Esme Dragonforge, Novice Sorcerer, was working to finish her enrolment. Headmaster Ambrose had requested that she go talk to every teacher in Ravenwood, to learn about the schools so to choose a secondary field of magic. So far her favourites were Life and Ice, so she was probably going to choose one of those. Her own professor was quite interesting, although she felt hurt that the Balance School didn't have a tree, or a classroom. She didn't want to feel like a gypsy. The only school she hadn't covered yet was Death, and she was hurrying there when she was met with – a great gaping hole in the ground. The novice carefully edged around it, looking for a certain Malorn Ashthorn. As she reached the other side of the great chasm, she was greeted with the student-professor deeply involved with the task on hand: making out with some girl.
Her cheeks bright red, Esme wondered if she would wait until they stopped, and settled on trying to get their attention by clearing her throat quietly. The two broke apart immediately and Malorn wiped his mouth on his sleeve with a grin. Now that she was looking at him face-front, she noticed that he was quite good looking, with tanned skin and long black hair.
"Hey, are you looking for the Death School? This is it – well, where it used to be. This chasm is all that's left after Malistaire left the school. I'm Malorn Ashthorn, and I don't mean to brag but I used to be one of Malistaire's best students. I teach the others what I know, I'm all they've got."
He chuckled at the girl's terrified nod as she ran off, back to the Headmaster. The girl next to him quietly straightened her black and red Vestment of Tremors and pulled up her hood of the same colour, her curly black hair still visible.
"Hey, Cori, you all right?" The student-professor asked, his voice lacking the snobbish superiority it had taken while speaking to the Sorcerer. Cori nodded silently, her curls moving with the movement, although Malorn wasn't fooled.
"You still feeling sick?" He persisted, wanting to make her talk. She nodded again, grimacing.
Cori Drake had it tough. Her father, the currently departed and plotting Death Professor, had left in a fury when his wife Sylvia, the Life teacher died. In his rage he uprooted Mortis and the Death School, leaving the pitiful chasm that was there today. Only the professors and her best friend and boyfriend, Malorn, knew about her parents and she adopted the name Deathtalon in classes, although the funny look in her eyes whenever she lied about her name showed how much she wanted to scream at them who her parents were, how she hated lying as if it were shameful. But the Headmaster gave her the order to reveal her name to no one. Cori, being the daughter of two grandmaster professors, is naturally almost thrice as powerful as the rest of her class, and would, logically, teach the class in her father's absence. Except for one little problem…
The Death Magic in her was extremely strong – so strong, that when she's in a fury Cori has been known to put people into comas. As such, the young Necromancer was constantly at war with herself – the light, livelier side of her personality striving for peace and compromise; and the darker and deadly side prepared to kill everything in sight to get more power to claim as her own. As such, Cori levelled constantly, and whenever she was strong enough to learn more, or to defeat an enemy, she would fall horribly ill if she didn't take it for herself. According to Madame Falmea, who had taken the girl under her wing, this had happened much in the past, when Death Magic was first being used. Of course, Cori Deathtalon née Drake was the first in centuries, but it was totally normal. Mostly.
"I feel like a Rotting Fodder smacked me over the head with a shovel," she grimaced. "And that has happened to me before."
"I know," Malorn laughed, glad she was well enough to talk. "I was there – you ran out of mana and were attacking them with the fallen shovels. One of them got miffed and hit you back."
"I prefer Ghouls to Rotting Fodder myself," she smiled, the tilt of her pale red lips making her white face seem to glow. "Ghouls drain the health of the victim, leaving it weak as it transfers it's strength to you, making you superi – I'm sorry." She bowed her head, ashamed of her little rant.
"Hey, don't be embarrassed, that's the whole point of Death Magic anyways, stealing health."
"Yes, but you don't get all excited about it."
"What can I say? I'm a pretty hard guy to excite." He laughed at her annoyed expression and smiled again.
"I like it how you only smile around me," Cori smirked, reading his thoughts.
"It's because you're special," he teased back.
She stretched and checked her watch.
"Thaumaturgy Class next…" She scowled. "I can't stand Ice Magic. This is going to be very boring."
"Sure that isn't the budding Pyromancer in you saying that?"
"Perhaps, but I still don't like the class. See you in Necromancy?" She picked up her bag, her Lollipop Wand ("It's useful. I don't want it because it's sweet-shaped."), and kissed him on the cheek.
"Yeah, sure. Hey, be happy you're learning something, I've got to teach the newbies," he groaned. "Hate the novices, and this batch is full of Life Wizards."
"I feel for you!" Malistaire's daughter laughed as she headed towards the ice classroom.
All during the Thaumaturgy Class, Cori took notes as her mind wandered, blocking out the sound of Lydia Greyrose going on about how Storm and Fire magic are inferior and how mastering frost was to call upon the power of the titans and bla, bla, bla.
"Well, now that you've all understood, I expect you should feel a raise in experience soon!" The fairy godmother-like teacher smiled.
Cori felt blood rush to her face and clutched her stomach as bile rose in her throat, her fingers twitching, aching to grasp her wand and cast a spell to suck the life from everyone in the class.
"Miss!" She called, her hand in front of her mouth. Professor Greyrose saw her and understood immediately.
"All right, open your books to page 201 while I take Miss Deathtalon to a healer, chop chop!" She said, hustling Cori out of the room. She had just made it outside as the Necromancer threw up, heaving her lunch up onto the floor.
"That… is nasty," she muttered, accepting the tissue that Greyrose was offering her.
"Are you all right, dear?"
"It's nothing… well, I feel like crap, but I levelled up… The usual," she smiled weakly as she wiped her face. She grabbed a water bottle from her bag and downed about half of it before she grinned shakily at the teacher.
"I'm ok, Prof, seriously. I'm going back inside."
Lydia Greyrose new perfectly well that Cori Drake was anything but OK.