I demonstrated a true aptitude for thaumaturgy; a natural flair, if I say so myself. But I was prone to being easily distracted largely because I had the attention span of a gnat. But also, because I found words scratched on parchment were, at best, incomprehensible. I wasn't one for reading. I mean I could read, but only very basic scripts. It was difficult for me to focus on the gargantuan books with their endless sea of words spinning and swimming before my eyes. I much preferred to be shown how to do something and then try it for myself. That was how I learned best.
My needs were not to everyone's understanding, certainly not to some of my fellow scholars. The frequent visual displays I called for, ate into their precious reading time. It also irked a couple of tutors who objected to my constant requests; I think they saw it as a test of their abilities, which truly it wasn't. It just provided the stimulus I needed to absorb their teachings.
Thoughts of my mother encouraged me although I confess, I'm astonished I managed through my first year. Everyone's patience eventually ran thin, and halfway through my internship, my preferred method of learning was severely curbed - unless it was considered practical and beneficial to all.
Strangely, though, I understood a myriad of complex, archaic symbols and runes. Even more surprisingly, the many mathematical concepts which enabled us to unravel the mysteries of the cosmos were ridiculously simple for me to identify. How? I didn't know the reason back then, but they required no interpretation. It was as if they sang to my soul; were an integral part of me—as natural as breathing. I think perhaps that was why my mother wanted me to follow my dream in the magical arts. She must have known both my failings and my capabilities, yet she never discussed the former with me. Perhaps she felt that would detract from my studies and be taken as a sign of ineptitude, which would nag, nip, and tug at my conscience, eventually resulting in my failure. Plus, I didn't need something else to ruminate over. On reflection, she really knew me well – better than I did myself. How I missed her. And still do.
Student accommodation in the Magic Halls turned out to be a pleasant surprise. Initially, I'd dreaded the thought of all the trainees crammed into one massive dormitory. Thankfully, that was not the case. Rooms were shared, yes, but with a maximum of six occupants, so it was adequately comfortable.
Two of my roommates were human, Geraldine Colby and Melissa Ramsay. The other three were High Elves, Kalanae Runehold, Olidana Freestrider and Felenn Morrowread; all startlingly beautiful in an ethereal way. My human roomies and two of the elves were there on earned scholarships, unlike me and Olidana, whose fathers had to pay for our education.
High Elves bear a particular aloofness which seems to run in their blood. I guess the fact that they were the forerunners of all things magic, particularly the arcane, they tend to look upon us humans with a fixed degree of disdain. Therefore, the atmosphere in our room was a little strained at times.
Elves' magical prowess is undeniable, a result of their lineage steeped in millennia of powerful forces and influences. But, their superiority complex, a byproduct of their magical heritage, was something I found hard to stomach; if I'm honest, it was a constant source of irritation. But we kept things polite. There was no alternative, really; it would be our home for the duration of our internships.
We, humans, a considerably young race in comparison to the elves, possess perpetuity to manual labour as opposed to magical finesse. With an unequalled proficiency in coordinating strategic manoeuvres of a more military nature, our expertise in warfare was highly sought. In fact, it was with a unique insight many, many years ago that King Thoradin of Arathor saw fit to request of the elven king that humans be taught magic, adding another notch to our arsenal belt.
It was forward-thinking for its time, but I bet he didn't bargain on the underlying intolerance both races felt toward each other; right up to the present day.
Personally, I don't dislike elves, but I find it very hard to interact with them. They are cold individuals who have the annoying habit of looking down their noses at us. Oddly enough, if another human adopted that manner with me, I would be quick to put matters straight. Most likely with a hard slap across the cheek. Yes, I was that person. Back in the day. But with an elf? I was wary. Only too aware of their unrivalled magical knowledge and abilities, I knew better than to challenge them.
Education in the magical arts didn't come free. Nothing did. And while my father hadn't been dripping in gold like some of the elven families, he was nonetheless able to provide the annual fees. Just.
It wasn't the cost that attributed to him loathing my choice of vocation. He was, as I've already explained, 'old school', believing that manual labour, getting your hands dirty was classed as work. But sorcery, the manipulation of the elements? He could be quite brash in his mistrust of the magical community, voicing how he didn't see it as a real job, although never within earshot of those involved. And even though paying for my education was a hefty sum for a man of his means, he didn't remind me that money was tight or make me reconsider my career choice. Instead, he would quietly nod with a resigned smile.
And so it was; my vocation gradually took flight, and my abilities did not go unnoticed. I may not have been top of the class, but I wasn't at the tail end either.
It was just that the timing could not have been worse. Plunged into the Third War, the esteemed magi to whom students were eventually to be assigned were initially unavailable due to demands on the front lines. Appointments to the delegated Archmagi looked like they'd have to wait – possibly until the war was over. But, at least studies would be maintained in their current format which meant I would remain a student for however long it was until the rollcalls could commence.
To ease the pressure on my father's purse, I sought work in between studies so I could at least contribute toward my education in some fashion. Thankfully, my somewhat paltry earnings eventually helped me procure some essential items a young apprentice required, such as quills, inks, reading texts (yes, unfortunately, I could not escape them entirely), parchments, and even robes, although they would never be as grand as the likes of the elves' raiment. However, acquiring a suitable position to enable such provisions had not been an easy task.
Even amid a war, Dalaran still offered several openings for people looking to secure work other than that directly related to battle, and I tried my hand at a few different trades. Waitressing and bartending at one of the inns was my starting point. I managed to hold that position for three months before the amount of broken crockery and glasses started to drastically eat into my wages.
"Klara!" One of the waitresses whispered to me urgently on my third week there. "None of us will have jobs left if you leave us with no plates to serve food or glasses to pour drinks!"
"Yes, Inzi. I'm trying my best."
"Well, your best ain't good enough. Buck up or else the 'posing pouch' over there will have you hung out to dry."
The 'posing pouch' was the assistant innkeeper, Caliel Brightwillow, a High Elf who fancied himself as the most successful entrepreneur to have ever lived. Inzi had nick-named him the posing pouch because of the way he carried himself and his rather 'prominent masculinity', which, with Inzi's small stature, her being a gnome and all, would literally eyeball her if she stood in front of him. It seemed Inzi and I shared a rather reserved opinion of elves, though, and I think that's why she kept looking out for me.
Alas, after one plate too many smashed to the ground, the 'posing pouch' indeed, pointed me to the door – with his finger, I hasten to add!
I received a forlorn little wave from Inzi on my way out.
After that, I became a shop assistant at Talismanic Textiles, a tailoring shop which specialised in cloth garments. Having about as much skill with a needle as a jormungar (an oversized, extremely aggressive, perpetually hungry, scaly worm, for those who do not know), Mr Worth, the proprietor, kindly gave me a job as a salesperson.
"Now, Miss Elmsworth…" he always insisted on calling me Miss Elmsworth, even though I kept telling him I was fine with just Klara. "I want you to smile when greeting customers and draw their attention to some of the more…better quality items." He pointed to a rack of clothing at the front of the shop.
"Yes, Mr Worth."
"And remember…smile!"
"Yes, Mr Worth," I said, with a smile that almost caused paralysis to my cheeks. Alas, I wasn't the best advertisement for fashion. I was too … honest, I guess.
"Ooh, well that cut just doesn't hide your ample hips, now does it?" I said to one very large lady. I thought I was being diplomatic. She thought otherwise.
"Yes, I think that colour matches your hair perfectly. It's quite a nice shade of dull grey, don't you think?" I don't know why the customer didn't find that flattering.
"Seriously? That's a tad expensive for what you want. But I saw a similar outfit that'll save you about five gold, in the Magus Exchange – just opposite the Alchemy shop! Know where I mean?"
Mr Worth really didn't like my helpfulness to the customer with that one. Strange, because the customer looked happy enough.
Anyway, management politely asked that I not return after that last faux pas.
I then tried my hand at the local pet shop and stables. Even that ended in disaster.
"Klara! For goodness sake, you do not pick up an obsidian hatchling by its tail!"
"But, Breanni, I was worried it would bite me," I said pathetically while holding my bleeding left pinkie over the raptor's cage.
"Bite you? It's a wonder it didn't devour you, man-handling the poor little thing like that."
The hatchling was jumping up and down trying to catch the blood dripping from my finger.
"Get yourself cleaned up, lass, or the critter is going to go mad with bloodlust."
It didn't stop there. Next, a calico cat almost shredded me as I was putting the food bowls in its cage. The food ended up flying through the air, resulting in some of the other animals going berserk, trying to grab titbits as they fell.
But the piece de la resistance happened on my fifth day when accepting a reeking pet carrier from a customer who needed her pet looked after for a week while she visited family in the Sholazar Basin.
"Now, please, please please be careful with that," Breanni was telling me as I held the carrier by its handle. "If you upset the wee beast, we'll all suffer."
"Suffer? How? What's in here?" I asked, bringing the carrier up to eye level for a better look.
"Don't do that! I'm warning you…"
Too late! It turned out the occupant of the said carrier was a very nervous skunk, by the name of Stinker, and my face looming in at a rate of knots must have frightened it. The little darling reacted in the only way it could and let patrons and proprietors alike share in a whiff of its unique fragrance. My face automatically puffed up from the secretion, and I dropped the carrier – inviting yet more parfum de skunk. So, I had to quit -immediately - and I left the shop with a face that looked like a fetid food pile.
I thought that was the end of my employment opportunities, but finally, I was entrusted with a cleaning job—and that was just by sheer damn luck.
One of my tutors overheard my plight when I was speaking to my friends during a lunch break. She told me that one of 'The Council of Six' required a cleaner at their home in the city. I jumped at the chance, of course. I had a little experience in housekeeping, after all. when I'd looked after the cottage following my mother's demise. Fair enough, I wasn't a natural, but I knew the basics. And I really needed this job! Plus, this could be more than just beneficial to my purse strings; it could potentially be the best opportunity for furthering my skill sets.
'The Council of Six' were the best of the best when it came to all things magic and consisted of the highest ranking, most worldly experienced Archmagi to grace our planet. In fact, some argued that the disciplines of these Magi were vastly superior to that of warlocks, another branch of spell weavers who tended to use familiars and myriad brands of thaumaturgy. Mages relied more on ancient writings, comprehension of the elements and their components, and an understanding of the cosmos twinned with sacred chants and runic foundations. They did, on occasion, conjure a familiar, but that was used more as a conduit of their energies rather than a warring ally.
The 'Six' were the predominant masters of sorcery in the city and presided from within the Violet Citadel, a splendorous structure of many spires, the topmost of which reached so high that it was obscured by clouds. That spire housed the renowned Chamber of Air: forbidden territory for those who were not members of The Six. Unless, of course, one was invited. Or summoned.
The walls were believed to be constructed entirely of air, perpetually spinning, and peppered on occasion with electrical storms and whirlwinds. But more often than not, they remained peaceful and benevolent, reflecting the seasons and dazzling night skies. More intriguingly, the spire, at Rhonin's insistence during the rebuild, was rumoured to be a weapon, one that would defend the city, and all its denizens should it fall under attack again.
I hoped to enter that room one day. Preferably having earned the title of Archmage rather than just as a guest, or worse, for a punishment to be assigned. But I knew that dream was a long, long way away.
We learned and practised the arts in the Halls of Magic, located in the east wing of the Citadel. We had access to all the training areas, communal rooms, library, and, of course, the dormitories. Strangely, I felt at home there, in the Citadel. It was almost as if I had an affinity with the very foundation and even the bricks with which it was built.
Months into the war, with no sign of the enemy diminishing, we were surprised to hear that our placements would be going ahead earlier than anticipated. Word of mouth intimated that the allies were in desperate need of numbers, and so the magical community deemed it practical, nay - necessary, to help young magi climb the magical ladders so they could assist in the fierce battles that were known collectively as the Third War.
But my vocation would not be an easy path to travel, especially when I was assigned as an apprentice under the tutelage of one of the most highly regarded Archmagi.
I had hoped for someone else, but I guess it was preordained that the same one who'd hired me to clean their house would become my tutor. And so it was that my mentor was the indomitable Archmage Modera.