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Post by hippo on Feb 18, 2006 3:08:18 GMT -5
The Road to Scholomance
----
"So why do you want to join the Cult of the Damned?"
"Because, uh, I think being undead is really awesome," Nathan stammered, caught off-guard.
"Oh, yeah. I can't wait till I get to turn into a Lich," The farm-boy gushed. "I've written a poem about it. Do you want to hear it?"
No. For the love of all things, NO.
Nathan bit his tongue. "Sure," He meekly managed.
"Pain ever-lasting / Torment untold, / All will soon end / When my heart grows cold."
"Wow. Really, wow," Nathan mumbled. "That's, uh, really..."
"I feel it really helps express the darkness in my soul," The boy admitted. "But my parents never appreciated my poetry. I think becoming undead will be very therapuetic."
The hay wagon came to a grating halt, nearly sending both children tumbling off to the ground.
"This is far as I go," The farmer grunted. "Place is haunted."
Both Nathan and his recently-joined companion drew their eyes up to Caer Darrow. The once-mighty fortress was withered with age, it's walls cracking like yellow paper.
Before they knew it, the farmer had turned his mule around and drove off. The children cautiously made their way into Caer Darrow.
Their feet had scarcely stepped across the threshold before they realized they were not alone.
"Welcome, children, to Scholomance."
----
"I have reason to believe Kel'Thuzad has started a school, Landazar."
"Enough. I will not listen to this foolishness, Nigel. We don't have the resources to spare-"
"Do you understand what this could mean? An entire university dedicated to these arts, teaching them to whomever would listen. If you don't have the man-power to spare, I am willing to look into it personally."
"Enough. We need you here, Nigel. The Blackrock Orcs are on the move again, and on top of that, demons have been re-appearing in Dalaran. You will not waste any more time with this matter. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
----
"What a delight, to see such eager children interested in matters of true magic," Head-master Gandling purred. "But I'm afraid I have some terrible, awful news..."
The children were surrounded by shadows. They seemed to grow larger with Head-master Gandling's words, as if greedily drinking in every syllable.
"You see, as much as I would adore to take you both into my humble school, I fear that I only have room for one... Such a perplexing problem...! What do you think we should do...?"
Nathan and the farm-boy exchanged glances, before looking back to the pale-faced head-master in confusion. Gandling only offered them both a knowing smile.
To his credit, it was the farm-boy who figured it out first. He dropped down to heft up a large rock before turning to Nathan.
Then he brought it swinging down for Nathan's head.
"Hey! Watch it!" Nathan yelped, springing back just in time to avoid having his brains dashed in. Head-master Gandling's smile grew.
"What an inventive little boy!" The teacher exclaimed, clapping his hands together joyfully.
"Sorry, but I've just got to become a mage," The farm-boy shrugged, taking up a fighting stance with the rock held in one hand.
Nathan lifted his palms pleadingly. "I don't want to hurt you..."
"Oh, now that's certainly boring," Gandling pouted.
"I'll dedicate my next poem to you." The farm-boy lunged.
----
"Dad?"
"I am busy, Nathan. Return to your studies."
"I heard you arguing with someone earlier. What's-"
"Simply more idiocy. The Kirin Tor, as per usual, are ignoring the true dangers. Return to your studies, Nathan. I have work to do."
"I just wanted to ask-"
"Return to your studies. Now."
----
Neither Gandling or the hapless farm-boy were prepared for what happened next.
There was a flash of searing light, and then a scream of pain; the farm-boy stumbled back, clutching at his singed hair. Tongues of shimmering flame licking harmlessly between Nathan's fingers.
"Stop. Now," Gandling hissed, his hand snatching at Nathan's wrist. He twisted painfully, breaking Nathan's concentration and causing the spell to fade. "You know magic all ready?!"
Nathan shivered at the contact, fear crackling down his spine. "I... y-yes, I've..."
"Impossible. You are too young." Gandling twisted harder. Nathan's arm felt like it was going to break.
"I'm from Dalaran," Nathan gasped, gulping at the air like a desperate fish. "I ran away. I ran away from home."
----
"I will return within a month's time. Keep to your studies," Nigel commanded, "And do not touch my notes."
Nathan nodded solemnly and promised to do just that. But as soon as his father had stepped out the door, he had leapt upon his books and journals, voraciously swallowing them up one by one.
Caer Darrow. Scholomance. Necromancy. Kel'Thuzad.
Nathan smiled. He had an idea. An absolutely splendid, positively magnificient idea.
Rolling up his father's maps, he proceeded to pack his things.
----
"Perhaps I was too rash in my initial judgement," Gandling sweetly purred, releasing Nathan's arm. "There may be room for both of you after all." The greedy look that the head-master threw his way only made Nathan shiver all the more.
"Gentlemen. See to it our two guests are fed and made comfortable."
The shadows swallowed them all up.
----
"Do you realize who that is?"
"Yes."
"Do you realize who you have allowed into our Master's house?! That is Nigel Carveggio's brat!"
"I am aware."
"Have you lost your mind? You'll bring Dalaran down upon-"
"The boy has run away from home. They have no way of tracking him here... And consider. If we can turn him..."
"What if we can? One more lamb to the slaughter, no more valuable than the rest. The risk is too great."
"Have some vision! Nigel Carveggio is not a threat as long as his son is under our power. And you forget just how powerful Nigel is. Imagine if his son had that potential..."
"...if."
"And let us not forget that the Carveggio family is particularly... well-off."
"I see your point. But at the first twitch of insubordination - at the slightest sign of danger..."
"Of course. I'll personally feed him to the Ravenian."
----
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Post by hippo on Feb 18, 2006 3:08:38 GMT -5
Fundamentals
----
"What is this?"
The book was gone from Nathan's fingers before he had a chance to hide it. With a thought, Nigel stripped bare the spell-book's enchantments - and then it was swallowed up by a rising coil of flame.
"Wait, don't-" Nathan began, but it was too late. Naught was left but ash.
"Where did you acquire that book? Are there more?" The ice in Nigel's voice would put a glacier to shame.
"No... I b-bought it, with-"
"The books I have given you are the only ones you will ever need. Never stray from the path I have set before you, Nathan. Magic is dangerous. One wrong step can destroy everything you hold dear."
"I just want to be powerful like you, dad."
"No, Nathan. We aren't powerful. We are merely necessary."
"...necessary?"
"Magic isn't about power."
----
"Magic is about power."
The teacher waited, letting the weight of this statement settle. The students - a mottled assortment of peasants and farmers - remained silent, tightly packed in the cramped crypt.
"The dogs of Lordaeron will not let you learn magic. They hide with their secrets in their dusty towers, trembling in fear. Magic, you see, shall set you free," The teacher spoke, smiling. "Consider how many miracles are plausible with magic... You!"
He stabbed a finger towards a particularly pale-looking boy, who gave a start and leapt to his feet. "You have the look of a farmer about you. How many hours a day did you work on the field to produce crops?"
The boy smiled shyly, flushing with embarassment. "I guess... well, from sun-up till sun-down, depending on the season..."
"Are you aware that one of the first spells a mage learns allows them to produce edible food within seconds?!"
The farm-boy blinked, indicating that he did not. The teacher's smile only grew.
"Do you not see? With magic, there is no need for back-breaking work and daily toil! No pain, no suffering! If our rulers are so wise, why have they not seen this? Why do they not share their secrets with you?!"
Many of the students were growing agitated. Several were nodding angrily, while others were muttering curses towards Lordaeron underneath their breath. Among them, only a few - Nathan in particular - were quiet.
The teacher silenced them all with a wave of his hand. "I will tell you why," He began, lifting a finger. "Because they wish to control you. They do not wish to share their secrets with you...! But there are those among us who believe that the time for lies has come to an end. There is someone who loves you enough to share with you every secret, every spell, every cantrip those fools in their lofty towers dare not..."
The teacher paused, letting the students lean forward in eager expectation. The smile he leveled upon them was positively brimming with benevolent bliss.
"He is the Lich-King, and lo - his kingdom is nigh."
----
"Listen, about trying to kill you earlier... I'm sorry about that."
Nathan blinked, looking up from his studies. The farm-boy from earlier - the one who had tried to brain him with a rock - was standing sheepishly in front of him.
"Er, okay," Nathan began. He was admittedly inexperienced with the etiquette behind accepting apologies for attempted homicides.
"I'm Marcus, by the way. I composed a poem to express my guilt over the-"
"That'sreallynotnecessarybutthankyou," Nathan immediately snapped.
"I see." Marcus shuffled uncomfortably. "So, could you, uh... maybe... um..."
"...yes?"
"Show me how to do that thing you did with the fire?"
"No."
----
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Post by hippo on Feb 18, 2006 3:08:57 GMT -5
"Keep an eye on Master Carveggio, will you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Make sure he's happy and content. We don't want our little star pupil getting any ideas."
"Yes, sir."
"And if you hear him say anything suspicious - anything at all - run back here and report it to me in a blink. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Now run along."
"Yes, sir."
----
"When do we learn how to make bread and water?"
The question was answered by a glower as the grim-faced Mordant stalked the room like some ravenous bird-of-prey, sending students scuttling away whenever he approached. Twice as tall as a stork and three times as oily, he had quickly made it clear to everyone in his class that he did not tolerate anything but blind, stupid obedience.
"Who said that?" Mordant's nose twitched, eyes settling on Nathan. The boy was poised over his book, eyes scouring the text for some deeply buried secret. "You."
Nathan blinked, looking up. "Hm?"
"You said it."
Confusion struggled with surprise and was finally slain by indignance.
"No I didn't."
Mordant's finger stabbed so close to Nathan's throat that he swore it was going to go right through. The man's skin was cold to the touch, and made Nathan twitchy. "Don't get smart with me, boy. You may think you're special just because you came from Dalaran, but here in Scholomance we don't tolerate disobedience."
"I didn't say anything!"
"Another word out of you and I'll throw you into the bone-pit, understand?"
Nathan locked his mouth shut. Mordant smiled.
"Better. Now, where were we? Oh, yes - discussing the fundamentals of magic. I'm sure that the fools at Dalaran filled our dear Nathan's mind with many ridiculous notions concerning magic," Mordant stalked among the fanatically studying students, desperately transcribing his every word. "But here at Scholomance, we practice true magic - not absurd cantrips."
For a moment, Nathan remembered his father - laying a book's enchantments bare with only a thought, then dismissing it in a spiral of flame.
"Open your books to page 57."
----
"You're Nigel Carveggio's son, right?"
Nathan looked up. Cute girl, he thought, shifting uncomfortably.
"Yes."
"My name's Rosalyn." She shoved her hand out to him. He took it, gave it a fanciful shake, then hid his blush behind a book. "You're kind of a celebrity here, you know."
"I noticed. It isn't that big of a deal."
"You can all ready cast spells!" Rosalyn exclaimed, then dropped her voice as several students throughout the cramped makeshift library hushed her. "I mean, most of us can do a little magic, now, but you..."
"It's not a big deal," Nathan asserted again, shoving his nose deeper in.
"Why'd you run away?"
"Because they don't teach you the strong spells in Dalaran," Marcus cut in. The farm-boy had snuck his way quietly over to Nathan's table, and now inserted himself in the open seat between Nathan and Rosalyn. "They don't trust you with powerful magic until you're over ninety and your beard's longer than you are tall and your head's full of bats."
Magic isn't about power.
"It's... they just don't want to rush you," Nathan muttered, bristling at Marcus' closeness. The boy still threw him off - he had no idea how to deal with him. "Magic can be dangerous if you do it too fast."
Marcus waved his hand. "If magic's so dangerous then why did you come here?"
Never stray from the path I have set before you, Nathan.
"I wanted to do something for myself."
----
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Post by hippo on Feb 18, 2006 3:09:26 GMT -5
Friends in Low Places
----
With an urgent tug of fingers, Nigel drew forth ribbons of living flame from the restless air. An errant gesture sent them lashing forward, scalding the rancid flesh of the undead - drawing long stretches of charred meat across them.
One after the other, each creature was lavished with the touch of fire - until each in turn bore Nigel's blackened mark. Undeterred, they continued to shamble forward.
Calmly, he spoke a word. The freshly-burned symbols glowed a bright scarlet, then exploded - one after the other bursting like over-ripe kernels of corn, erupting in flashes of disintegrating heat.
Nathan peeked out from behind Nigel's leg. To the little boy - who had only recently learned how to speak - the fire mage seemed to tower as high as the heavens.
"Are you all right, Nathan?"
Nathan nodded his head, then looked back at the house. "Mom?"
"Gather your things. We're leaving for Dalaran."
----
"The undead are without sickness or pain."
Trembling, the skeleton drew itself to its feet. It was a spiny unnatural thing that hunched low, it's crude form stapled together with metal slots.
"They feel no thirst, no hunger, no age."
The thing made a low, guttural hiss, it's hollow sockets giving an uneven pulse.
"Imagine, children! A society without disease or famine, without death or war. A society where all are equal. This is what the Lich-King offers you..."
The skeleton twisted and writhed beneath the flow of magics, suddenly clutching at it's bleached skull with long, crawling nails.
"...no wonder Lordaeron is terrified! They fear our righteousness, our-"
It released an ear-shattering shriek and lunged towards the students, hungry claws reaching for eyes.
It was swallowed in a ball of flame and shadow and belched out as dust.
Mordant sniffed. "Of course, some mistakes are expected. You have your home-work, children..."
The class shuffled quietly out of the room.
----
"I think being undead sounds awful," Rosalyn mused.
"Well, you're certainly in the wrong place, then," Marcus snorted. "At least when you're undead people are afraid of you."
"What do you think, Nathan?"
"I don't know." Nathan was scratching notes into his journal, skimming through an open book.
"You seem awfully intent on studying all those demonology books," Marcus noted, eyeing the dangerous binding. "Demons won't get you anywhere but dead."
"It's just very interesting," Nathan mentioned distractedly. "And Master Mordant said we should take from a broad spectrum of studies."
"Just don't forget what you're here to learn," Marcus added, leaning forward to peer at the particular chapter Nathan was focusing on.
Nathan snapped the book shut. "I won't."
----
Three key ingredients are required for the summoning of a demon: Will, patience, and sacrifice.
Nathan's finger paused beneath that last word. Sacrifice.
Nathan bit his lip, glancing around the room. Several students were sleeping, their school-issued grimoires clutched desperately to their chests.
The boy rose to his feet and drew his dagger. He snuck his way to the corner of the room where his eyes caught the sight of something moving.
"I'm sorry," He whispered, then closed his eyes and slammed the dagger down.
----
The first thing Piznik did was spit out a wad of foul-tasting phlegm.
"Rat's blood? You used a rat to summon me?" The impling was stricken with disbelief. "I've never worked for so little! I'd have even settled for orc's blood, or maybe a dead night-elf, but a rat?!"
Nathan sniffled, blinking back tears. He was too awe-struck by the shriveled little thing in front of him to offer any sort of comment - instead, he just stared, his chin perched atop of his folded knees and his arms wrapped around his shins.
"Despicable!" Piznik stomped furiously, before pausing to stare up at the absolutely silent Nathan. He folded his arms across his chest, wicked little flames whorling above him in a mockery of a halo. "Well?"
"Well what?" Nathan sniffed.
"Are you going to let me go, or what?"
"You have to do what I tell you," Nathan mumbled, rubbing at one of his wet puffy eyes.
"Huff! You think you're pretty clever, don't you? Little bratling. You aren't the boss of-"
"I know you have to do what I tell you, and if you don't stop being a pest, I'll tell you to bite off your own fingers," Nathan half-heartedly warned him.
Piznik harumphed. "Fine. Be that way. So what did you summon me for anyway, boss?"
"I need your help." Nathan glanced around the room, making sure none of the sleeping students were within ear-shot. "You're going to be evidence."
"Evidence of what?"
"To prove my father was right. That there is a school for warlocks and necromancers in Caer Darrow. I'm going to take you to the Kirin Tor..."
"The Kirin Tor?! They'll EAT me!" Piznik shrieked.
"Be quiet!" Nathan hissed, shoving his hand roughly around the impling's head. Once the creature had quieted down, he drew his arms back and returned to his sitting position. "They won't hurt you. I won't let them. After I show you to them, I'll... I'll just send you back."
"What's your rush to leave, anyway? Joint looks pretty nice, actually," Piznik mentioned, giving the crypt a once-over. "Kind of homey."
"I hate this place. It's awful. I want to go home."
"Maybe you should give it a chance," The impling offered slyly. "Listen. It's pretty bad here, yes, but you're learning things, right? You learned how to summon me, right?"
"Yes, and I had to kill a rat to do it." Nathan sniffled some more. "And you're evil."
"Hey, now. You don't even know me yet." The imp put on his most charming grin, which was somewhere between a grimace and a snarl. "Besides, now that you've got me, things get easier."
"Easier?"
"Didn't they telling you this all ready? By Sargeras' eye, what are they teaching you kids these days?! I'm your door into the serious magic, boss. I can teach you things. Big things. Great things. But only if you feed me."
"Feed... you?"
"Yes. I eat grimoires." The imp licked his chops. "And I'm feelin' a serious case of munchies coming on."
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Post by hippo on Feb 18, 2006 3:09:41 GMT -5
----
Araj -
The boy's training is coming along splendidly. Initially he showed a great deal of reluctance, but recently he has grown a voracious appetite for books. Infact, perhaps a little too voracious - several key tomes have gone missing.
His power is considerable. I believe he will make an excellent asset for the operation to come. However, his loyalty is questionable. I have it from good sources that he may have originally arrived here with the intent to spy on us.
Ah, the whims of children, yes?
I await your further instruction.
-Headmaster Gandling
----
Nigel:
Your son has been missing for over a year. You must come to terms with the fact that he is very likely dead. Stop this fruitless search and return to Dalaran - your people need you. Lordaeron has all ready sent out a formal request for aid.
I have allowed you your quest out of both professional respect for you as well as experience in how it feels to lose a child, but my patience has reached its limits. Either return to your official duties or turn in your resignation.
Landazar
----
Lord Gandling,
I must humbly protest against your decision to grant Nathan Carveggio access to our restricted books. Not only is he unready (the boy lacks any sense of discipline, control, or respect for authority), but I have reason to believe he is guilty of theft.
I would recommend that you place him directly underneath my tutelage. I am confidant in my ability to whip him into shape.
Your Most Humble Servant,
Mordant Frost
----
Dear Nigel Carveggio,
We regret to inform you that as of the time-stamped date of this letter, the bulk of your estate has been liquidated in an attempt to reimburse our company. If you are able to find means to pay your outstanding debts towards us within two weeks, please immediately come to our offices in southern Stormwind.
You will find a receipt disclosing the full details of what you owe on the loans and mortgages included with this letter.
----
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Post by hippo on Feb 18, 2006 3:09:57 GMT -5
----
Huff, huff, huff...
"Uuuunnnh..."
"Yeah," Nathan panted, "I know I'm late, but-"
"Nnnrrrrrgh..."
"There was an accident in the alchemy lab, and-"
"Nnnnnggh..."
"C'mon, are you going to let me in or what?"
The glowering corpse finally gave a relenting grunt and shuffled to the side. Nathan grinned. "Thanks. I owe you some fresh stitches." He bolted into the room.
----
The viewing room was alive with pitch and flame.
Nathan coaxed forth streaks of scarlet from the reluctant air, lashing tongues of fire upwards to catch Rosalyn's errant spells. Attack after attack was gobbled up by bursts of heat, burning enchantments away.
"That's cheating," Rosalyn frowned. She snatched a shadow from the air and threw it at Nathan.
Nathan grinned, igniting it with a wave of his hand. "That's magic."
"How did you get so good so fast?"
"It's a secret."
Rosalyn drew up another spell into her fingers, letting the shadows dance between her knuckles before sending them racing towards Nathan's feet. Nathan visibly blanched as the curse settled over him, stumbling back.
"Humph! And now I'll turn you into a frog." Rosalyn darted forward, fingers wiggling with playful menace.
Twisting under the weight of the curse, Nathan dropped to his knees and drew a symbol on the dust of the floor. Just as Rosalyn was about to reach him, the symbol grew bright - and the floor began to glow.
"AUGH!" Rosalyn yelped, springing back and out of Nathan's radius. The earth around him grew blackened and charred. "Nathan! What are you doing?" Panic edged into Rosalyn's voice.
Nathan grimaced, wiping the symbol away. The glow immediately abated - but when he rose, he looked a bit more pale with small trails of smoke rising up from his shoulders. He smelled slightly of sulphur. "I don't think I'm ready for that one."
"What kind of spell was that? It burned you, too."
"It's a spell I'm researching. My father used to do something like it. I think I got it wrong, though..."
Rosalyn yelped as Nathan's fingers suddenly lashed out, rousing a sleeping shadow at her feet to awaken and clutch at her legs and waist. The girl struggled for a moment against the murky bindings, then found herself face-to-face with a suddenly very-close Nathan.
"Hum, I win. Do I get a kiss?"
Rosalyn blinked and blushed furiously, squirming. "No."
"You're no fun." Nathan waved to the shadows. "Off with you. Scoot! Shoo!" Reluctantly, they obeyed.
"You've gotten a lot less shy..."
"Yes. It's been a good year, I think. I didn't know magic could be this..."
"Interesting?"
"Yes. It was always abysmally boring books and theories. My dad didn't like it if I had fun."
"Well..."
"Sorry to interrupt your 'conversation'," Both students could feel Mordant's chilling presence before they saw him. "But Nathan and I have business. Rosalyn, be a dear and return to your studies."
Rosalyn peeked out from behind Nathan's shoulder, quickly nodded, and darted off to do just that. Nathan quietly prepared himself as Mordant approached, fingers wiggling. He didn't trust Frost - not one bit.
"I bet you think you're special, don't you?"
"No, sir."
"Learning all those spells so quickly isn't natural. Who's helping you?"
"No one, sir."
"I'm quite sure." Mordant clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "Despite my request to the contrary, Gandling has decided to allow you the oppurtunity to work on one of this school's most important operations. It will be your graduation project."
"Operation, sir?"
"You will be aiding in the research of a very important spell. An alchemical reagent, actually. Several members of our school - including myself - have all ready contributed. I doubt you will add much of interest, but it might provide excellent experience for you."
"I understand, sir."
"I will have the pertinent research documents delivered to you shortly. Review them immediately and submit a paper detailing your thoughts. Due tonight. Before light's out."
"Yes, sir."
----
Piznik gnawed hungrily on the skull of the very same rat he had been summoned with so long ago. "Hey, boss."
"Hm?" Nathan was pouring over his tomes, scribbling away notes.
"When are we splittin' this joint? It's been a while, now."
"Soon. Graduation is in a few weeks, maybe a month."
"I thought you were supposed to report these guys to the Kirin Tor, or something?"
"Yes," Nathan nodded, chewing thoughtfully at the tip of the feather. "But... I'm learning a lot more here than I ever learned back at Dalaran. Why not finish my education, first?"
"It's boring here. You got another book?"
"Here, fresh from the library." Nathan threw the grimoire down before Piznik, who immediately dropped the rat's skull and sprang upon the binding. Sniffing the book carefully, the imp proceeded to give it an indepth inspection, eyeing it for any imperfections.
"Hmm... Excellent year, exquisite binding... Yes, I think this will do perfectly!"
Piznik's jaw suddenly cracked wide open, dislocating. He roughly shoved the book downwards into his mandibles, momentarily distorting his throat with the bulging shape of the manual, then swallowed it whole. The book's shape immediately disappeared - and Piznik expelled a belch.
"Delicious."
"Now shush. I need to finish this by tonight, or old man Frost will freeze me into a statue and use me as a coat-rack."
"Maybe I can help with-"
"Thanks but no thanks. I'm just about done. Why don't you gnaw on your rat skull s'more?"
"Hmph."
----
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Post by hippo on Feb 18, 2006 3:10:19 GMT -5
----
Nigel -
Although we appreciate your input into the matter before the council concerning the recent outbreak of plagues in northern Lordaeron, it is the opinion of the Kirin Tor that evacuation is not necessary. Some of our best mages are all ready working with emissaries from Quel'thalas to create a cure.
The advice this committee will offer to King Terenas is that a quarantine should be sufficient at this time to contain the outbreaks while we work on a solution.
Meanwhile, Lordaeron has repeated their continued requests for magical aid against the Blackrock orcs. I am assigning you to a unit underneath Prince Arthas. The necessary papers should be included in this envelope.
-Landazar
----
Gandling:
The improvements to the formula your students have made are commendable. Finish what work is necessary and prepare the rest for use. The testing phase is complete.
The Lich-King's time is at hand.
-K
----
Sir:
As you have requested, I have continued to monitor the subject closely during this crucial period. As you have seen for yourself, his additions to the formula are brilliant - but he still remains unaware of just what it is that he is improving.
I believe, however, that he has suspicions.
I shall continue to monitor him and wait for your orders.
----
Excellent work.
Scrutinize him. If it becomes apparent he will attempt to leave or turn against us, kill him immediately. I am leaving this matter to your discretion. Consider carefully.
-Gandling
----
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Post by hippo on Feb 18, 2006 3:10:40 GMT -5
Graduation Day
----
Mordant Frost pursed his lips, eyes scouring the paper for mistakes. It was only after a whole minute had passed before he gazed at Nathan.
"Your solution is clumsy, but... adequate."
It almost hurts him to admit that, Nathan secretly gloated.
"I shall add your equation to the formula." Mordant slid the paper aside. "Be honored. Your meager contribution shall sit besides some of the most brilliant minds Azeroth has to offer."
"What is it exactly I've been helping to make?" Nathan blurted his question out with the direct sincerity only children could manage.
Mordant scowled. "That's not your place to ask, bratling. Be thankful for my generosity and return to your quarters. Somehow, you have managed to get this far without screwing up. But you still have one more day left."
----
Shortly after, a letter arrived at Gandling's desk. It was as it always was: Simple, brutal, and written with elegance:
Gandling:
I have concerns over some of the more recent changes. Test the new product. Considering we all ready have ample flock in the fields, your lambs will make adequate subjects.
Spare those you deem to be an asset.
-K
Head-master Gandling pondered over the letter briefly before committing it to the candle-flame.
----
The solution to Mordant's final equation had been the most troublesome. Nathan had only arrived at it after much pondering and a strange dream.
Silently, he traced the answer he had provided upon the floor. It was the same sigil he saw his father use to dispatch the dead, by scrawling it upon their chests with flame.
"Hey, what are you doing messing with that stuff?" Piznik's grating voice drilled into Nathan's ear from his shoulder. The boy grimaced, throwing a angry stare.
"Shush. I'm studying this symbol."
"That symbol?" Piznik sniffed. "That's heavy stuff, boss."
"You know this symbol? Tell me about it," Nathan instantly commanded.
Piznik sniffed some more. "Demonic stuff, boss. Strong mojo. Some of the strongest. It's a contract, see," he explained, shuffling off Nathan's shoulder to land at the foot of the mark. Tracing a wickedly curved claw down it's surface, he tapped where it ended. "Basically, you make a trade."
"A trade?" Nathan frowned. His father had used a demonic sigil?
"Yeah, a trade. Something for now, and payment later. Like I said, dangerous mojo. Cosmic debt and that sort of stuff. I don't know all about it, but..."
"My father used this a lot. He'd scrawl it on enemies with lashes of fire..."
"Ooh, your dad was a 'Lock?"
Nathan instantly boxed Piznik's ears. The imp shrieked, dancing in a frantic fury.
"What was that for?!"
"My dad wasn't a Warlock," Nathan scowled.
"But he used that symbol, didn't he?"
Nathan frowned, then erased the symbol from the ground.
Clumsy, but... adequate.
Something didn't feel right.
----
"The Lich-King wishes you all to partake in the bounty of his love. Behold, children - your graduation dinner."
None of them - not even Nathan - had ever seen a feast so lavishly decadent. The table groaned beneath the weight of meats, breads, and cheeses of every type - with bottles of wine set at every seat.
"You have justly earned this," Head-master Gandling explained, standing at the end of the table. "Now feast to your heart's content."
Everyone rushed forward in a daze, drawn by the intoxicating smell. They had been fed nothing but bread and water for over a year, and the sight of so much delicious food was too much for them. But as Nathan and Rosalyn moved, a set of cold hands seized their shoulders.
"Not you two," Mordant Frost hissed, his eyes laced with frigid displeasure. "You don't get to eat. Not a bite."
Nathan positively fumed. He was one step away from frying Mordant like a stuck pig, but a glance to Rosalyn quieted him up. He sulked while the other students eagerly tore into freshly prepared roast boar and lamb chops.
"My dear, dear children," Head-master Gandling began with a crooked smile. "Allow me to say that it has been an absolute pleasure to teach every single one of you. However, as you may or may not know, our Master has asked us to limit the output of our school this year. With this in mind, I am saddened to announce only a select few of you will be graduating."
Some of the students glanced over to Nathan and Rosalyn and instantly assumed that they were the ones who were to be left out. Although a rare few gave them sympathic glances, the vast majority gloated between bites of succulent meat and soft, warm bread.
"However, to those who have not made the cut, fear not. In His infinite love, the Lich-King has found a use for you..." Gandling's smile was blissfully sweet as he watched the students stuff themselves full of the fine, exquisite food. Several of them were all ready leaning back in their chairs, belching in satisfaction. "You will serve him in another capacity."
Several of the students were rubbing their bellies, looking mildly troubled. The rich food seemed to be giving them indigestion. One or two of them looked as if they had eaten too much, and were on the verge of vomitting.
Nathan, who was positively squirming underneath Mordant's icy touch, noticed something was going horribly wrong.
"They're getting... Pale. What's... What's going on?"
"Shut up. You have been given an honor, boy," Mordant growled. "You get to see the fruits of your labor in action."
"Oh... Oh..." Rosalyn blinked, hands darting up to her cheeks.
Many of the students were groaning now, clutching at their bellies or squirming in their seats in pain. One or two had collapsed to the floor and showed no signs of moving beyond an occasional twitch. Some were trying to escape, stumbling to their feet and clumsily making their way to the door.
"What's wrong, my dear, sweet children? Do you not enjoy our delightful repast? Our chefs toiled hard for you," Gandling jeered, stepping in front of one of the escapees. He shoved him back towards the table, grinning.
Like Death at a carnival, Nathan thought, and shivered. "They need help! Let go!" He shouted up at Mordant, who only tightened his grip.
It was then that Nathan did a very foolish thing. With a thought and a gesture of his fingers, he pulled out a handful of flame and pressed it close against Mordant's knuckles.
"Augh! You little bastard!" Mordant shrieked, drawing back at the scent of his own flesh burning. Nathan darted forward, charging towards the table of groaning children. The first one he found was Marcus, who had fallen back to the floor with bread-crumbs still clinging to his chin.
"Marcus! Are you all ri-"
"Oooh... my tummy... hurts," Marcus mumbled, blinking. "Really, really... Urgh..." He began to spasm and kick.
Several of the students who had stopped moving now began to draw themselves up to their feet. There was a slowness about them, as if every action had to be carefully calculated... And when they opened their eyes, there was nothing but a milky white stare, absent of anything.
Nathan stepped back. He recognized the blankness on their faces. He had seen it countless times as a child: the face of the undead.
"Nathan. Calm yourself," Gandling purred, making his way between the rising undead. Most of the students had all ready made the transition, and were now obediently shuffling behind the teacher. "Mmmm... This version of the plague works much more quickly, Mordant..."
Mordant was still eyeing the burns on his hand, spitting out a series of curses. "That little... Why the hell is he still alive, Gandling?!" The mage pointed at Nathan, fuming with rage.
"Because he's the one with the most promise. Aren't you, Nathan...?" Gandling smiled.
Nathan was staring at Marcus, who had only just now entered the final stages of death. His eyes fluttered open, pupils obscured beneath a misty layer of pearl white.
"Now be a good boy and apologize to Mordant for burning him. Our Master is pleased with your progress, Nathan, as he is with Rosalyn's. He would like it very much if... What in the world is that?" Gandling frowned, staring at Marcus' temple.
A single sigil had appeared, glowing a brilliant scarlet. It seemed to burn up from under the crown of Marcus' brow, bulging into a small burst of smoke. Nathan had used his father's mark in the formula, a contract with the Burning Legion.
Demonic stuff, boss. Strong mojo. Some of the strongest. It's a contract, see. Basically, you make a trade.
Realization seized Nathan's mind. His solution hadn't merely been a clumsy equation, but an unwitting request for aid. And now the contract was rising to the surface, waiting only for a word before the daemons could take part of their due.
Nathan looked up from Marcus, his hand extending out to the rest of the class. Slowly, the very same symbol began to appear upon each of their heads - the sigil buried in Nathan's final equation, hidden within the poisoned spell that had killed them.
"Nathan. What's going on?" Gandling's eyes narrowed for only a moment, trying to read the boy. When he realized he could not, he moved to kill him.
Nathan remembered his father's blackened mark, etched upon the flesh of the damned. He remembered how his father drew it in fire, scribing a contract upon each of the undead. And he remembered, most importantly of all, how his father fulfilled the contract.
He whispered a single word.
Then he said: "Class dismissed."
All but two of Scholomance's graduating class burst into flames.
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Post by hippo on Feb 18, 2006 3:11:13 GMT -5
----
If there was a limit as to how many stupid things a person was allowed to do in a life-time, Nathan was sure he had not only surpassed it, but killed it, burned it, and spread its ashes to the four winds.
Rosalyn's weight was unbearable. So was the pain - Nathan had not been aware until this point that a person could feel this much pain and still be alive. Every part of him ached. His eyebrows were in a state of perpetual agony.
Covered in burns and with the unconscious girl slung over his back, the young boy clumsily made his way out of Caer Darrow. Behind him, he left only smoldering wreckage and the scent of burning corpses.
A lot of burning corpses.
It was only now that Nathan took stock of his many offenses since arriving at Scholomancy, and each one struck him with piercing pain. He had been foolish enough to come here - foolish enough to stay - foolish enough to think this was some sort of game. Maybe if he had left, he could have told the Kirin Tor what was going on. Maybe if he hadn't so happily solved the problems that Mordant gave him, the plague wouldn't have killed his classmates. Maybe if he hadn't been such an idiot, Marcus would still be alive.
Maybe.
His boots sloshed through the water as he struggled to the far shore. Behind him, he heard yells and shouts. The other instructors were being rallied to attend to the blaze. It would provide enough cover for him to get as much distance between him and that awful school as possible.
It was then and only then that Nathan heard the thing he dreaded most:
"Hello, Master Carveggio," Mordant icily hissed. "Going somewhere?"
Nathan only had a shred of a second to throw Rosalyn to shore before the icy blast lashed across his back, sending pain crawling up his shoulders.
He threw a spear of flame and shadow towards Mordant, who only sniffed disdainfully as it was snuffed out a foot in front of him. "Please. Don't insult me with your paltry cantrips." He waved, and the water beneath Nathan was nothing but ice - ice that swallowed him up to his knees.
Nathan's fingers wriggled over the surface of the ice, seeking purchase to draw his father's symbol. But as it melted, the mark became illegible.
"How absolutely predictable. Relying on the same old tricks, are we? You can't write a contract born of fire into ice, pratling." Mordant grinned as ribbons of distant flame reached for him before peetering out. "And my wards won't let you scribe that same mark on me. It looks like you're out of tricks, aren't you?"
Nathan wracked his brain for some spell that would work against the mage, but he could find nothing. As Mordant's hands wrapped around his throat, he felt a collar of frost slowly forming over him. Choking, he clutched at Mordant's wrists.
"Don't worry. I won't kill you, not yet. First I'm going to paralyze you, then I'm going to give you the pleasure of watching me kill that sweet little girl behind you. Then I'll kill you, Nathan. Oh, I won't do it today, maybe not tommorow... A death like yours needs to be splendid. It needs to be artistic, you see..."
Nathan's mouth opened, but no sound came out. Mordant's stare bore down through his skull, grinding deeper.
"You'll never be powerful, Nathan. You'll always be the second-rate son of a washed up little twit."
We aren't powerful. We are merely necessary.
In the haze of ensuing unconsciousness, Nathan's hands relinquished their grip upon Mordant's wrists. A small twitter of flame flared at his fingertips.
"What...? Are you going to try and mark me? It won't work. You can't write your little contract on me, pratling."
Magic isn't about power.
Nathan's finger moved to his opposite hand. For a moment, it was agony - but after that it wasn't so bad.
Magic is about sacrifice.
The mark stretched it's shape across Nathan's palm, bursting into life. With the only breath Nathan could manage to muster, he whispered a word.
Then he brought the marked hand up to Mordant's face.
Mordant blinked. Puzzlement gave way to horror. "You wrote the contract on your own fles-?!"
These were the last words of Mordant Frost.
----
Whispered rumours of a growing plague throughout Lordaeron had made many of the farmers wary, which may have explained why Samuel Parker answered the knock at his door with a club close by.
His grim stoicism instantly gave way to shock when he saw who was waiting for him.
"Ro... Rosalyn?!"
The girl was unconscious - stretched out across the arms of a pale red-headed boy who looked as if he had been through three layers of Hell and back again. His eyes were sunken, and his left hand was completely covered up in bandages.
"Listen to me. Take your girl," He told him. "Take her and everything you own. And get out of here. Go to the south, to Stormwind. Do it now. Tonight. If you don't, you will die."
"Why?"
"Plague's coming," The boy said. "It's going to be nasty business."
"Where has she b-"
"No more questions. If you care for your family, take them far away from here. Tonight."
Leaving the farmer only to dumbly stare, the boy limped his way back to the road.
----
"Where we going, boss?"
Nathan grimaced as he unwrapped his hand, exposing the freshly burned sigil to the air. "Back to Lordaeron."
The recently resummoned Piznik scowled, munching on a bit of hay he found in the back of the farmer's wagon. "Lordaeron? That place? Shouldn't we go straight to the Kirin Tor?"
"They won't listen to a word I have to say with this mark on me," Nathan numbly mumbled. He flexed his fingers, wincing at the way the burn painfully stretched. "Our only bet is to find my father, and my father will be wherever the plague hits hardest."
"And you think it's going to hit Lordaeron hard?"
"Yeah," Nathan sighed, rewrapping his hand. "Probably."
"You know, boss, you got bad mojo now. You're gonna have to pay up," Piznik idly noted, swallowing back a clump of hay. "Your hand belongs to the Twisting Nether."
"These sorts of things happen," Nathan smiled whimsically. "Can't be helped." The bandages were wrapped tight.
----
"Rosalyn? Are you awake, dear...?"
"Where's Nathan?"
"Oh, thank goodness you're awa-"
"Where's Nathan?"
"Who is that? Is that the boy who brought you here...? He left, we don't know where he is. Oh Samuel, she's awake, she's finally-"
Mrs. Parker's words were cut off by the sound of whispering shadow and a strangled choke.
"Rosalyn?" Samuel stepped into the room only a moment later, and was promptly dispatched with a bolt of shadow to the face.
Rosalyn shuffled out of her bed, gesturing to the shadows. Reaching forward, she plucked out the closest, extending her mind outwards to Scholomance.
Sir, she thought.
Is Nathan alive? Gandling's voice was the picture of carefully controlled rage.
Yes, sir. He brought me back to my house.
Kill your parents. He might have told them something.
I've all ready thought of that, sir. What should I do now?
Find Nathan. Kill him.
Yes, sir.
----
fin
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