The Dawncaster Chronicles [Mages, Arcane University], Have you ever thought about taking the dark and thorny path? Options

[Illydoor]

Many thanks to all for your comments, they're greatly appreciated .

I've edited all parts now (there was some howlers in there - hopefully you guys didn't notice ). Fourth part up soon.

[Colonel Mustard]

I should hope it is Illy. I'm enjoying this.

[Illydoor]

Parts have been edited; the next section where Nathaniel tackles the exam should hopefully be up tonight .

[Illydoor]

Chapter IV: Pass or Fail?

The sun shone hotly on the student’s backs as they marched out to the examination room, the unusually cloudless day doing nothing to heighten Nathaniel’s spirits as he kept pace with the long procession of examinees. He scratched the nape of his neck in irritation as the heat began to prickle, shielding his eyes and peering into the dazzling brightness.

The weather didn’t seem to mirror Nathaniel’s mood.

The storm that had raged last night seemed more appropriate, he speculated, blinking and returning his attention to following the Evoker’s course without putting a foot wrong. However his shoes were oddly uncomfortable on the cobblestones beneath him and for some reason his mouth was parched and dry, his throat like a desert.

He knew, with some reluctance, it was the apprehension of the exam that was a constant threat on his mind –his nerves were shot. Despite his last-minute revision last night he knew it was no way near enough to be fully prepared for the exam. Try as he might, he couldn’t help thinking how much the odds were stacked against him.

Blocking out the pessimistic thoughts from his mind; he composed himself and tried to recall what he’d learnt during his various lessons and lectures. Yet whenever he tried to grasp on something in his memory, it slipped away and his mind went blank again, only to be replaced by the condemning face of Arch-Mage Greymane, hovering into view along with Miss Harpfeather’s. The same words ran across his mind time after time again.

You don’t belong here…

It was useless.

Nathaniel was as clueless as when he first started at the Arcane University. He’d yet to even cast a single successful Mysticism spell in all the disastrous practical lessons he’d endured, and now, when his entire career as a mage was on the line, he cursed himself furiously for not paying attention in lessons.

The only reason he’d chosen Mysticism as a subject was because he thought it would be easy; that he could flunk the lessons no problem. He was sadly mistaken.

What Nathaniel wouldn’t give to be taking an exam for Illusion, Alchemy, or even Conjuration right now. During the first week of Mysticism lessons with Miss Harpfeather, his hopes of an easy and hassle-free ride to an apprenticeship had been completely buried under the mountainous piles of tedious textbook work and brain-addling note-taking.

Struggling to take in the enormity of his task, Nathaniel realised this was the day that would change his life. It was up to him and him alone. He would either pass or fail.

Which one would it be? Nathaniel found himself asking. The answer was waiting just round the corner.

Above, a black soaring shape silhouetted in the sun’s dazzling rays, a raven cawed majestically into the clear blue sky.

Nathaniel stopped for a moment to look at the familiar pest, losing concentration as he was momentarily blinded by the sun. He stumbled and tripped on a jutting flagstone piece, giving an involuntary yelp of surprise. Nathaniel felt an arm grab him just before he fell, and hoping nobody else had noticed, quickly returned to his position in the line of examinees – gathering his jacket together to hide the wax-stain on his shirt from this morning. He turned to say thank you to his saviour.

Somebody snorted behind him.

“Nervous, Nathaniel?”

The snide voice of Patrickus Grinlime slithered coldly in Nathaniel’s ear, making him shudder. The 'thank you' caught halfway in his throat.

“Don’t worry; I’m sure you’ll pass… someday.” Patrickus sneered, and Nathaniel could imagine his stuck-up face, with its sly, unpleasant smile, upturned nose and eyes full of derision and mockery. Nathaniel’s lip curled at the thought.

Nathaniel kept walking, biting his tongue to prevent himself from retaliating. Despite the broiling anger in his stomach, he promised himself he wouldn’t sink to Grinlime’s level. Nathaniel was better than that. Patrickus' underhand taunts were the least of his worries, he had the exam to worry about.

“You’ll see, Patrickus, I’ll pass this exam no problem. Just you watch.” Nathaniel whispered back with barely suppressed rage, still facing forward and keeping pace with the line whilst adopting a stern grimace, clenching his fists and grinding his teeth viciously. He meant what he said in every sense of the word. Behind him he heard Patrickus snigger.

“You, an apprentice? Don’t make me laugh, Natty. You have less intelligence than a scamp on moonsugar. You don’t belong here.”

Nathaniel winced as the last insult hit home.

He felt fury boil in his veins once more, hotter and more intense than ever. He balled his fists so tight the knuckles went white, and he threatened to grind his teeth down to the gums. But Patrickus’ jibes just made him even more determined to pass this exam, to defy the odds, and Nathaniel channelled his hatred into pure, unbridled willpower.

He was going to pass this test. No matter what.

***

“That’s enough associates, we have arrived at the examination room.” Nathaniel heard the Evoker’s voice yell out over the empty courtyard they had just entered, and after a moment’s hesitation she hovered into view, walking out to the side to address the column of students from where they could all see her.

Above, the midday sun continued to beat remorselessly down on the courtyard, baking the air cinder-dry and making it haze and waver like ripples of liquid in the distance. Nathaniel, in his heavy blazer jacket, was being roasted alive in the incredible heat, sweating feverishly under the sweltering warmth - thought he guessed it was far more down to his nerves rather than the increasing temperature. Swallowing hard, he turned his attention to the Evoker. She appeared completely unfazed by the scorching weather and stood before the line of associates with an impassive expression, her hands clasped smartly at the small of her back.

“Students, your Mysticism test is waiting beyond the door facing you,” She addressed the students confidently, gesturing towards the building they had arrived at, and like one unified mind, each student peered round to take a good look.

On appearance it looked like any other building in the Arcane University; two storeys high, made of bleak, grey stone, a pillared roof jutting out grandly to hide a square wooden door within its shade. However on closer inspection, Nathaniel noticed the sign of the Mage’s Guild was etched perfectly onto the door’s grainy surface, catching what little sunlight that came through the shadow and glimmering brightly amidst the darkness.

Nathaniel gulped, and to what it sounded like, every other student did so too.

“Remember what you were taught, and relax, don’t let your nerves get to you – you are all capable and talented students of Magic, and I am adamant that you will all pass this examination.” Her gaze wandered over to Nathaniel. He shied away.

“Blessings of Mara upon you all. You may now enter.” The Evoker finished, fixing them with a beaming smile and walking towards the engraved door. She opened it and led them in, the students shuffling and fidgeting uncontrollably with nerves.

He found himself entering a long, unimpressive room – not that much dissimilar from Miss Harpfeather’s classroom. Like every other building in the Arcane University, numerous shelves, bookcases and cupboards lined the walls, filled to the brim with manuscripts and weird-looking potions. However unlike Nathaniel’s classroom there were no desks or chairs, and no blackboard at the front of the room.

A large space had been cleared in the middle, leaving the stone floor strangely empty and bare compared to its surrounding walls. A trio of ordinary wooden tables had been placed in a horizontal line in the centre of the room, one in the middle, and another on either side, each at least five metres apart. Along with them three, clear glasses of varying sizes had also been arranged on the tables, one on each, from big to small. On the table with the biggest glass a polished silver carafe stood, its slender form glinting sharply in the brightness.

Light streamed in from a series of thin alcove windows on the left side of the room, creating an odd, striped effect on the uncovered stone floor. At the head of the room where the teacher’s desk would be, sat three grim-looking professors, motionless like statues in the slim beam of light that speared down from their adjacent window. Nathaniel instantly recognised one as Miss Harpfeather, who glared back at him with an venomous, indicting gaze.

His heart sank – that was already one judge who was against his favour.

Amongst the others was Professor Parsedew, an old, bearded wizard, wearing a wide-brimmed conical hat that bent backwards at the middle, and Mistress Wicklefick, a rotund woman whose doughy face reminded Nathaniel of a roll of sweet-cake. Neither were teachers that Nathaniel knew very well or had dealings with in the past, so he hoped that if it came to an all-out decision between the trio as to whether he passed or not, at least two out of the three would be unprejudiced. However if it was up to Miss Harpfeather alone, Nathaniel knew he would be out that door faster than he could say ‘bird-beak’.

Of course, if he actually passed the test he wouldn’t need to worry at all.

Swiftly the students entered the exam room in silence, the Evoker ushering them in with occasional words of encouragement. Nodding once to the professors when all the students were present, she left without a word, slamming the door behind her. The clunk of the heavy door closing echoed long around the empty, silent room, and suddenly, everything was still. The tension was so thick it was choking. The oppressive and blinding brightness continued to stream sparsely through the windows into the stifling room, the only sound permeating the heavy atmosphere was the nervous panting of the students as they examined the room from head to toe with wide, apprehensive eyes.

It was a minute before Miss Harpfeather eventually stood up, her chair squeaking on the floor as she did so, and broke the silence.

“Examinees.” Nathaniel winced as her screeching voice echoed round the stuffy chamber. “Your Mysticism exam begins as of now. Test conditions are required form this point forth. This means no speaking or conversing with your fellow associates, and certainly no use of magic until you are permitted to do so. Any jewellery – magical or not – must be removed immediately.”

She stopped to allow the rules to sink in – or maybe it was to frighten the students, Nathaniel couldn’t tell.

“Arrange yourselves into alphabetical order. Once your name is called up, walk to the centre of the room to perform the examination. You will be graded on your knowledge, execution, accuracy and flair. The rest of you, wait at the back of the room quietly until it is your turn. Remember any violation of the rules aforementioned results in immediate disqualification from the exam, no exceptions.” She hesitated again, eyeing each and every student with cold, piercing eyes.

“Any questions? Good. Then let the Mysticism Exams begin!” With that, she clapped her hands rigorously and sat back in her seat, giving a curt nod to the other two professors to begin.

“Norma Ardatroke, step forward…” The hoarse voice of Professor Parsedew began to fill the room, and slowly but surely, a shuffling blonde girl emerged from the mass of sitting students and began to walk toward the centre of the room, illuminated by a shaft of brilliance that speared from one of the thin windows. Despite the distance Nathaniel could see that the girl’s eyes were wide with fear and she held her hands against her stomach to stop them from trembling – it didn’t help ease Nathaniel’s nerves much, either.

The droopy face of Professor Parsedew smiled weakly, and beckoned Norma Ardatroke to begin. Nathaniel watched with attentive eyes, as with every other student, but all the time aware of his own predicament. He felt so nervous he was afraid he might throw up, his stomach queasy and his head nauseous, but he knew he had to concentrate. Saying he felt ill was not an option; he just had to buckle down and pass this test once and for all.

He sounded so confident in his head, yet deep inside the worry remained, like an immovable black lump. He tried to shake the feeling, trying instead to discern what the exam would be and how difficult it was.

The test was simple; the student had to come up, answer a couple of questions – one delivered by each professor, and then perform a routine Mysticism spell to demonstrate their talents. The candidate had to fill a glass of water using Psychic Motion (a weaker form of Telekinesis) from the carafe on the foremost left table, and then maintaining the spell, move the glass of water across the short distance to the middle table.

The student then had to then pour the water into the smaller, thinner glass on the centre table, and repeat the spell again to move the water to the last table, where the smallest and thinnest glass stood. Once that was completed, the student had to finally use Psychic Motion again to move the thinnest glass of water all the way back to the carafe with all the water still inside. The idea was that as the glasses got thinner and smaller, the harder it was to control with telekinesis. If the candidate spilled a drop of water or dropped a glass, they would fail.

In reality, it was easy. If you had revised.

Nathaniel watched Norma Ardatroke perform the test with ease, upon which she was dismissed and returned to the throng of students with uncontained happiness and relief spread across her face, a skip in her step.

He gulped. She made it seem so easy.

Since Nathaniel had no second name, he reckoned he’d be last to be called up, so breathing heavily and shifting in his seated position to get more comfortable, he relaxed and tried to recall any information that he might need. There was nothing to do but wait.

Hours passed, and names continued to be called up, and each one sat back down as an apprentice, passing with flying colours. Praise was awarded to those that showed especial talent and originality, such as Patrickus Grinlime, who performed several loop-de-loops with the glasses – with the water still in. Nathaniel disregarded his charlatanic display with a sneer of discontent.

Finally, after three tedious hours and all the other student’s names had been called up, all eyes were on Nathaniel. His palms slippery and heart beating painfully against his chest, his name was at last rasped out by Professor Parsedew across the airless chamber.

“Nathaniel... Oh, it's just Nathaniel. Yes, please step forward.”

His legs shaking, Nathaniel stood.

This was it.

This post has been edited by Illydoor: May 6 2010, 05:31 PM

[Illydoor]

Sorry, it's a bit of a long one this time. Hope you like it . It's unedited at the moment because I'm quite tired, though come tomorrow it shall be polished up a bit.

[Olen]

A fine update, enjoyable to read and I'm left interested. However, you might want to consider condensing things a little - it was fine but might have benifited from some suggestion of what is to come in the long run or the fleshing of something important as it very much dealt (as far as I noticed though I could be wrong) with what was happening there and less on the overall arc of the story.

Having said that it is very much a matter of taste and pleanty of successful authors don't write like that.

There was some good description in there.

A couple of comments:

entering a small, unimpressive room ... Three single tables had been placed in a line in the centre of the room, one in the middle, two on other either side, each at least five metres apart. - so the room was more than ten meters long, I wouldn't call that small. Also there was a bit of countersinking; if the tables were in a line then one was going to be ni the middle with one on either side. It just jarred a bit.

doughy face - excellent. Those two words gave an instant impression of the person.

clapped her hands shrilly - you might want to reconsider the use of shrilly here, I'm not sure how well it applies to clapping.

Good stuff.

[Illydoor]

Thanks Olen. I do agree with your point about condensing, this post was supposed to cover Nathaniel actually taking the exam as well, but you could say I went a bit overboard with the writing .

two on other either side,

Ah. I realise that's a logical mistake now.

clapped her hands shrilly

I did think this didn't fit when I wrote it, yet the only adjective I could think of to replace it was 'harshly' which doesn't quite fit. I'll think of something later.

Thansk for commenting .

This post has been edited by Illydoor: May 4 2009, 12:17 AM

[Illydoor]

Okay, a large portion of this text has been edited and some paragraphs have been added or deleted, because I didn't feel this post was as good as my last ones. Hopefully it's much better now .

This post has been edited by Illydoor: May 4 2009, 01:50 AM

[Illydoor]

The next chapter will hopefully be up tonight !

[Illydoor]

Well, I've finally got it up, after much deleting, re-editing, re-deleting and so on. Here it is, please tear it apart I'm still not that happy with it:

Chapter V: A Raven’s Luck

“Please take a couple of steps forward, Nathaniel, where we can see you better.” Professor Parsedew croaked across the room, his hoarse voice like rustling leaves, beckoning forth with a bony hand and a feeble smile. Shyly, Nathaniel obeyed.

“That’s it, much better.” Parsedew rasped, glancing up from his notes to examine Nathaniel through a pair of round, diminutive glasses that were rather too small for his nose. Nathaniel felt like a prize animal put on show, suddenly aware that almost every person in the room as well as Professor Parsedew had their eyes on him, scrutinizing his every move, his every breath.

After a few uncomfortable moments, the Professor finally stirred. Slowly and very deliberately, he pulled down his gold-rimmed spectacles with thin fingers, peering over to address Nathaniel with a stern, shrewd look.

“Now, Nathaniel, the exam is quite simple. You will be asked a total of three questions; one by myself, one by Mistress Wicklefick, and a final by Miss Harpfeather to my right here.” He gestured to both with a skeletal hand. Neither of the other professors bothered to notice. “Answer each correctly, and you shall proceed to the next stage, the practical test, which I shall explain in more detail once you pass the first part of the exam. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir, of course sir.” Nathaniel nodded hastily, eager to impress. Having seen the thirty other associates go through the exact same procedure before him, Nathaniel knew exactly in his mind what to do. But knowing, wasn’t half as hard as doing.

Professor Parsedew smiled with wrinkled lips, replacing the undersized pair of spectacles back on the bridge of his nose.

“Right then, we may begin. Mistress Wicklefick, the first question, if you please.” He said to a bored-looking Mistress Wicklefick, who jumped at the sudden mention of her name, causing her tiny chair to creak and groan in protest from the added weight. She gave a short, embarrassed cough, glancing round at her peers and then at Nathaniel before turning her attention to a broad, leather-bound tome, lying open already on the desk.

She began to flick through the pages in a vigorous motion, her small, chubby arms working like overfed mice across the yellowing pages of the book. Beside her Nathaniel thought he saw Miss Harpfeather's eyes roll in evident annoyance, though her spindly posture remained stock-still.

After a few moments of furious whipping through the large tome, Mistress Wicklefick stopped abruptly at a page, scanning down with one fat finger. She looked up at Nathaniel with piggy little eyes and delivered her question.

“What are the five effects that the spell ‘Dispel’ will not influence, in alphabetical order?”

Nathaniel felt his shoulders sag with relief – this question was easy. He’d read up on Dispel and its traits a thousand times last night during his speedy revision session.

“Dispel is not capable of affecting or manipulating in any way theses five characteristics: abilities, blessings, curses, diseases or magical items.” Nathaniel replied swiftly, confident in his answer, and to his pleasure he saw Mistress Wicklefick beam jovially at him in an excited sort of manner – her plump round cheeks making her lips seem much too small for her mouth.

“The boy is indeed correct. Proceed, Professor Parsedew.” She exclaimed in a mousy, high-pitched voice. Miss Harpfeather exhaled sharply, turning her nose up at Nathaniel. She was evidently not impressed. Nathaniel could only hope that whatever she had in store for him come her turn wasn’t too difficult, though he knew for sure that she wasn’t going to go easy on him.

First, however, he had to deal with Professor Parsedew’s question.

Being a renowned Mysticism wizard of mastery level, Professor Parsedew needed no book or resource to conjure up his question. The elderly mage removed his crooked blue hat, and placed it with care on his desk, leaning back against the wooden backrest and scratching his chin in deep thought. Nathaniel waited patiently, watching the wisps of silvery hair that sprouted from the Professor’s balding crown waft in the light breeze.

After a few minutes of silent contemplation, Professor Parsedew shot his question out of nowhere.

“Name the six prime ingredients that could be used to create a potent reflect damage potion, in order of availability.”

Nathaniel found his mind suddenly working overtime; he’d been taken aback by the quick-fired question at first, but once had composed himself, he remembered back to his revision workbook with ease, recalling the page of Alchemical Mysticism Potions. Remembering the ingredients wasn’t a problem; luckily he’d committed them to memory the night before. All that was left to do was arrange them in order of availability.

“Errm, the first, most common ingredient would be flour…then the Green Stain Cup Cap…” Professor Parsedew nodded and smiled an encouraging grin. He got no such encouragement, however, from Miss Harpfeather. Nathaniel continued regardless, confidence growing. “Then the strawberry, the salvaged skin of a scamp…the venom of a Spider Daedra…and finally the rarest ingredient of them all, which cannot be obtained by any legal means, the flayed skin of a live human.” Nathaniel finished proudly, and Professor Parsedew beamed just as Mistress Wicklefick had done at his perfect answer.

“That, dear boy, is correct. Well done! Now for your last question – Miss Harpfeather, do continue…” He clapped his hands together once to show his approval, as his eyes turned to Miss Harpfeather, along with Nathaniel’s.

“Thank you, Arthur.” Miss Harpfeather said coldly, uncrossing her spindly elbows and placing them curtly on her lap in one smooth, mechanical motion. Her calculating eyes rested on Nathaniel as he braced himself for what was coming.

“According to Tetronius Lor’s infamous book, Mysticism: The Unfathomable Voyage, what is the ancient term for Mysticism used by Psijics of the Isle of Arteum?”

Nathaniel’s heart sank. Miss Harpfeather knew Nathaniel had always disliked Magic History, and he could have sworn he saw her give a slight satisfied smirk as she delivered the question. She was trying to make him fail.

Mind swimming as he racked his brains for an answer, his thoughts wandered back to yesterday’s history lesson where he’d fallen asleep; and found himself dearly wishing he could travel back in time to change what had happened. For the second time today he cursed himself inwardly, if he’d paid more attention during that lesson he could have answered this question with a breeze.

He grunted in self-inflicted annoyance at his own stupidity, desperately trying to remember what had been on the board behind Miss Harpfeather’s ridiculous plumed headdress. His attempts were to no avail however, whenever he had a lead on something or an idea sprung to mind, the memory would suddenly slip out of his grasp and squirm away, leaving his mind blank and irritatingly empty. It was like he was looking through a misted window, he could see the answer, but he just couldn’t reach it.

“Ahem.” Miss Harpfeather coughed. “Do you have an answer, Nathaniel?” She asked politely, though Nathaniel noticed the discreet tinge of conceit in her voice.

Frustration turned to alarmed panic as he struggled to say anything, and his fright, he blurted out an answer, a wild stab in the dark.

“Could it be…the Old Way?” Nathaniel winced and shut his eyes in anticipation. He waited with bated breath for the words he dreaded, thinking what a loser he had been to fail the exam before even getting to the second stage.

To his surprise, none came. The voice he heard was that of Professor Parsedew’s.

“Bravo, boy! That was evidently the hardest question we’ve had today, wouldn’t you say so, Miss Harpfeather?”

Nathaniel opened his eyes cautiously, thinking himself to be dreaming. He saw Professor Parsedew and Mistress Wicklefick nodding with commending looks at each other and at Nathaniel, clearly impressed by his lucky answer. Miss Harpfeather however looked slightly taken aback and subdued, unmistakably shocked that Nathaniel had answered her question.

Nathaniel felt a measure of relief wave over him. He’d been lucky, but he’d done it, and that’s what counted. He could finally relax-

“Well then, young Nathaniel, you’ve answered all our questions correctly and accurately – very well, if I may say so – so now without further ado the second stage of the exam can begin.”

Nathaniel gulped, and what confidence he’d gained from completing the first exam suddenly melted away as the dread of the upcoming stage two of the test overcame him.

He forced himself to concentrate. He’d passed the first stage of questioning by the skin of his teeth, but that had been the easy part. Now it was time for the truly difficult test: the practical. If Nathaniel was ever going to complete a successful Mysticism spell, by the lost gods it had better be now.

“Please make your way back over there in front of those three tables, Nathaniel, and I shall explain what you have to do.”

Heart pounding, Nathaniel turned around nervously and approached the three tables, walking between one of the gaps to stand in front of the middle one, positioning himself on an already drawn-out mark painted on the floor. His shoes gave an awkward squeak as he walked; his palms slippery with sweat and his forehead misty. He wiped the moisture away from his brow with the sleeve of his jacket, trying not to look into the fierce sunlight that streamed in through the window beside him.

“Okay. Now for the second stage of the exam, Nathaniel.” Professor Parsedew croaked, smoothing down a stray wisp of grey-white hair. “You will find that the silver carafe sitting on that table over there contains a small measure of water. Your task, using a spell of Psychic Motion, will be to move the water into all three glasses and back to the carafe again. Spill but one drop of water, and you will be disqualified.”

He hesitated, allowing Nathaniel to take a good look at the tables and the three glasses. Normally, a mage would weigh up the distances, taking into account the wind and all sorts of different factors, but Nathaniel had done all those routine things ages ago, almost as soon as he’d entered the room. He wasn’t about to let anything go wrong. If he did, his apprenticeship was as good as gone.

“Take enough time as you need to prepare Nathaniel – you may begin.”Professor Parsedew stated, drawing out a quill from a nearby inkpot to take notes, as did the other examiners.

Nathaniel nodded his acknowledgement, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. He felt strangely nauseous and queasy, vulnerable, like all the eyes in the world were about to watch him fail.

Come on Nathaniel, he forced the words into his brain. You can do this.

The dazzling light from the thin window slits seeped into an oblong pool around him, bathing the stony floor at his feet in a pale brightness. It glinted sharply off the silver carafe and the three solitary glasses, each standing like a formidable tower on their respective table, the light giving everything an illusive, false sense of grandeur.

Ignoring his thoughts, Nathaniel shut his eyes and pretended he was the only person in the room, no professors, no students, no stupid exam, just him. Everything else was irrelevant, non-existent. It was just him, the tables, and the glasses.

And tentatively, like a child about to touch water for the first time, he reached out a hand towards the silver carafe.

Focusing every iota of his energy into his mind and through his body, he cast the spell, feeling the magic pulse out of him like a throbbing spear, coursing pure and tingling through his veins. A strange sensation took over Nathaniel, as if his arm was being stretched, out and towards the waiting carafe. It passed over the wooden table, feeling the grainy contours and grooves of the surface, as if he were touching it with his own fingers.

He waited, allowing the magic to reach and stretch out until he felt the smooth, cold surface of silver touch his illusory hand.

Without hesitation he grasped it, the spell making contact with the carafe and holding it fast. It wobbled ever so slightly as the transition was made, but Nathaniel held it steady, cold beads of sweat forming on his brow from intense concentration.

Slowly, but surely, he began to tip the edge of the jug toward the glass on the table beside it, as if an invisible person was pouring the carafe. After a few tense moments, Nathaniel felt and heard the first few droplets of water trickle out and patter gently on the bottom of the glass. Soon the trickle widened to a steady dribble, until the carafe was almost elevated horizontal by his spell and the water ceased to pour.

Nathaniel breathed a steady sigh of relief, but didn’t lose concentration. His collar was itchy and the hairs on the back of his neck rigid, but still he kept focused. Losing awareness at this crucial point would be fatal.

Allowing himself a few moment’s respite, he cast out his imaginary arm again and this time grasped the circular shape of the glass. It was more slippery and elusive than the roughened metal surface of the carafe, but was still captured securely by the spell.

With great care he began to move the glass sideways, feeling the base scrape smoothly across the wooden surface of the table as it slid in the direction of the next desk. Soon the roughness of the table surface fell away, and the glass was suspended in mid-air, floating ghost-like in a horizontal path across the room. Nathaniel remained attentive, careful not to break the connection between his hand, the spell and the glass. One slip and the glass would be gone, along with his apprenticeship.

He sensed the next table coming up, and slowing his hand, made the floating glass of water come to a gentle halt next to the second glass, which was noticeably thinner and smaller. Wary of dripping any water, he rotated the spell and the glass tipped just as before with silver carafe, spilling the liquid smoothly into the next glass at a controlled pace.

Good, thought Nathaniel. I’m halfway there.

He didn’t allow himself any rest this time, repeating the step to move the now thinner glass to the third table. The water now filled two thirds of this glass, making it more unbalanced and difficult to grasp with telekinesis. The thin shape threatened to elude his control on several occasions, wobbling precariously and making Nathaniel’s heart leap with fright, only to settle once again as he retained his composure.

Reaching the third and final table, he carefully poured the water into the thinnest glass, concentrating so hard he threatened to pass out.

Now it was the time for the last step.

Nathaniel wondered seeing how it had taken so much energy to get the glass to the third table if he’d ever get back to the first one without breaking his focus, the distance almost a full width across the room. It would take all the willpower and determination he had.

He breathed hard, and for the final time, cast his spell once again, feeling the magic clasp around the last glass. It was no thicker than his forearm and no taller than the span of his hand. Its curved, flawless surface felt smooth and clean in the spell’s touch, uncomfortably strange and odd after holding the carafe and the two larger, wider glasses.

The liquid nearly filled the smaller glass to the brim now; the water’s edge just a centimetre or so below the lip of the glass. Nathaniel had to be extremely cautious if he didn’t want any to spill. He tried to keep it level as best as he could as he began to move it across the room, above the tables, levitating it slowly at head height until glided level with Nathaniel. His levels of concentration were now so high his muscles had gone completely rigid, and cold beads of sweat traced a sticky route down his forehead.

He ignored them, not allowing anything to break his focus. He was nearly there. So near. The silver carafe stood, but a metre away now, shimmering resplendently in all its glory. Nathaniel’s heart leapt as he realised his goal was so close, relief and elation already beginning to wash over him. He was going to make it!

Then, out the corner of his eye, Nathaniel watched as a single, coal-black raven swept down towards the thin window next to him, perching deftly on the sill and peering into the room with one ebon eye. It glared at him suspiciously, giving a discordant, piercing caw whilst it pecked at the pane of glass with a sharp black beak.

At that very instant Nathaniel’s concentration broke. The spell split abruptly and dissipated from his hand, dissolving in front of him, the connection severed. He felt the magic withdraw, the energy wasting away before his very eyes. He knew what was going to happen before he even saw it.

The glass was suspended in thin air for a few, precious moments, before the inevitable happened and it began to fall towards the floor as if in slow-motion. Nathaniel could only stand and watch helplessly as the cup shattered on the stone ground into a thousand glimmering pieces, with a sound like rainwater on a window pane, shards of glass skittering on the floor and sparkling like gems in the rays of sunlight. The water inside exploded outwards, throwing a spider-shaped puddle that rapidly began to spread like a miniature tide, catching the sunlight on its liquid surface and gleaming like a mirror.

Nathaniel saw his own, bewildered face within it.

For a moment he was speechless. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out, only inaudible noises of despair as he watched the pool of water begin to swell around his feet. The row of students sitting behind him gasped, as Nathaniel struggled to make sense of what had just happened. He looked pleadingly at three professors sitting at the desk, still in shock, searching for some measure of sympathy or mercy from any of the teachers. He found none. Only grim, frowning faces stared back at him, disappointment and anger etched clear in their scalding glare.

Nathaniel’s mouth opened silently to form words that weren’t there, as he looked to the window where the Raven had perched. It gave him a blank look and fluttered away silently, leaving Nathaniel alone with his despair, distraught at what had just happened.

As the bird flew off the solemn figure of Arch-Mage Greymane stood into view behind it, framed in the slim window, his hands clasped behind his back. He regarded Nathaniel with a piteous look, shaking his head in clear disappointment before turning his back to the window and walking off into the sunlit courtyard, leaving Nathaniel to stare with hopelessness at the back of his ash-coloured robes.

A flurry of emotions fought to overwhelm Nathaniel in seconds, but one stood out clear amongst the rest, like an iron red-hot poker in his mind.

Anger.

He was angry, at himself, at Greymane, at the Raven and his own misfortune, at everyone. It felt as if the whole world was against him, isolated and alone, like swimming in a vast ocean.

You don’t belong here.

The words echoed in his mind, striking pangs of pain and agony into his heart each time they repeated, and for each syllable that reverberated within him his anger lessened, subdued by his despair at failing. He heard Miss Harpfeather screech his name, but he wasn’t really listening, fury and fear clouding his mind.

“…Nathaniel…you are hereby disqualified from the exam…”

Bemused and shocked, Nathaniel couldn’t believe his own ears. He had been so close, so near to proving that he really did belong in the University, that he really was cut-out to be a mage. But he had failed to prove anything, and worst of all, he had failed to prove it to himself. He had been a fool to think he could’ve passed this exam.

Hot tears stung his eyes as a sudden sensation of terrible emptiness overcame him. All he could think about was what the future held in store for him, would he leave the University altogether? Where would he go? What would he do?

They were all questions he held no answers to. Silently he walked back to the throng of students, now apprentices, who muttered between themselves as he approached. Some had looks of pity and sympathy on the faces, others callous amusement, others just stared at him silently as he retained his position amongst them all, gazing blankly into space.

Miss Harpfeather stood and began to walk over to the group of students, leaving Professor Parsedew and Mistress Wickfickle to clear the desk. Her shoes clacked on the stone floor as she carefully avoided the spilt water. When she arrived she addressed the crowd with the same shrill, strident voice.

“Okay students, that is it! The Mysticism Exams are over, and you’ve all done extremely well. I am very proud to call you apprentices.” She glared at Nathaniel with a cold, uncompromising stare. “Well, most of you.”

“Arch-Mage Greymane will be hosting a graduation party in the hall in two days time for all you students, in celebration for your ascension to apprenticeship. All are welcome, so prepare you best clothes, but most of all relax, your studies are now over!”

The excitement and joy of the school year’s end was lost on Nathaniel, though the pupils around him cheered and cried out in clear relief at not having to work next term. Nathaniel, however, shied into the corner, still staring with a glassy look into thin air. He was still struggling to comprehend what had just happened.

The examinees were dismissed by Miss Harpfeather, and one by one, they left the hall in single file, most of them cheering in high spirits and buzzing with excitement and happiness.

Most, but not all.

Nathaniel walked alongside the procession of joyful students in seclusion, reluctant to join in with the revelry, thinking how he could have been celebrating with them right now if it wasn’t for the stupid crow and Greymane’s devastating threat. The midday sun glowered in his eyes as he walked, beginning to dry the tears that traced from them.

“Don’t worry, Nathaniel.” A smarmy voice jibed by his ear, and Nathaniel didn’t have to turn around to know it was Patrickus Grinlime. “There’s always next year…and the next year… and the year after that. Like I said, I’m sure you’ll pass one day.” He gloated, chuckling to himself in unhidden malice before running on to join the rest of the travelling celebrations.

Nathaniel ignored Grinlime’s goading words and stinging insults, though deep within him, he felt them awaken something, like a dangerous fire being ignited. As the sun continued to stream hot light onto Nathaniel’s reddened face like a merciless and baleful eye, the twisted seeds of revenge began to grow inside him, and in his anguished mind he began formulating a plan of vengeance…

He’d show them.

This post has been edited by Illydoor: May 20 2009, 08:43 PM

[Colonel Mustard]

Oh dear...

That was really well done, you know, and very tense. An extremely enjoyable read indeed.

[seerauna]

Have to echo Colonel Mustard there, oh dear... I hope Nathaniel doesn't do anything to drastic...

Very tense, I was almost holding my breath with the glasses. Stupid raven, it did a bad thing.

Anyways, keep up the good work, waiting anxiously for the next update.

[Illydoor]

Thanks Bean and Seerauna .

[Illydoor]

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

Chapter VI: The Seeds Are Sown

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His hands froze on the lock.

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In two days time, Nathaniel would take his revenge.

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

[Olen]

Good update, I like the extra time you're taking in the build up, it makes it all more convincing. And I'm most interested to see what he does next.

Commentwase not much really, some slightly odd word choices threw me a bit, 'region' was a prime example of this though there were a few others.

Good stuff on ending with the cliffy, but I would like to know more...

[Illydoor]

Hellooo people, I'm back and well which means I can start writing again .

Thanks for your comments Olen, I'm glad you enjoyed it - I'll check up on those odd words that you mentioned.

*breathes in* Feels good to be home...

[Colonel Mustard]

Aha, you're back.

*Rubs hands together*

Eeexcelent...

[seerauna]

Can't wait for an update...

[Colonel Mustard]

I am in concurance.

[Illydoor]

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

Chapter VII: The Gloomy Corridor

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

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

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

Revenge is sweet, Nathaniel mused.

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

He was way too nervous to eat.

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

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

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

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

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

All he had to do was wait.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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