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

[Colonel Mustard]

As with all your work I've read, excellent! I await more.

Anyway, no major problems with spelling or grammar etc, so nothing to crit. Job's a good 'un.

[Illydoor]

Thanks Bean

Part 2 is on its way! I really do hope that unlike my other hundreds of stories I don't lose interest in this and it never gets finished...

Probably jinxed it now

[Colonel Mustard]

18th rule of writing, my friend. Never, ever say that.

[Illydoor]

Here's the next part, sorry it's so late.

The main reason it was delayed is because, like a fool, when I had written the first half of this post I didn't save it, and like an even bigger fool, my dad came in and deleted the whole thing without saving. But anyway, I suppose it's worked out for the better and instead of wallowing in self-pity (which I did anyway for a good day or so) I decided to write it all again from memory, and even though I still don't think it's better that the original version it's done now and can't be solved. Plus I got ten quid from my dad as compensation because I pestered him for so long.

Also, while we are on the subject of delays, the reason I havent posted on BL for so long Bean is because my account is not working. I can't sign into it, even though I've tried retrieving and changing my password. Why don't I make another account you ask? Well the answer I can't be really bothered and plus I've kinda lost all interest in W40K now since I got TES. Though I still have enough to enjoy your Grey Knight story, .

This post has been edited by Illydoor: Apr 12 2009, 08:52 PM

[Illydoor]

Chapter I: A Decision to Make

“Nathaniel! Pay attention!”

The austere voice cut across the classroom like sharp iron scraping horribly against rock, piercing and shrill. The walls waned at the mere sound, and many of the students clapped their hands to their ears in evident pain.

It was made worse by the fact that the gloomy room was completely enclosed, only a single shaft of light penetrated the pall of murkiness, spearing down from a window high up on the tall-beamed roof. This made the terrible shriek echo loudly and horribly, reverberating from within the shadowy corners of the chamber and cawing like a crow’s birdcall around the sombre classroom.

When the culprit didn’t pay heed, it was quickly accompanied by another screeching noise, even more horrendous than the first, as sharp nails were painfully dragged across the blackboard in an agonisingly deliberate motion. They scored deep grooves across the black surface, and it squealed in response as if it were alive.

The pupils shuddered at the horrific sound. A coal-black raven crouching on a perch beside the single window winced, ruffling its feathers in protest.

“Do you not respect the arts of our past?” Miss Harpfeather inclined in a high-pitched tone, rapping so harshly on her dark wood table that a quill fell out of its inkpot and spilled a vivid inky spider across the worktop. She ignored it, and with an audible snort of frustration began to walk slowly through the classroom to the wrongdoer, her extravagant plumed headdress bobbing like an apple in water as she did so.

The whole classroom withdrew as if not to disturb her. They knew better than to get in her way.

She stopped halfway at one of the tiny desks, peering down at a rather unruly boy with an unkempt mane of dark hair, slumped across the desktop unnaturally with his head resting in between the pages of a large textbook. He snored quietly to himself, each time blowing a piece of dust to and fro, like a game of cat and mouse.

Another sharp rap on the table. This time, Nathaniel awoke.

Though when he saw what was waiting for him on the other side of his eyelids he sorely wished he hadn’t. His gaze was met by the furious pinched face of Miss Harpfeather the history teacher, her hooked noise pointed accusingly at Nathaniel face.

Uh oh, thought Nathaniel. He was definitely in for it now. To be caught catnapping during the lesson was one of the most punishable offences in Miss Harpfeaher's class, Nathaniel had found to his displeasure too many a time. It was true, he had been sleeping, but who could blame him when the lessons were just so… mindlessly boring?

Every feature of her face seemed to narrow down into one centre point, aimed directly at Nathaniel. Her lips were tightly pursed and seemed to protrude from her mouth; her conical, beak-like nose sharper than an arrowhead. He could even feel her steely gaze boring into him like two icy needles, crow-black and imperceptible through her anger. Involuntarily he gulped nervously; she was not in a good mood today.

“Tell me, young Nathaniel, what it is so boring about my lesson that provokes you into catching forty winks every time my back is turned? Hmm? Come on, out with it!” She scowled, cocking her head to the side in a very pigeon-like manner and tapping her foot impatiently on the floor beside Nathaniel’s desk.

“I was merely resting my eyes, Miss Harpfeather…” His feeble excuse fell on deaf ears, and the foot-tapping increased.

Nathaniel could feel his brow sweating nervously. Miss Birdie was already at stage two of her fury, the irritated tapping of her foot and the bobbing of the head. Another stage and Nathaniel’s eyes had a very good chance of getting pecked out by her ridiculously elongated nose – he had to choose his words very, very carefully.

“Actually, Miss Harpfeather, it was more like forty hundred winks – Natty has been asleep from about ten minutes into the lesson, miss.” A snide voice sounded from the back of the classroom, accompanied by a chorus of sniggers and spiteful whispers. Nathaniel shot Patrickus Grinlime a venomous glare.

“Oh really, Patrickus? Thank you for your honesty, extra portions of sweet-roll for you come lunchtime. So, Nathaniel, what is it? What makes my lessons so extremely boring? Spit it out!” Miss Harpfeather demanded, adopting her horrible screechy voice once more. Nathaniel eyes averted to the floor, as his mind worked overtime trying to think of a legitimate excuse.

“I-I…” He stammered over his words. Miss Harpfeather cheeks began to flush red in impatience. The third stage.

“It’s not that I find your lessons boring, Miss Harpfeather, it’s just that… I don’t understand the importance of them. Why do we need to know about our past when it’s the future or the present we should be concerned about?” Nathaniel explained cautiously, not really knowing what he was saying.

“Importance! Importance! History is the most important subjects of all, Nathaniel. Do you think Arch-Mage Greymane got to his position without studying the stars of his past? The present and future is shaped by our past, Nathaniel, we need to have knowledge of the history of our people in order to succeed in life! Do you know nothing of your heritage, you insolent little boy?” Miss Harpfeather shrieked, the numerous feathers on top of her head shaking furiously, as if mimicking her outrage. Nathaniel cowered.

“I cannot believe you disregard history as an unimportant lesson,” She shook her head brusquely, causing a feather to fall out from her diadem and float slowly to the floor. “Is that why you don’t pay attention Nathaniel? Because you don’t believe in the past?”

Nathaniel thought hard for a second.

“Well that, plus your voice is really annoying and in truth, your lessons are pretty boring…”

Ah, he thought. He’d meant to say the second part in his head.

Miss Harpfeather’s face was motionless for a few still, uncomfortable moments. The feather continued to drift slowly to the floor, and the whole classroom was gripped in a deathly silence. Even the raven stopped in its preening to observe, cocking its head to look down in a sort of hopeful expectancy.

Nathaniel could feel the air around him peal with the anticipation of impending doom. He was a dead man, folly for the executioner’s black blade – or in this case, Miss Harpfeather’s dangerously sharp nose, which was just as deadly.

The morbid silence and motionlessness of the room seemed to go on for so long that it occurred to Nathaniel that Miss Harpfeather could have possibly frozen in anger. Her eyes bulged at Nathaniel with unrepressed shock and fury, and her hands, curled into claw-like fists, trembled with rage. She barely breathed, and her face was transformed into a mask of pure contempt. Nathaniel found he could not meet her gaze, for it pained him to do so.

When she finally spoke, it was but a whisper.

“Get out, you filthy little fetcher of a boy. I shall be seeing to you personally after this lesson. Get out before I tear out your eyeballs and pin them to your desk so next lesson you have to pay attention. Get out.” She fumed, her voice audibly shaking with unbridled anger.

Nathaniel gulped, but remained sitting, too afraid to move.

“You don’t deserve to be in this university, get out!”

Nathaniel didn’t hesitate any longer; he gathered his belongings and quickly exited the classroom. But when he got out he didn’t stop there, he ran, sprinting through the winding corridors, past the History classrooms and the dormitories, running until his legs burned and his chest heaved, Miss Harpfeather’s insults still echoing painfully in his mind, stinging a little more each time.

She was right. He didn’t deserve to be here.

***

Nathaniel leant against the back-alley wall panting, hands on his knees and staring hard at the cobblestone floor. He was afraid, afraid to face his predicament and afraid to run away any further, knowing it would just follow him. He remained there for a good half-hour, deep in his thoughts before he finally stirred.

He stood up, straightening his student’s uniform and trying to make himself look at least a little presentable when he faced his fate at the hands of his professors, who were know doubt already deciding on what degrading and horrible chastisement to inflict on him when he returned. He was just about to make off to the professors' quarters when an old voice rasped beside him.

“Hello Nathaniel.”

He jumped in surprise, and spun around to see a blue-robed figure concealed in the darkness. He stepped forward, and the darkness receded to reveal his face and identity. His features were deeply wizened and proud, like that of an old lion, and though his skin was aged and wrinkled his blue-grey eyes shone with a look of cunning wit and razor-sharp intelligence. A silvery mane of grey hair sprouted from atop his head, giving him a sense of a stone statue, looming above Nathaniel and fixing him with an equally stony stare of disapproval.

It was the Arch-Mage.

Nathaniel groaned and tried to escape, but a hand shot out and gripped him, vice-tight on his shoulder.

“Do not patronise me, boy. Face me.” Arch-Mage Greymane growled sternly, his voice coarse and unforgiving. His bushy eyebrows, which sat atop his forehead like two grey and hairy caterpillars, descended into a pointy frown.

“I heard of the incident in Miss Harpfeather’s History class. This is not good, Nathaniel. Your records of behaviour are fuller than any other student’s in the whole university. You have more black marks than a forgetender’s apron.” The Arch-Mage spoke quickly and austerely, his voice completely unsympathetic.

Nathaniel hated old Whiskerface more than any other teacher. Nathaniel had no reason to, for he had found only one explanation; because the Arch-Mage had hated him first. Ever since he could remember, Arch-Mage Greymane had despised him, neglected and rejected him, and when he did acknowledge him, it was with the utmost disapproval. Nathaniel had never understood why the old fool had hated him so, but for that reason, and that reason alone, Nathaniel had hated the old man back for all his worth. He had nothing but resentment for Greymane.

Their relationship was not helped by the fact that Nathaniel insisted on pulling all sorts of pranks and tricks on the Arch-Mage, mostly failed and unsuccessful ones. But the attempts that did succeed produced spectacular effects. It had earned Nathaniel weeks, even months of punishment, but it was all worth it in the long run, Nathaniel had compromised. It made the victory all the sweeter.

“Listen to me boy,” the Arch-Mage fixed him with a merciless stare; his incredibly bushy eyebrows deepening into an even steeper frown, if that were even possible. Nathaniel reckoned he could rotate them in a full circle if he wanted to.

“None of your punishments seem to be working, Nathaniel, no matter how arduous or harsh they may be. You return with yet more vigour to disobey the rules and undermine the professors' authority. This is not the actions of a future mage at this university, do you agree?” At this rhetorical question one of the thick eyebrows rose with a sudden swiftness, like a furry worm trying to wriggle and escape his forehead altogether. After a few moments it sank down again, and Nathaniel abruptly realised he had been observing his eyebrow’s movements a tad too much.

“Thus, Nathaniel, I have decided that if you fail tomorrow’s Mysticism examination I will have to detain you a year. You will not ascend to be a university apprentice, and will be held back another term to continue your associate-level studies until you have proven yourself worthy of acceptance into the mages society.” Arch-Mage Greymane glowered at him, removing his hands from Nathaniel’s shoulders and clasping them at the small of his back. A faint smile escaped the corners of his mouth.

“That is, if you fail. I hope this is a necessary amount of incentive to get you to start acting like a proper mage, and not some young scoundrel barely civilised enough to become a bandit. And don’t think your actions are to go unpunished Nathaniel, you are assigned to an afternoon’s cleaning of the University stables. Go, rejoin your lessons, I will see you tomorrow to give you an apprenticeship. Or not. It's your choice boy.”

And with that the Arch-Mage left the alleyway, whistling a merry tune, leaving Nathaniel confused and shocked rigid in the empty passageway, frozen with distraught at the Arch-Mage’s words.

This post has been edited by Illydoor: Apr 25 2009, 11:06 PM

[Illydoor]

Edited. Does anyone think the first paragraph is too wordy? It's really bugging me .

[Colonel Mustard]

First paragraph seemed fine to me, not to wordy at all. And Miss Harpfeather seems an excellent character too.

This may just be me being dense, but Honorius seems perfectly pleasant towards Nathaniel. In fact he doesn't seem to hate him at all.

And for some reason I imaginf him to look just like Elder Lyons from Fallout 3.

[Illydoor]

Ah the real reason Nathaniel hates the Arch-Mage is because he doesn't give him the attention he desires, and Nathaniel is annoyed that he doesn't get any recognition from him. More about their tenuous relationship shall be explained in the next post and further on in the story, so don't worry Beansterino .

I'm afraid I don't have Fallout 3 so I wouldn't know who Elder Lyons is, but in god's honest truth I don't know who I based Greymane on. I just thought of a frowning grey lion

[Olen]

This is shaping up well. I don't have any particular crit just now. First paragraph seemed fine to me.

You portrayed the teachers well, especially Harpfeather. I liked the continued bird metaphor.

[Illydoor]

Thanks Olen, comments greatly appreciated . Here's chapter two.

This post has been edited by Illydoor: Apr 18 2009, 10:40 PM

[Illydoor]

Chapter II: A New Arrival

By the time Nathaniel had finally left his position in the secluded alleyway it was raining heavily. The University’s courtyards were full to the brim with hurrying apprentices and scholars, dashing through the rain whilst holding outspread scrolls above their head to deflect the worst of the downpour. Nathaniel bustled through them, shrugging his collar up and tightening it around his neck as he felt cold shivers crawl down his spine.

He found out it somewhat difficult to catch his breath; but Nathaniel knew that it wasn’t because of chilling weather. He was struggling to comprehend the implications of the Arch-Mage’s threat. Nobody in the history of the University had failed their Apprentice Testing. A whole year! Nathaniel said to himself for the hundredth time, clenching his fists as his distress slowly turned into fearful anger.

He couldn’t bare the thought of taking all those same lessons again, the same teachers, the same limitations. He had been looking forward to his apprenticeship more than anything, finally a chance to have some freedom and some respect from his fellow colleagues. To have it taken away at the very last moment was heartbreaking.

Nathaniel felt a single tear roll down his cheek. No-one noticed it in the pouring rain.

He pushed his way through the crowds as the rain fell in thick sheets, blanketing his red face with a film of icy water. Raising an arm to shield himself from the stinging gale, he struggled to make out a wooden sign through the grey thrash of the downpour, a crude bed painted on its surface, swinging wildly in the wind. Shuddering again, he made for the dormitories, the clouds above brewing darkly as the violent storm continued.

***

Nathaniel pushed open the heavy oak door with some difficulty, its wooden frame swollen with rain and soaked dark. Nathaniel stepped in quickly to escape the swirling rainstorm; but moans of displeasure and callous jeering still arose from within the common room as a cold chill swooped in from the open gap. Nathaniel scowled, but shut the door anyway before removing his leather shoes, shaking his hair of the rainwater like a ragged dog. When that proved unsuccessful he took a random robe from the cloakroom and ran through his hair with that, sincerely hoping it was that smug fetcher Patrickus Grinlime’s robe.

Satisfied with his drying attempts, he trudged to the middle of the common room without greeting or acknowledging anyone, flopping himself into a large armchair by the fire and shrinking into its warm embrace. Nobody seemed to notice him – though they hardly ever did anyway – and seemed to be engrossed in some heated discussion over some lame topic. Nathaniel sneered; probably something about how well prepared they were for the examinations tomorrow, or what reward they would get for passing them.

“…haven’t you heard – some say he’s travelled all over Cyrodiil, and that he carries a staff of amazing power…”

At this Nathaniel pricked up his ears, realising that it was evidently not one of the normal conversations. He sat up in the armchair and leaned slightly into the conversation, the fire’s heat was beginning to prickle him anyway, he consoled himself.

The debate continued, the students forever coming up with new and interesting rumours about this mysterious person to topple the previous one.

“Apparently he’s met with the Emperor, and has even done errands for the Fighter’s Guildmaster! He’s even been into a plane of Oblivion!” The note of awe in each person’s voice confused Nathaniel. Who was this incredible, legendary new someone? Why was everyone so hyped up about him? Nathaniel had no clue what a plane of Oblivion was, but he was sure if he’d been listening in Miss Harpfeather’s history class he would have.

It sounded like a load of poppycock to Nathaniel. Whoever this new person was, he was sure that he wasn’t as incredible and remarkable as he was made out to be. Nathaniel doubted that he’d ever even been to the Imperial Palace to see the Emperor; nobody but the palace guards and the council were allowed in there.

Yet the matter frustrated Nathaniel. Whenever the endless rumours got tiresome and his intrigue would wane, a new speculation would pop-up and draw his interest right back again. He found himself wanting, needing to know who this person was. He waited patiently for his answer.

“…do you think the University will… change when he arrives?” A straw-haired girl sitting nearest to Nathaniel asked coyly, fiddling with her braids. A young Redguard student from across the room answered, peering up from his book.

“I suppose so – and hopefully for the better… if any of those tales are true then he’s definitely going to be popular, certainly moreso than the one we’ve got now. It’ll be great to have a new Arch-Mage who’s so interesting, I for one…”

Nathaniel zoned out from what he said afterwards, he was too busy gasping and gawping with shock. A new Arch-Mage? Old Whiskerface was retiring? Questions flittered through Nathaniel’s mind like moths round a lamp.

He had known Greymane to be old, but he had never once thought the wrinkly Arch-Mage was anywhere near resigning. Nathaniel was stunned, struggling to decide whether this dramatic change was for good or bad. From what he had heard, this Arch-Mage would probably be even more arrogant and domineering than the previous one; as well as being much more as likely to ignore him and disregard him.

Nathaniel suddenly gained a strong desire to hate this new arrival, even though he hadn’t even set foot in the University yet. Angry and confused, he blurted out his thoughts into the conversation.

“A new Arch-Mage? Pah! I bet you ten septims that this one is as boring and hackneyed as lion-face up there.”

The inhabitants of the common room turned to face him, fixing him with wide-eyed stares of frightfulness at his sudden outburst.

“But Nathaniel, the rumours say–“

“Those stories are nonsense, gobbledygook, scamp-twaddle – probably just made up by scared students. Trust me; I’ll have that Arch-Mage begging to leave in less than a week, he’s no better than the current one.” Nathaniel interrupted the straw-haired girl, who frowned and made to retort again before Nathaniel spoke over her again.

“What’s his name? Something stupid I bet – Like Honorius Greymane.” Nathaniel jibed; adopting a ridiculous sing-song accent when he said the name of the Arch-Mage.

“Illydoor. His name’s Illydoor. Sounds exotic doesn’t it?”

Nathaniel snorted.

“I bet he’s never even been outside the city. He won’t last a day here if I see to it; he won’t be able to handle my old potion-switch trick.” Nathaniel said, his mind already working on different kind of pranks to pull.

“I wouldn’t say that Nathaniel, he’s arriving today at the stables any minute now. Arriving in style too I hear. He’s arriving in his own coach, pulled by his own horse. A classy one too, purebred Chestnut all the way from Chorrol – so he must’ve been outside the city, Nathaniel… Nathaniel?”

Nathaniel had frozen at the mention of the stables, remembering his afternoon detention that Greymane had given him earlier this day. He’d almost forgotten!

Cursing himself inwardly for his own stupidity, he quickly left the common room, almost forgetting to put his shoes on as he rushed out of the doorway, more moans roused from within the dormitories as another cold gust was sucked in.

Slamming the vast wooden door shut; Nathaniel turned into the storm once more, the painful chill of the air hitting him like a fist as he ran towards the University stables.

***

Luckily for Nathaniel the worst of the storm had subsided by the time he had left the common room, though a good amount of rain still fell from the skies at a steady pace, drenching his just dried clothes and hair. A greying mist had descended on the University as well, enveloping the cobbles with a film of vapour. Nathaniel passed the crooked raven again, who was as bedraggled a fowl as ever hunched on one of the unlit lamps by the side of the road. It cawed dejectedly at him before flying off into the mist.

Nathaniel ran without abandon, not caring when he slipped on the wet flagstones, bruising his knees and scraping his elbows. While he ran, he had a lot of time to think about his current predicament, the excitement of the new arch-mage having subsided like the storm in Nathaniel’s mind.

He had wanted to study for his examinations in preparation for the bid day tomorrow, but with this detention he could never hope to have enough time to revise. Greymane had known this; otherwise he wouldn’t have given me this detention, Nathaniel thought, gritting his teeth with frustration.

If he didn’t pass the examinations, then what was the point of trying to become a Mage? What if he failed the next year? And the year after that? Nathaniel shuddered at the prospect. He couldn’t help but remember Miss Harpfeather’s words earlier this morning, her shrill voice replaying in his mind on its own accord.

You don’t deserve to be in this university…

Nathaniel found himself believing her every word. Maybe he just didn’t belong in the Arcane University. Maybe he was cut out for something else. She had asked him about his heritage, yet Nathaniel knew nothing of his. He had no parents or relatives; his mother and father had been killed during an important guild operation, or so he had been told. He didn’t even have a second name. On all the registers and charters, his title was just Nathaniel. It felt like he was half a person, incomplete.

Disturbed, Nathaniel shook his worries out of his head and concentrated on running, the rain still pouring around him and pattering on the cobblestones, playing out an odd rhythm. Above him, the raven soared, a black smudge amidst the endless grey.

By the time Nathaniel reached the stables he was breathless, and sweating despite the downpour and storm’s after-chill. Situated just outside the Arcane University’s stone walls, the stables were a refuge for the countless visitors that the University paid homage to. A ramshackle wooden shack, shaking rather precariously in the wind, filled with hay and horse-dung. Nathaniel’s detention venue for the next few hours.

He grimaced, the wind blowing his hair across his face, and walked slowly towards the stables. Fortunately there didn’t seem to be many occupants today; probably the storm seeing to that, Nathaniel reckoned. When he arrived at the wooden pen he saw a piece of parchment pinned to one of the supports, a broom and bucket leant against the wooden pillar beside it. Nathaniel plucked it off and read it with difficulty in the drizzle.

Nathaniel

In response to your despicable actions this morning, you are to clean the entire stables for two hours and a half. Make sure you clean all the dung out and move the rotten hay to the back of the shelter.

No magic!

Nathaniel shrugged. It was not the worst punishment he had, but neither was it the easiest. And as for the magic prohibition, Nathaniel wouldn’t be as stupid to try it. He had once, though, and it produced less than desirable results. The stables had been left in more of a mess than before when he had tried it; and when Greymane had finally arrived to relieve him of his punishment, he received a magicked clump of dung to his face as a result of Nathaniel’s attempted cleaning spell.

Amusing thought it was, it had earned him another two hours of cleaning, so Nathaniel knew better than to try again.

Sighing despondently, he grasped the brush, taking out a nose-peg he had especially made for this punishment and clipping it onto his nostrils. Without hesitation he set about to clearing out the first stable, trying not to gag as he separated the waste from the hay. As he began to settle in to a routine, he fell gradually more and more into his own deep thought stream, and before he knew it time began to flitter by all too quickly.

About halfway into his allotted detention time, he was woken suddenly from his musings by the distant sound of clipping hooves on the cobblestone road. He looked up from his work – which by now he was quite proud of, having already reached the fourth stable out of ten – along the direction of the straight road, peering through the greying mist to see if he could discern the arrival. When he couldn’t, he gave up and set about to work, the clacking of the horse’s hooves getting gradually louder and closer.

Soon when the clipping had become so loud it was an annoyance to Nathaniel, he looked up from his post and saw a horse dragging a coach compartment along the road. A golden, chestnut horse.

Nathaniel gulped. Could this be the very Arch-Mage they had been talking about in the common room? He was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of fear and anticipation as one by one the different rumours of the new arrival’s history came back to him.

The horse continued to trot slowly along the lengthy road, and even in the drizzle Nathaniel could see that its coat was definitely chestnut – glossy and sleek in the rain, its rich brown colour not dampened or tarnished in any way by the downpour. A single white streak ran down its elongated nose.

Okay, thought Nathaniel. One rumour is true. That doesn’t mean all the rest are. And what good is a horse anyway when you just ride in the back of a coach?

The horse drew up near the stables, whinnying at Nathaniel and shaking its brilliant mane. Nathaniel shrank back a bit, holding the broom tightly to his chest defensively. He waited and the horse continued past the stables, drawing the black, gold-trimmed coach along with it.

As it drew past, a lone figure within its cabin caught Nathaniel’s eye. Through a small gap in the curtained window, Nathaniel saw a man, enrobed in garbs of a deep red; his face darkly hidden by the cowl’s concealing shadow. Slowly and terribly, the black maw of his hood turned to face Nathaniel, fixing him with a blank, imperceptible stare like one single deathly eye. Nathaniel found he couldn’t move at all, his eyes seem to be hypnotised, fixed on the inky blackness within the mysterious arrival’s hood.

A second passed and never once did the man break his stare. Not until the coach drew out of view and rolled slowly through the cast-iron gates of the University did Nathaniel’s eyes avert from the coach and its occupant.

Nathaniel shook, quickly turning back to his work at the stables, his palms sweating and his throat suddenly tighter than before, sweeping a little quicker than intended.

This post has been edited by Illydoor: Apr 30 2009, 07:36 PM

[Olen]

Well developed, you're getting this where its going quickly but without forcing it which is good. The introduction of the new archmage was almost seemless, so good stuff there, the commonroom scene definatly added to the flow and helped develop the character of Nathaniel. I also find myself quite interested to find out what happens next.

My main criticism is that the occasional sentence didn't work or had some strange word choice. A couple of examples are:

but he never once doubted that he was anywhere near resigning -- this is a bit convoluted and clumsy to read, partly because 'he' is used for two different people with context saying which is which but mainly because it doesn't mean what you intended I think. 'he never doubted', to me at least means that he thought it was going to happen where I think you meant 'he never thought'. At least that's how I read it.

Whenever he got tiresome of the endless rumours -- I think this might have suffered in editing, either 'whenever the rumours got tiresome' or 'whenever he got tired of the rumours' would be more correct. It's not much but it just hurt the flow a bit.

streak ran down its elongate nose

Mainly just small gramatical things which hurt the flow a little. I don't know to what extent you do this (so if you do ignore me) but it can help to iron these out if you leave a piece to sit for at least a night before posting as read it over (possibly out loud) to see what flows and where the flow isn't so good. Having said that it does flow very well, there's pleanty of hooks to hold the reader and the structure is very good. I'll be reading the next part.

[Illydoor]

Thanks very much for the crit, Olen, when I wrote it last night I was pretty tired so I guess a number of things coulda' slipped past the nets.

Nothing another quick proof-read won't solve, I'll be right on it .

[Illydoor]

I've got to revise for a french exam that's on friday, so the next post won't be up til' the weekend, but on the other hand the good news is I got an A* for my graphics c.w!

[Illydoor]

Chapter III: The Exam Begins

It was dark by the time Nathaniel had finished cleaning the stables. A calm evening chill had swept in, blowing away the mist and drizzle, leaving the midnight sky pure and crisp. Nathaniel, exhausted and sweating from his labour, drank it in like a cool beverage, the soothing breeze doing wonders to his fatigued and work-weary limbs.

Arch-Mage Greymane had not even bothered to visit Nathaniel to relieve him of his detention duties. He had merely sent one of his messenger imps, Lumsnug, to deliver the message once his allotted time was up – accompanied with a brief but painful kick to Nathaniel's shins for good measure. Nathaniel, thankful but irritated, gave the evil pet a mild shock in revenge before sending it on its way, the electrocuted sprite muttering spiteful curses under his breath as he left, still twitching slightly.

Nathaniel exhaled a long sigh of relief into the midnight sky, jadedly grateful that he had finally finished his work and could return to his warm bed. Though he knew in his mind it was a needless victory. He still didn’t have enough time to prepare for tomorrow’s examination. By giving him this detention, Greymane had practically made sure that Nathaniel was going to fail tomorrow morn.

Nathaniel hoped with all his heart that he could prove him wrong; that he could finally see the stern, condemning face of the old fool replaced by one of shock and regret, that he could finally get some measure of approval from him. He wondered idly whether it was indeed too much to wish for.

Throwing the brush down miserably, Nathaniel rolled up his sleeves and ran a hand through his matted tangle of brown hair, stretching his worn out arms into the sky. After one last check that everything was spotless in the stables, Nathaniel left the University Boulevard, so tired he could barely push the iron gates open.

Overhead, the moon was full and bright, casting long shadows on the ground and creating rippling pools of darkness on the cobblestones beneath Nathaniel as he reached the dormitories at long last. Its beckoning bed sign – swinging slightly in the soft breeze – was a welcome sight to Nathaniel as he opened the thick oaken door as silently as he could, careful not to make the age-old rust-coated hinges creak as he entered.

Shutting the door as quietly as he had opened it, he crept upstairs past the common room, the crackling inglenook still blazing hotly near the armchairs. He noticed some students curled up amongst the thick cushions, books and lengthy tomes still in their hands from revising.

Once he entered his dormitory, he immediately sprang for his bunk, its soft pillows heaven to Nathaniel’s weary head. Though it pained him dearly to reject a good night’s sleep, especially one so needed, he lit some tallow candles beside him, took out a dusty tome from the bedside table and began to read into the midnight, the looming anxiety of tomorrow’s trial pressing constantly on his mind.

Half an hour passed, then an hour, and his concentration became weaker and weaker, like all the willpower had been sapped from him. As the lines began to merge and the words began to falter under his gaze, he felt his eyelids drooping and before he knew it, Nathaniel’s world was plunged into dreamy darkness. And for a blissful moment, all the troubles and cares that he possessed dissolved into nothing…

***

Nathaniel woke abruptly, to the sound of a dreadful bird cawing. He yawned irritably, annoyed at being woken in such a sudden and rude manner, screwing up his face against the light that streamed in from the oval window above his bed. Outside it he saw the pesky Raven again, shouting its existence to the rest of Cyrodiil with not a care in the world.

Feeling something weighty on his lap, he looked down, surprised to find an opened book resting on top of his quilt. A few idyllic moments passed before he realised what day it was and why the book was there, and like a dam being opened, all the angst and fear of the imminent examinations flooded back to him, weighing him down with sudden dread. Desperately he looked to his bedside table and his ticking clock.

He was almost late.

Growling at his own bad luck he threw off the bedsheets, pulling on his clothes in such a hurry he barely knew what he’d put on. He cleared the table, frantically searching for a comb to smooth his ruffled hair, though he snarled once again as he knocked the leftover wax from the candles lit last night onto his newly changed shirt.

Deciding he had no time whatsoever to dawdle, he ignored the wax stain and donned a brown blazer jacket, hoping it would cover it up enough for him to get away with it. Thrusting his feet into his shoes and burrowing his ankles into them furiously until they went over his heels, he grabbed his tome at the page he’d left it and made his way downstairs to the common room, still tying his tie on whilst trying to read through the last pages of his book.

Downstairs in the common room he was met by a scene of utter chaos.

Students everywhere were busy preparing themselves for the examinations, the common room filled to the brim with bustling pupils and vigorous activity, the raucous so loud Nathaniel was duly surprised he hadn’t been woken up before by the incredible din. Associates inhabited every corner and space available, catching up on last minute revision, drowned by multitudes of scrolls and papers and manuscripts, others trying to make themselves look presentable, admiring themselves by the various mirrors in their smartest attire, clean white doublets or blouses and dark grey trousers, with long ashen-grey socks and mirror-black glossy shoes.

Every so often gasps and exclamations of wonder would arise when a student released some particularly complex spell into the air to show what they had prepared for the judges. Meanwhile, heated discussions were taking places in large groups that had congregated round the swarming room, conferring revision tactics and last minute tips, or just general excited buzz about the examinations.

It was all a bit overwhelming for Nathaniel. To see everyone so excitable and animated for the examinations just made Nathaniel even more nervous. He knew that in a single cohesive sense everyone was expecting everyone to pass.

Every student had made a generous effort to look their best for the examination day. Hair was slicked back and shined to an oily gleam, whilst the girl students had put on their best dresses and even small pieces of jewellery to make themselves look extra pretty for the big day.

Nathaniel looked down at his drab jacket, his wax-stained shirt and wrinkled trousers and sighed glumly. He descended the stairs amidst the tempestuous bedlam and settled himself into a corner, trying to read his revision in book in peace as students around him buzzed and hummed with uncontainable excitement. To any sane person that walked in it would seem the associates had already passed their exams and were already celebrating, thought Nathaniel, casting an eye through the crowd.

It caught Patrickus Grinlime’s, who was sitting amidst a throng of gabbling and admiring girls, looking delightfully smug and arrogant as they offered him good luck charms and various praises to him. He looked the best presented and well-dressed out of everyone, with his perfectly fastened tie, and stitched leather shoes that were almost a shiny as his oiled hair, which shone like glass amidst the rabble of other students.

He sneered at Nathaniel distastefully, curling his upper lip as if looking upon a beggar before turning to one of the girls and whispered something in her ear, at which she began giggling hysterically.

Hatred welled up inside Nathaniel like a volcano, and deep inside him he felt his stomach coil in anger like a clenching fist. He shot Patrickus a murderous glare and gripped his book so tightly his knuckles went white, threatening to tear right through the thick leather binding. It was even more infuriating for Nathaniel when Patrickus outright ignored his challenging stare and returned to his mob of fans.

Rage still boiling inside him, Nathaniel tried to subdue it, knowing he had bigger problems and he couldn’t let his concentration wane because of a petty feud – he had revision to do. Grumbling to himself and muttering unrepeatable curses under his breath, Nathaniel retreated to his corner, turning his back to the hubbub in the common room and reading silently through his book again, determined to pass and then rub Patrickus’ snooty face in it once he did.

Suddenly there was a hard, sharp knock at the door, loud enough so that it could be heard clearly above the terrible racket created by the mayhem within the common room. Like a candle snuffed out in the wind the noise inside ceased immediately, and an irrepressible silence enveloped the chamber.

Nathaniel stopped reading his book and turned to face the oaken door, his breath caught in his throat. Even Patrickus Grinlime halted in his lavish preening and snapped his gaze around in the direction of everybody else’s, his proud, overconfident expression now replaced by one of fear and anxiety. Despite the looks of shock, like one unified mind, every student in the room knew what was about to happen.

It was time.

The heavy door opened with surprising force despite its age-old hinges, and before it had even stopped moving in stepped a trio of Evokers, the exam’s invigilators. They were resplendent in their blue mage robes as they strode inside; their faces strong and square-jawed with a steely look of determination and wizened experience. To the awe-struck associate students, these were god-like in status. Every pupil at the university aspired to be one, every pupil wanted to succeed as a student and become a fully-fledged mage.

The prospect that one day they could earn the right to wear those same robes seemed to stun the students into silence, and when the foremost Evoker began to speak not a move was made throughout the entire crowd. His voice was resolute and without conviction.

“Good morning students. As you well know, your apprentice-level examination begins today. You have been given enough time to practice, so if you would now kindly follow my colleagues here to your respective subjects tests and they shall sit you in your correct order for the exams. Focus, believe in yourselves, and you shall all be great mages one day. Good luck to you all.”

With that, the Evoker gave a short, controlled smile and left through the oak door, leaving his associates to step forward.

Nathaniel waited patiently. One by one, the subject exams were called out, and groups left with the different Evokers. Destruction went, Conjuration, Illusion and Alchemy, then Alteration. All the while, the apprehension and dread of the situation threatened to make Nathaniel black out, yet he remained steadfast, determined not to show any weakness.

Finally, his subject was called.

“All students currently taking Mysticism, please stand up and form single file behind me.” One of the Evokers called, an Imperial woman with an impassive face standing at the front. She held out an arm to indicate where the line should form. Nathaniel hurriedly gathered himself, leaving his book on the floor and scrambling to his place in the line, biting back the brain-addling nausea that suddenly rushed to his head with the nerves.

It was to Nathaniel's sheer annoyance that he ended up in front of Patrickus Grinlime, but he ignored it, instead concentrating on the female Evoker’s every word.

“Right. Students, follow me. Your exam is awaiting you.”

She turned briskly on her heel and exited the common room, the procession of students marching out behind her onto university plaza. Outside, the midday sun was shining dazzlingly bright in the cloudless blue sky. Nathaniel took it as a good omen.

He would need it.

This post has been edited by Illydoor: May 4 2009, 01:59 AM

[Illydoor]

Chapter III up, sorry for the delay again .

[Silver]

Chapter III up, sorry for the delay again .

For a story this great? Don't worry, a little delay is fine!

[seerauna]

Have to agree with Silver, a little delay won't matter as long as we do get an update. Great story, I check for it everytime I get on.

[Colonel Mustard]

I can wait if it's this good, don't worry about that.