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THE NOTICE WAS SMALL, a piece of parchment no wider than an Aelurian's hand. But it had caught the attention of the Aelurian crowd well enough with its dyed golden edges, and creamy stock, the elegant script clearly scrawled by some educated Moonborn. In the upper right-hand corner, the king's seal shone in the bright light of overhead lantern fruit.
Similar notices had been found in the burgeoning Shadling territory known as the Glittering Glade, and tacked to the stone walls of the Cloudian settlements nestled deep below the Black Sands.
They all announced that a magickal school was opening in Darkmoore.
Attention, Kingdom of Aelurus.
Aelurians. Cloudians. Shadlings. You have been cordially invited to the grand opening of the Margoliesse Browntail School for Magicks.
Be you a curious Cloudian, outfitted with daring whiskers and an appetite for adventure? Or perhaps you're a Shadling with a jiggling, wiggling interest in the elements and how to wield their power. Aelurians - do you seek to rest your claws, and learn instead how to hurl fireballs at your enemies' faces? Craft the most heinous poisons, extend a plant's life with advanced potioneering techniques, ensnare the heart of a secret crush with charms, enchantments and more.
Unravel all of magick's secrets at The Margoliesse Browntail School for Magicks.
Classes to begin in two moons. Practical demonstrations by appointment only. Lectures recorded via memory orb.
All are welcome.
This message has been approved by Lucian Dinn' Aelurus, Ben'nessren, Crescent Moon House.
*
The red one, with stripes.
Margo ran her fingers over the coarse fabric, tracing one of the robe's, thick white stripes. She grimaced at its length, its hem pooling on the floor, and the scalloped lace trim along the sleeves. The robe would prove a tripping hazard, and the sleeves, while she liked the delicate edges enough, were too flowy and would get in the way of more complicated spellcrafting. One exaggerated sweep of the arms would have her setting herself on fire.
No fires, she had promised herself. Not on day one.
She flung the robe aside, discarding it on top of a growing pile of robes in the corner of her room.
Behind her, the bed was still covered in robes, and even though she'd been rummaging through them since dawn, their numbers hadn't dwindled at all. Where one was discarded, another seemed to poof into existence and take its place. Perhaps a type of torture magick, unwittingly unleashed and not yet widely known?
A sigh whistled between her lips as she grappled with despair and annoyance. She grimaced, plucking a blue robe off her pillow. It shimmered, the nightsilk sifting through her fingers like grains of sand.
She shook her head. It was too nice. Something best reserved for a ball, and not what was sure to be an accident-filled day at school.
With her inexperience as a teacher, mixing with rising nerves, and a barrage of what-ifs that hadn't stopped slamming against her skull since she woke up, if she walked away with minor whisker burns, she'd consider the day a success.
Four of the robes were black. Ankle-length and without adornment. They screamed function and practicality, perfect for a teacher, but not right for her. She wanted something that reflected her in its weave, in its construction or embellishment, but nothing in the mountain of clothes seemed fitting.
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Abbernathy and Magick's End |Trilogy Now Complete!
Fantasy**Sequel to Abbernathy and the Two Kings ** One girl. Two loved ones missing. And magick that needs saving. This is Abbernathy and Magick's End, the third, and final, leg of Abby's journey. Seventeen-year-old Abbernathy Tells is on a mission: save...
