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    Thread: At the Junction


    1. #1
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      At the Junction

      Name:  AtJ 1.PNG
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      Chronological Chapter List:

      Lucy 1
      Lucy 2
      Alina 1
      Sebastian 1
      Alina 2
      News 1
      Lucy 3
      ??? 1
      Lucy 4
      Alina 3



      Introdu
      ction:

      The dust has settled on the wings of the Dragon Titan. Dragonspyre lay a crumbled ruin on the edge of the Spiral; the great Wizard rivalry was no more. Obliterated by the hubris of it's own denizens, outsiders could only watch, wait, and pray that the death of one world would satiate the Beast. Those in Ravenwood, however, were quick to move.

      Asserting itself as the foremost beacon of magic, Wizard City guided Mooshu, Krokotopia, and all the worlds toward a path of stability and peace under its hegemony. No hall was spared of their ambassadors; the eyes and ears of the wizards behind the spiral door. In every town and settlement abroad, news from Wizard City was greeted with a mixture of angst and eagerness as Ravenwood's influence reached out.

      Harvests became plentiful bounties. Trade overflowed with wealth. And the arts composed numerous great works in the face of this newfound prosperity. Wizard City enjoyed a place at the epicenter of these expanding frontiers and countless others.

      But all of that was some time ago...

      The farmlands have worn down, the merchants have gone, and the artisans have been eclipsed. Meanwhile Ravenwood itself is embroiled in crisis. The Drakes, disgraced great minds of Dragonspyre, are hobbled by the mysterious sickness of one of their own, casting a dark shadow over the whole of Wizard City. Whispers of conspiracy and paranoia pervade the streets, with residents pointing fingers and lamenting a city that once was.

      External forces also threaten the former Spiral Superpower. Long thought to be in decline, the mercantilist worlds of Monquista, Marleybone, and Valencia have experienced a resurgence in power, extending their own influence abroad against little opposition. Pigswick, a new if more amiable rival, nips at the heels of the unchallenged arcane giant, as the Academy's students reach heights previously only thought attainable by those tutored under the leaves of the Grandfather Tree.

      As an eager and fresh class arrives in Wizard City it is hard to deny that the wind of change is blowing through the Spiral.



      At the Junction is an epistolary story, meaning that it is told through a series of letters, newspaper articles, and journal entries. It follows a group of new students at Ravenwood School of Magical Arts before the arrival of the player-character. Facing obstacles both mental and physical, they struggle to adjust themselves to a world very different from their own whilst uncovering secrets and mysteries that may not have been included in the Ravenwood Student Handbook.

      Updates will be irregular in nature, so please bear with me as I work to release the next chapter. There are far too many unfinished stories on this forum; however, so if you think I'm slacking too much, don't hesitate to remind me if it's been a while. I don't necessarily have an ending nailed down, but I DO intend to finish this. As always any feedback is appreciated by pm, comment, thanks, or otherwise.
      Last edited by Cosmos; 3-18-20 at 6:04:30 PM.
      Yet it cannot be called talent to slay fellow-citizens, to deceive friends, to be without faith, without mercy, without religion; such methods may gain empire, but not glory. - Machiavelli // I also write my own stuff ~

    2. #2
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      Re: At the Junction

      From the journal of Lucy Clark:


      1

      One step, two step, three step, four. From one world to another; beyond the door.

      I looked back at the oaken wood that had once been my gatekeeper. Mum was through there. And Dad, I suppose. Though I suppose what I suppose about Marleybone is of little consequence now. Strange how taking a single step forward had led me to becoming more homesick than I ever had been before.

      Mother had been more emotional than I had expected -- pressing herself close to me in that final hug. Perhaps she never truly believed I would take that last leap. I imagined her, back at home sobbing over a cup of cheap “Mooshu” tea from the penny shoppes while furiously nibbling on the stale gravy biscuits Mrs. Benjamin had brought over last week. Change never was kind to her.

      But, in all honesty, I questioned my own motivations some days. What did I have to gain by going to Wizard City? Even now I continue to have my doubts.

      The truth I had mulled over for some time. Marleybone, as fond of it as my heart is, was never meant for me. The city -- as it was -- had become a burden on my shoulders. The O’Leary gang and the rest were incidental, little annoyances in my reasoning.

      On the contrary, it was the air. A poor job from a local street sweep perhaps, or a symptom of the smog that rolled out of those brick factory chimneys. Something about this air, rancid as it smelled as I walked between the brightly-lit shoppes, was wrong.

      But wrong in what way?

      It was a different kind of wrong. The kind of wrong that leads to staring out the window for hours at the withering community garden. Or involuntarily nodding after listening to another bout of gossip on Ms. Galaway’s romantic interests at the Sunday luncheon. Suddenly, and rather unexpectedly, the urging came to me. I craved something exciting, something daring, something new.

      Thus, this revelation left a handful of options open for me. Celestia and Krokotopia never seemed to offer the craving I was looking for, whether my passion be for defense, engineering, or archaeology. No, those paths had been blazed some time ago and there was little headway to be made amongst us Marleybonians. Magic, however, was ever-growing, ever-expanding -- a discovery unlike any that had been described before just waiting around the corner. Thus, Wizard City was to be my destination.

      Of course, even then Mum’s emotions had not the fortitude of a troll or a samoorai when it came to hearing of my epiphany. That night, I think, hurt both of us the most.

      I can feel the tension deep within me as I write this, as if I was living that night over again. Yet, there is no one here to comfort me now, no one to lean on as the doubt eats away my insides.

      What if I’m wrong? What if I would have been content apprenticing at a jeweler in Regent’s square? What if I had been there to support my mother when she so desperately needed it? What if that pungent odor I was smelling in the streets was nothing more than a leaky sewer or litter that lay strewn above the rooftops?

      What if…?

      Writing this all down seems silly now. Here I am, stashed away in this cramped dorm room feeling more lost than I ever did in the back alleyways of Chelsea Court. My suitcase half-opened with clothes, books, and photos of a different time spilled about the floor. Had I gone too far?
      Last edited by Cosmos; 6-28-19 at 8:57:19 PM.
      Yet it cannot be called talent to slay fellow-citizens, to deceive friends, to be without faith, without mercy, without religion; such methods may gain empire, but not glory. - Machiavelli // I also write my own stuff ~

    3. #3
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      Re: At the Junction

      From the journal of Lucy Clark:


      2

      One would think that the first day away from home would be the hardest. I know I had thought that. It had been a constant smudge in my fantasies detailing magical adventures. Standing under the pooled lamplight of Regent's Square, I envisioned myself battling majestic dragons and dueling charming exchange students from Pigswick, even as I missed the roots of my childhood.

      Suffice to say, I was correct about the feeling of longing, but such stately events were not to accompany that melancholy this morning.

      The first day of orientation it was, bustling with the new class of Wizard City. It was a rather unimpressive lot; a couple sheep from Mooshu, a Mander here or there, and a sea of Humans from whatever world they came from. Not to mention Whosits and Whatsits from some plane or other whose name escapes me.

      It was strange to be in a crowd and not know where to belong. Back home, the morning procedure in such a situation was henceforth: Smile, give a polite greeting, ask about the local goings-ons (even if the questioner knew well that no particular incident of importance was in-fact happening), followed by a brief and vague answer, before finishing with a dapper "Ta-Ta!"

      You could learn so much in that quick exchange, as well I did from a tender age. How proper did they speak? What bits of gossip might they slip? And what about their clothes? Jewelry? Bracelets, rings, necklaces? Yes? No? Was their shirt pressed? Or was it wrinkled? How did Ms. Perry manage to afford that new pearl-studded brooch? And why was it that Mr. Hayworth was still wearing that same overcoat from last night? Questions to ponder over as the kettle boils. Questions to share when the tea is served...

      But I digress. Socialites, these were not. These were students. I was one of them. I was a student.

      "Politicking is going to be a hard habit to give-up," I thought.

      And it was as I was mulling over this thought that the most clumsy of cranes -- at least I believe that is what they are called -- waddled through the crowd while shushing down the masses of hopefuls that had assembled.

      "My name is Mr. Lincoln, and as the humble ambassador for new student arrivals I want to extend a very warm welcome..."

      Pardon my forgetfulness, but the words thereafter blended much too finely to be digested with any degree of certainty after-the-fact. Flowery language but not convincing. Dapper composure but yearning to impress. Uptight posture but distinct lack of presence. Throw this bird into the high galas of Marleybone and even the most fledgling of hounds would make short work of him on the ballroom floor. Kicked to the curb, the street cats would soon get to him with their more... carnivorous tendencies.

      Mr. Lincoln. A bureaucrat by any other name.

      The pomp went on for some time: outlining the basic responsibilities of the student; the layout of the surrounding city and streets; and encouraging us to meet with the professors, veteran students, and any staff we could get a hold of. It was the expected bits of formality that one would expect at such a gathering.

      "You have a week," I recall him saying amidst the waffle, "You have a week until your primary school focus must be chosen. Then your studies will begin!"
      Last edited by Cosmos; 6-28-19 at 8:59:01 PM.
      Yet it cannot be called talent to slay fellow-citizens, to deceive friends, to be without faith, without mercy, without religion; such methods may gain empire, but not glory. - Machiavelli // I also write my own stuff ~

    4. #4
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      Re: At the Junction

      From the diary of Alina Aliyev:


      1

      Sebastian talked to me today for the first time since arriving in Wizard City. I guess that's an improvement.

      "What are we supposed to be doing?"

      "I don't know. I think there is supposed to be a speaker or something," I said. He snorted a bit, but managed to hold close to me even with the crowd being as crazy as it was.

      The central area of Ravenwood was absolutely packed with the freshman class. Some strange looking lizardmen uncomfortably fiddled with their fingers on one side. A mutant canine was adjusting her clothes not too far away. And, stranger still, a pack of human adolescents squealed together in the corner over a round of gossip. The last of those, while familiar, was the strangest to have seen given that we were in such a strange place.

      "Oh my goodness, have you seen the new death student-teacher?" asked one girl.

      "Ugh, you are so obsessed with looks," said a second.

      "Hmm, what can I say?" went the first.

      "I heard his voice is adorable!" chimed a third.

      "Have you even talked to him yet?" came another.

      "Where do you think I'm going after this?" the first laughed. That one got a few snickers out of all of them.

      I was so focused on eavesdropping that I bumped into a stocky thing lumbering through the sea of people. It turned to look at me, with its absent red eyes and pale green complexion. A troll! Wearing torn leathers and a single ripped-up shoe on its right foot. I lurched back, shocked. It was then that the smell got to me. It was a body odor, I guessed, but a body odor that moved between smelling like the decaying corpse of an animal and the raw sewage that leaks out of badly secured pipes.

      I bowed my head slightly, which seemed to ease him. And, by the time I had looked up, he had begun to grumpily stumble away.

      "What strange things Wizard City has. I'm telling you, if Mom or Dad could have seen this place..." My stomach dropped. And there it was. Somewhere between playing pinball between the masses and overhearing the preteen chatter I had forgotten.

      Mom would have been eager to take-in the new sights. "Come on you two, there are so many people and things to enjoy," I could almost hear her telling us while embracing the troll in apology. A hug was, of course, the preferred way to apologize at all times, even if her sensitive nose would have gotten in the way of being too friendly.

      Durian, she had said, was the absolute worst thing she had ever smelled in her lifetime. Was that what that troll smelled like? I never have found out what exactly a durian is, but maybe that was the stink that the troll carried. Maybe he just smelled of durian.

      And Dad, gosh, I don't know. Stoic probably. Though, a whole new world away from our own might have changed that view. It would have been nice to see Mom's excitedness rub-off on him every now and then, and maybe Wizard City would have been just the place to have seen that happen. I was told by Uncle Paul once that he used to be better. Even Mom-level better. I never did see it though.

      I heard Sebastian let out a small sigh of relief as the threat of being made troll stew disappeared within the ocean of beings around us.

      But he also reminded me. Sebastian always reminded me of why Mom and Dad weren't here. And I liked not forgetting. Not because I don't want to. But because I know that no matter how hard I try to get rid of it, I will always remember why things are the way they are. And remembering after you believe you've forgotten... that's the hardest part. Standing there with him in Ravenwood I had swallowed hard, determined not to let the bubbling emotions be shown.

      But now I am alone. Alone in my room. Do I still have that determination?


      No. No, I think.


      No I don't.
      Last edited by Cosmos; 6-28-19 at 9:02:56 PM.
      Yet it cannot be called talent to slay fellow-citizens, to deceive friends, to be without faith, without mercy, without religion; such methods may gain empire, but not glory. - Machiavelli // I also write my own stuff ~

    5. #5
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      Re: At the Junction

      From the chronicles of Sebastian the Great:


      1

      We walked around some of the classrooms today. A couple of students came out to meet us with the teacher.

      We went to the Storm classroom first and got to meet the teacher who is actually a talking frog in fancy clothes. He told us about how Storm was a powerful magic that was more than just making it rain outside sometimes.

      Then we went to the Ice classroom where we met an ice fairy lady. She was very nice to us and said that ice was about winter and freezing things. I already knew that but I don't think I like the sound of that very much. I like summer and hot better.

      Then we went to the fire school! FIRE! That's what I want to study! The fire teacher came out and waved her wand. Then there were big huge fireballs. Really big ones. And out of all of that came a giant bird!

      "This here is a Feenix," the fire teacher said. It made me smile alot. One day I will be able to do that to. I hope we will get to pick our study school soon.

      There are smaller talking trees too which is weird because we didnt used to have those. There was one for each classroom and they all were pretty friendly to.

      So that is what we did today. They said we could see other classrooms tomorrow but I know what I want to study already.


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      Last edited by Cosmos; 6-28-19 at 9:05:55 PM.
      Yet it cannot be called talent to slay fellow-citizens, to deceive friends, to be without faith, without mercy, without religion; such methods may gain empire, but not glory. - Machiavelli // I also write my own stuff ~

    6. #6
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      Re: At the Junction

      From the diary of Alina Aliyev:


      2

      For a minute he was there. Sebastian. Happy again. As if the past had vanished and our road to Wizard City had cleansed us of our sins.

      Falmea, the fire professor that met with us, had simply to wave her wand and the spell was cast. Not on the phoenix that burst into existence, but on Sebastian. It lit a flame -- his childish wonder flowing through the grip he had on my jacket and filling my body with assurance.

      "This," I thought, "this could be it. This would be it. This would be home."

      The bird curled around in the sky, dancing among the assembled crowd to a chorus of oohs and ahhs. Sebastian yanked down on my arm in apprehensive excitement, but excitement nonetheless.

      "Fire! Fire, Alina! That's what I want to study!" He did a small hop as the pyre licked the air and spun itself into fiery feathers.

      "Okay, okay," I said, gesturing for him to calm down. I might've even laughed then. It was nice to be reminded of what the smallest nugget of happiness used to feel like.

      But what about myself?

      I walked past some of the other classrooms, leaving an unmoving Sebastian with the professor. He had found his calling, but where was mine?

      "Looking a little lost, my dear?" I heard a charming voice say.

      I swiveled to find a pair of large dogs sipping tea together on a nearby bench. I stammered a bit, my brain apparently still trying to rationalize the fact that polite speech was not human exclusive. A hound in a top hat slowly got up from the seat, replacing his spot with his teacup before approaching.

      "Arthur is the name. Arthur Wethersfield. Professor of Balance and Sorcery at this fine institution." He did a light tug on both sides of his jacket to add extra emphasis to his grandstanding tone.

      "Alina," I blurted, regaining my footing somewhat. After a moment listening to my lack of clapping, he extended a hand.

      "Pleased to meet you, Alina." I took it and shook a little weaker than I would have liked. "Would you like some assistance on this fine day?"

      I gave a half-hearted nod at having to ask for help from what appeared to be man's smuggest friend. "I'm a bit lost as to what school to choose."

      "Ah!" he held up a finger... or paw? "I have just the thing for you." He walked back to the bench were the other dog was sitting. "Lucy, would you care to hand me my briefcase? I believe I put it right under where you are seated." The other dog -- Lucy -- bent over and retrieved and produced a well-worn yet sturdy-looking briefcase from beneath.

      "It's a shame what they say will be happening in the future," Arthur said, beginning to rummage through his belongings. "I hear that they will no longer be having these types of events. Instead it will all be done with a type of personality examination through the headmaster's office. It's all a bit reductionist for such a big decision if you ask me." With a final tug he produced a simple looking wand. Black licorice with a white tip -- like something you expect to see at a magic show where the magician pulls a rabbit out of a hat.

      "But it is a big decision that must be made, and this will help you do so. Give it a try," he said, placing it into my hand. "It should offer you some perspective." I looked at him incredulously. Magic? Already? Was I ready for that?

      "The power of balance draws on all schools," he explained, sensing my nervousness. "With its power we shall see which one of the those schools harmonizes with you best." He waved his hand at me, mimicking the motions.

      I held my breath and flourished the wand. Ice crystals flung outward in a large cloud, coating the nearby grasses in a white-tinged frost and spooking a small green toad out of it's hiding.

      "Probably the Storm professor's cousin," I mumbled to myself as the cold dust settled.

      "Well done!" Arthur managed a single clap as he surveyed the results. "Another thaumaturge for the school of Ice it would seem."

      "Ice." My breath billowed out, still chilled by my first attempt at magic. I handed the wand back solemnly and bowed my head as he waved me away. "Thank you."

      Ice. The school of giants. It just might be the one for me.
      Last edited by Cosmos; 6-28-19 at 9:07:04 PM.
      Yet it cannot be called talent to slay fellow-citizens, to deceive friends, to be without faith, without mercy, without religion; such methods may gain empire, but not glory. - Machiavelli // I also write my own stuff ~

    7. #7
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        •  Grizzleheim
        •  Wizard's School:
        •  Death
        •  Pet's Name:
        •  Cosmo
        •  Pet's Type:
        •  Sea Dragon
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      Re: At the Junction

      From the front page of Wizard's Weekly:


      1

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      Yet it cannot be called talent to slay fellow-citizens, to deceive friends, to be without faith, without mercy, without religion; such methods may gain empire, but not glory. - Machiavelli // I also write my own stuff ~

    8. #8
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        •  Grizzleheim
        •  Wizard's School:
        •  Death
        •  Pet's Name:
        •  Cosmo
        •  Pet's Type:
        •  Sea Dragon
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      Re: At the Junction

      From the journal of Lucy Clark:


      3

      No matter the places you tread, lead, or roam, the smallest things will remind you of your life back home.

      It was the most incredulous sight: a fellow Marleybonian? A muzzle, two perky ears, and an air of dignity to be sure. His face buried itself within a newspaper as if he were actually examining the latest questions from the advice column in his hands. A guise, simple and effective in nature. And yet, there he was in all his glory; it was almost amusing. In Regent's Square I would have never given the sight a second thought, though here it seemed as though slices of the past were pieces of ruby, sapphire, and other luxury things of note.

      "Sir," I began.

      "Professor in fact," he corrected, eloquently folded the paper before rising from his seat to meet me.

      "Professor." A knowing grin appeared on my face as we shook hands. "My sincerest apologies."

      "Oh, you are quite all right. The name is Arthur Wethersfield." He waved his hands dismissively. "And you, my dear?"

      "Lucy Clark."

      "My my, Lucy Clark." The words danced off his tongue, as if he were tasting the mouthfeel of each syllable. "A fine name for a fine young student." He motioned back towards the bench where he had been seated. "Care to join me for tea, Lucy?"

      It seemed much too easy for the man. With a delicate tap of his cane, a steaming kettle and pair of ornate teacups appeared beside him. Then, as if possessed, the empty cups found themselves settled before us without so much as a sound.

      "So tell me Lucy, how fares Marleybone?"

      "Well..." I swallowed hard as I watched the tea pour itself before us, "Pimsbury is said to be gathering a campaign for a second mayoral term--"

      "Oh no my dear don't bore me with the formalities." I eyed him as he berated the kettle for forgetting to add a drop of honey. A challenge.

      "Actually, sir, I was looking to inquire more about campus." I straightened slightly, picking up my tea for the first drink. There was a flash of annoyance on his face. Small, but just noticeable enough for someone with a keen eye to catch. A counter. "For instance, what is it you teach?"

      "I am a humble servant of Balance. Strong, unyielding, and infinite. The most challenging of schools and also the most rewarding." The grandiose tone boomed out of him with an unexpected vigor. A weakness.

      "And what else?" A strike.

      He looked at me aghast. "'What else?' Why, you get the finest student of Balance that has ever roamed the Spiral teaching you. Krokotopia, Mooshu, Celestia, Avalon, I've been to them all to unlock the secrets of my craft. Would you rather apprentice under some hothead elf with less decisiveness than this teapot or the waterlogged amphibian that should be fried and served before a nice dessert?" His shoulders slumped, realizing his sudden outburst. "Pardon my tongue. My travels have been tiring. It is only recently that I have returned to Wizard City." A victory.

      I looked out across Ravenwood savoring the taste of my triumph, watching the bustling new students flock between the open classrooms. A feeling of anxious optimism moved between them. Storm, Ice, Fire, Death, Myth, Life... "And your thoughts on the Life professor? I am certain that the student pamphlets I received listed one such lady, yet I have not seen the described person interact with any of the students."

      "Mrs. Sylvia Drake you mean? She is out with a nasty bout of disease. Even so, she is a lovely woman. A rare breed those from Dragonspyre are these days, and to find one with such poise about themselves in Wizard City of all places. In fact I believe the three of them are from Dragonspyre: Cyrus, Malistare, and Sylvia that is. The blood runs deep in Wizard City. Not unlike the halls of Barkingham," he quipped, letting out a small chuckle before taking another long sip.

      "And her illness?"

      "Oh, it remains uncertain. Malistaire tires himself day and night searching for a blasted cure to no avail. Dreadfully ironic isn't it? One of the most erudite disciples of Life struck by a seemingly incurable malady. A horrific circumstance to be sure!" He tapped his foot lightly, as if signalling a change in atmosphere. "Mr. Lincoln has told me that they have found a promising replacement from Mooshu. A heifer! Teaching Life studies! By St. Bernard's snout, could you imagine?" He settled back with an disgruntled huff.

      "Mooshu was not to your liking I take it?"

      "On the contrary," he began, "It was quite a delight. However, honor there runs much deeper than anything even you or I may comprehend. It is a noble way of life that permeates their entire society with the notion of order, stability, and loyalty."

      "That sounds a rather ordinary sojourn through the high streets of Marleybone."

      He sat up somewhat surprised, "Oh come now, you and I both know that our society is a game played to the death. It is a game of romance, flattery, trickery, and deception. But, first and foremost, it is a game. We may wear the masque of those proper and courteous, but it remains just that. No, the aura emanating from the Jade Palace is somewhat of a different breed. A society in which the masses have forgotten they had ulterior desires at all."

      "I see."

      "But is this the way of the magical arts? Of course not. It is the way of the blade and the bow. Magic is a subtle thing, that feeds off of the very talents this rigid, candid lifestyle cannot provide. One ends up confused by the freedom to be something more than what is superficial." He paused, looking up at the branches overhead.

      "Is that what magic is about then? Freedom, I mean to say."

      "Yes. Very much so. There is nothing more freeing than watching nature bend to your will rather than watching the reverse happen. We create our own order with the snaps of our fingers and the waving of a wrist. The hound within us excels at seizing our destinies and shaping them through the arcane. Indeed faeries and humans and manders and more can as well. But many others? It can be a daunting task for anyone to be handed such freedom if a being is cultivated to oppose it." Arthur stood up abruptly. "An illustration..."

      "Looking a little lost, my dear?" He walked forward, approaching a wiry human with dark auburn hair and a lightly tanned complexion. "Arthur is the name. Arthur Wethersfield. Professor of Balance and Sorcery at this fine institution."

      Freedom? Is that what I had come here for? What I crave at night whilst I try to fall asleep? Was this what Arthur and the girl were searching for as well? She hardly looked like she was enjoying this liberation. In fact, by the professors logic, one would think her to be from the quiet farming villages of Hametsu or Shoshun.

      "Curious that one," he said watching the girl scamper off. "Usually humans fit well within my calculus."

      "Having the clinging urge to discard your hypothesis already, professor?" I finished my tea, glaring softly over the edge of the porcelain.

      He let out an abrasive scoff: "Not at all Ms. Clark."
      Last edited by Cosmos; 7-8-19 at 11:20:57 PM.
      Yet it cannot be called talent to slay fellow-citizens, to deceive friends, to be without faith, without mercy, without religion; such methods may gain empire, but not glory. - Machiavelli // I also write my own stuff ~

    9. #9
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      Re: At the Junction

      From the ??? of ???:


      1

      )∩○⌂¤∞∟ )╛≡¯¤ └∩\╛∞+⌂ (+|\
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      A|NO⌐¯TH/∩¤=ER)
      Last edited by Cosmos; 7-29-19 at 4:30:31 PM.
      Yet it cannot be called talent to slay fellow-citizens, to deceive friends, to be without faith, without mercy, without religion; such methods may gain empire, but not glory. - Machiavelli // I also write my own stuff ~

    10. #10
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      Re: At the Junction

      From the Journal of Lucy Clark:


      4

      The sun was shining today, puffy clouds softly dotted amongst the dull sapphire sky. It's a rather strange feeling waking up to a morning that is no longer afflicted by a case of perpetual darkness. Humorously enough, this now recurring instance of sun exposure had filled me with a sense of foremost laziness, much like one would surely feel if they had slept past noon.


      There was a large commotion today, despite how normal presenting the morn was to those adjusted to Wizard City. Not long after waking, I hurried myself toward the small gathering at the gate beside the library. Above was helpfully plastered: UNICORN WAY. It was to be a tour of sorts to get to know the grounds surrounding the campus. A tradition, they had said, was for all new students to begin upon the verdant cobblestones that adorned the life street. Never you mind, of course, that the professor of said school had still not shown herself.

      Rather, instead of a vibrant woman at the head of the rambling group of misfits, there was a young man of small stature carrying a wooden staff, face partially obscured by a green patterned hood.

      "Good morning my fellow students! My name is Ceren Nightchant. I hope your stay so far has been a good one!

      I couldn't suppress an instinctive roll of my eyes as if they too were despising being in the presence of yet another Ravenwood cheerleader. Had mother have been there, she would have yanked me aside and given me a right long lashing about showing such obvious contempt of the situation. I bit my tongue, observing the rest of his bumbling lecture in penitent silence.

      In truth much of the rest of the day was little more exciting. We entered the street as our guide jumped at the opportunity to point out every flower petal and leaf as if it were the most beautiful of art forms. Depressingly monotonous the lot of it.

      Until, that is, when another young man came running down the street to confront our eager host.

      "Ceran, we have a problem," the newcomer had said. A few worried glances were exchanged. Then whispers. Too quiet; inaudible, unfortunately. Probably would have made for some nice gossip.

      After a moment or two, the beam of sunshine that had led us down the street was telling us to orderly return to the Commons. A few grumbles here and there were uttered. And so we went. Yet out again we did go as the two upperclassmen hurried-off.

      As the group left, however, I did manage to steal a glance at the direction they were headed. That girl was standing there. Alina. Looking unsure of herself as ever, as the two life students that were approaching her escalated into heated debate. Wouldn't it be scandalous if she was getting the boot already? What could she have done that would be so sinister?

      Perhaps she had killed a sacred unicorn or defiled a hidden sanctuary in the brush. Or perhaps she had stepped on Mr. Nightchant's favorite pine cone.

      I simply must tell Arthur.

      Last edited by Cosmos; 2-20-20 at 3:43:59 PM.
      Yet it cannot be called talent to slay fellow-citizens, to deceive friends, to be without faith, without mercy, without religion; such methods may gain empire, but not glory. - Machiavelli // I also write my own stuff ~

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