A new, as of yet, untitled fic development!
Posted: Thu Aug 08, 2002 6:46 pm
Right. All the legal junk--erm, I wrote it, etc etc., it belongs to me, kthxplzbye. In all seriousness, don't rip this off me. Regardless of quality, I did work on it, yo, and I intend to keep working on it. ^_^
Anyway. This fic takes place after the death of Masahiro, and after Darin Prentiss arrives at Gunnir. Hakaril is roughly 17--this is two years before he becomes an Archmage.
The fic is, as I said, currently unnamed, cause I suck at names.
Silvery tendrils danced, just beyond Hakaril’s grasp, tantalizing and harassing him at the same time. His hand reached out to grab them, but again and again, they retreated, refusing to be enslaved by his grip. A milky white light blinded him briefly before subsiding, and just as he was uncovering his eyes to get a better look at the prize before him…
A loud thud echoed throughout the dormitory as Hakaril hit the floor, having rolled out of bed as a result of all his thrashing. The mage groaned, irritated by both being so roughly awakened and being unable to see his dream through to the end. Something wonderful was just beyond his grasp, and he knew it. Rubbing his eyes blearily, he worked his way to his feet, steadying himself with a hand against the bedpost. The bedsheets entangling his body fell away as he rose, collapsing in a disorderly heap around his ankles.
“Darin, what time is it?†Hakaril murmured, only half-caring. The worst that could happen if he lost track of time was that he could be late to class, and the concept of being forced to dust shelves or clean arcane instruments did little to frighten him. He was well-versed in the arts of crime and punishment, and it required an immense amount of threats to achieve any reaction from Hakaril. Being chastised for a minor infraction was nothing, after what he had been through.
Nothing could possibly faze him after what had happened to Masahiro.
The other boy, without even glancing up from his desk work, replied crisply to Hakaril. “11:53 A.M. and 13…14…15 seconds.â€
Hakaril restrained a laugh. Darin was a bit unusual, and he was still getting adjusted to his new roommate. The Time Mage turned around momentarily, his ice blue eyes meeting Hakaril’s own reddish ones for a fraction of a second before he returned to whatever he was reading.
Darin was a strange fellow, at least, by Hakaril’s standards, but he was a friend, nevertheless. However, even Hakaril had to admit that Darin was mildly creepy. At first, many of the girls flocked to Darin, finding his long, dark hair, thin yet handsome features, and faintly glowing eyes to be extremely attractive. However, most of them quickly realized that he was no ordinary person. He rarely spoke unless first spoken to, rarely if ever participated in group activities or social events of any sort, and furthermore…there was something else. A strange aura of sadness and the faintest wisp of some deeper depression hung in the air around Darin like a cloud of flies around a garbage pail. No one was entirely sure why any of this was the case—it simply was, and no one could argue with it.
However, Darin had proved to be an interesting roommate. Hakaril appreciated the company at times, and he was the more studious of the two friends, allowing Hakaril to count on Darin to remember trivial, insignificant things he would have otherwise forgotten. Talent, he supposed, only went so far—sometimes, everyone needed a little bit of assistance, and the time mage seemed pleased to be able to provide it. The only thing that bothered Hakaril about Darin was that he never seemed to enjoy himself, at all, in the slightest. There were a lot of rumors about where he had come from and why, but Hakaril knew the truth. Darin was a Prandian exchange student. There was nothing extremely suspicious or unnerving about that fact—why were so many people nervous about his presence, other than the mysterious aura that seemed to envelop him?
All that was irrelevant now, however, as Darin’s proclamation of the current moment in the passage of time indicated that the mage was going to be late for his Conjuration class.
<p><center><table border=1><tr><td><table cellspacing=0 cellpadding=4><tr><td></td><td><center>The Archmage:
Sadistic GM or handsome bishounen? You decide!
RPGWW! Beware of GM!
"I disapprove of what you say, but I shall defend to the death your right to say it." ~Voltaire
"You dealt a critical hit with a book." ~LadydragonclawsEDW
"I likes the vibrating ass plug, aw right!" ~Lord McBastard</center></td><td></td></tr></table></td></tr></table></center></p>
Anyway. This fic takes place after the death of Masahiro, and after Darin Prentiss arrives at Gunnir. Hakaril is roughly 17--this is two years before he becomes an Archmage.
The fic is, as I said, currently unnamed, cause I suck at names.
Silvery tendrils danced, just beyond Hakaril’s grasp, tantalizing and harassing him at the same time. His hand reached out to grab them, but again and again, they retreated, refusing to be enslaved by his grip. A milky white light blinded him briefly before subsiding, and just as he was uncovering his eyes to get a better look at the prize before him…
A loud thud echoed throughout the dormitory as Hakaril hit the floor, having rolled out of bed as a result of all his thrashing. The mage groaned, irritated by both being so roughly awakened and being unable to see his dream through to the end. Something wonderful was just beyond his grasp, and he knew it. Rubbing his eyes blearily, he worked his way to his feet, steadying himself with a hand against the bedpost. The bedsheets entangling his body fell away as he rose, collapsing in a disorderly heap around his ankles.
“Darin, what time is it?†Hakaril murmured, only half-caring. The worst that could happen if he lost track of time was that he could be late to class, and the concept of being forced to dust shelves or clean arcane instruments did little to frighten him. He was well-versed in the arts of crime and punishment, and it required an immense amount of threats to achieve any reaction from Hakaril. Being chastised for a minor infraction was nothing, after what he had been through.
Nothing could possibly faze him after what had happened to Masahiro.
The other boy, without even glancing up from his desk work, replied crisply to Hakaril. “11:53 A.M. and 13…14…15 seconds.â€
Hakaril restrained a laugh. Darin was a bit unusual, and he was still getting adjusted to his new roommate. The Time Mage turned around momentarily, his ice blue eyes meeting Hakaril’s own reddish ones for a fraction of a second before he returned to whatever he was reading.
Darin was a strange fellow, at least, by Hakaril’s standards, but he was a friend, nevertheless. However, even Hakaril had to admit that Darin was mildly creepy. At first, many of the girls flocked to Darin, finding his long, dark hair, thin yet handsome features, and faintly glowing eyes to be extremely attractive. However, most of them quickly realized that he was no ordinary person. He rarely spoke unless first spoken to, rarely if ever participated in group activities or social events of any sort, and furthermore…there was something else. A strange aura of sadness and the faintest wisp of some deeper depression hung in the air around Darin like a cloud of flies around a garbage pail. No one was entirely sure why any of this was the case—it simply was, and no one could argue with it.
However, Darin had proved to be an interesting roommate. Hakaril appreciated the company at times, and he was the more studious of the two friends, allowing Hakaril to count on Darin to remember trivial, insignificant things he would have otherwise forgotten. Talent, he supposed, only went so far—sometimes, everyone needed a little bit of assistance, and the time mage seemed pleased to be able to provide it. The only thing that bothered Hakaril about Darin was that he never seemed to enjoy himself, at all, in the slightest. There were a lot of rumors about where he had come from and why, but Hakaril knew the truth. Darin was a Prandian exchange student. There was nothing extremely suspicious or unnerving about that fact—why were so many people nervous about his presence, other than the mysterious aura that seemed to envelop him?
All that was irrelevant now, however, as Darin’s proclamation of the current moment in the passage of time indicated that the mage was going to be late for his Conjuration class.
<p><center><table border=1><tr><td><table cellspacing=0 cellpadding=4><tr><td></td><td><center>The Archmage:
Sadistic GM or handsome bishounen? You decide!
RPGWW! Beware of GM!
"I disapprove of what you say, but I shall defend to the death your right to say it." ~Voltaire
"You dealt a critical hit with a book." ~LadydragonclawsEDW
"I likes the vibrating ass plug, aw right!" ~Lord McBastard</center></td><td></td></tr></table></td></tr></table></center></p>