes and wriggled the lockpick deeper and deeper to the various meticulous clicks and whirrs of the catch, the bolts rattling in Nathaniel’s ears as he fought to discern the different noises.

Even though his heart hammered heavily in his chest and his breath came out in short, shaking rasps, Nathaniel heard the last tumbler lock into place and without a moment’s hesitation, instantly pressed in the catch. Then, heart in mouth, Nathaniel heard a sudden clack, accompanied by a squeal of brass scraping against brass and finally, the catch slid smoothly back. His whole body slackened as relief passed over him like a wave, and he soaked in every ounce of it.

He was in.

***

The ancient door swung open silently on its corroded hinges despite their defective appearance, and a rush of chilling air swept over Nathaniel, cooling the perspiration on his misted forehead and spreading goosebumps across his the bare skin of his forearms. Gulping nervously and rather too loudly than he would’ve liked, Nathaniel picked up the still glowing candle at his feet, breathing on it gently to keep the dying flame alive. If he was going to enter this mysterious library, he’d prefer to see what he was doing, and more importantly, what everything else was doing.

He bit his lip with fearful excitement and stepped into the room, silent as a ghoul, eyes wide and attentive even though every fibre of his body wanted to turn and run back, down the winding stairs and back safe to his bedroom. He fought the urge.

Willing his hesitant legs to move, one terrified step at a time, the dark corridor he had entered suddenly widened and gave way into an enormous, grand vestibule, its shrouded interior promising unknown secrets of old and forgotten terrors. The forbidden library of the University.

Huge, colossal bookcases, six times the height of Nathaniel and towering towards the ceiling like castle walls were arranged in neat rows across the entire breadth and length of the room, creating a maze of aisles and corridors that was almost unfathomable. Books from what seemed like the entirety of Tamriel filled each shelf, some huge, bronze-clad leather tomes the size of flagstones and other miniscule books that could barely fit on Nathaniel’s palm. Books with golden-laced spines and jewel-encrusted binding, intricate titles and beautifully grotesque pictures, whilst others wrapped in ancient, rotting scraps of yellowing parchment millennia-old and delicate to the point of disintegration at a mere touch. Books that were as thick as Nathaniel’s torso and so lengthy they just looked like cubes of paper. Books with runes, with puzzles and pictures, written in blood, ink or sweat, some with text so small Nathaniel could barely read off the titles whilst other books with nothing in them at all. Dictionaries and encyclopaedias, codices and catechisms, atlases, hymnals, missals, ledgers and logbooks, albums, abstracts and almanacs, journals and grimoires, every type of script you could name, it was there.

Nathanial was awed by the sheer amount of literature contained with the Library. Surely nobody could ever read all this, not even the greatest mage with all the time in the world. There were at least several thousands of books to each case, and there were twenty book cases in the entire room. Nathaniel had never been good at arithmancy, but he didn’t have to be to know that the number was very, very large indeed.

How could he ever hope to find his item of revenge amongst the tens of thousands of different books?

The answer escaped him. He would just have to get lucky. Problem was luck wasn’t really Nathaniel’s best fortitude.

Worried by this ominous new prospect, Nathaniel continued regardless, eager to explore the rest of the Restricted Library. Remembering his need for stealth, he crouched into the shadow and sneaked forward, cupping a hand around the candle’s flame to obscure its light. He suddenly found himself entering into a wide, spacious aisle, a passageway directly in the centre of the antechamber where the colossal bookshelves ended and created a sort of gorge amidst the library.

The carpeted pathway was wreathed in an azure-silver light, which tinted the shadowy hall in a moon-coloured shimmer. Pools of the hallowed, pallid brightness culminated in glittering pools on the red-rugged floor of the bookcase valley, dappling the surface and providing enough light for Nathaniel to forego the candle. He kept it anyway, just to be safe.

The blue-white light gave everything in the vestibule a bluish tinge of silver, making every object caught in its beam appear cold and unforgiving, like dull crystal. The stone walls seemed more drab and lifeless than ever, even Nathaniel’s own arm, when he dared stretch it out into one of the rays, appeared statuesque, frozen in the cold blue luminosity. Walking forward Nathaniel discovered that the source of the ethereal illumination were the magnificent arched stained-glass windows that were placed at each interval of the bookcases, spilling the light in through the patterned panes, each depicting a different divinity.

The aisle through which he sneaked was littered with allsorts of different desks and display cases placed at the ends of the bookshelves, each flaunting a considerable variety of different treasures, oddities, artefacts and other of the Restricted Library’s most valuable items on their tabletops. Hewn jewels the size of his fists caught Nathaniel’s eyes, along with various amulets and talismans and rings that sparkled with magical energy almost palpable through the cold, tension-choked air. Skulls and bones, stone tablets and even, to his great surprise, a fork, a worn paint-stained apron and even a pair of seemingly ordinary scales were included amongst the display. Nathaniel knew better than to open the cases and take any of the items. He was afraid of getting caught with them, but not nearly as much as he was frightened of what the objects would do to him – Nathaniel knew not all enchanted things were for the benefit of the user. He would have to search for a less dangerous and risky mode of vengeance if he didn't want to end up being a murderer, or worse, dead himself.

At the back of the chamber and at the end of the long passageway, he spied more bookshelves, smaller than the rest, almost concealed by the shadow. However, even with the encroaching darkness Nathaniel could see that the books and items contained on those shelves were far more interesting looking and unique than the previous ones.

Nathaniel grinned. He would start his search there.

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