Ok guys, I've finished two samples for the tales of Christia. These are of course describing Sir Cornelius' expulsion and Lord Kiva's exploits in Laurealda. They're a bit long, so I'll cut them out and post them elsewhere once they've been approved.
The Tragic Expulsion of Sir Cornelius
"Very well then, class." a man dressed in flowing, elegant golden and green robes said in a somewhat stuffy old voice. He walked over to his desk from where he stood, near the front of a stage before an auditorium of eager young mana-wielders. The man limped slightly, grimacing as his knee began to protest from the strain it had endured in the man's unnaturally long life. But at long last, he reached his chair and sat down, relief plain as day on his heavily wrinkled face as he ran a hand through his long, unruly gray whisps of hair.
"Thank you all for your work today. This was a most productive lesson. ... Are there any questions before you are dismissed for the day?"
A few students sighed in quiet frustration, as they certainly didn't want to stay and listen to the especially bookish students ask simple questions that would earn them an extra 20 minutes of lecturing. But most students who didn't want to learn more on the side had been separated out by now. After all, this was an advanced class, and their teacher, Archmage Gerald Rodrigal of the Golden Oak, was a master if there ever was.
"Yes, Eleanor." the Archmage called out, pointing to the tall and lanky young Elven woman who sat a bit closer to the front. She had a hand raised, slightly rough from all the work she did tinkering with golems or concocting the mixtures necessary for mixing new elixer or potion forms of the spells they were taught. Eleanor quickly lowered her hand, placing it back in her lap, and asked,
"Master Rodrigal, it is not that I wish to change my specialization in golemn-crafting; quite the opposite, I have become even MORE intrigued after today's class on reanimation and mending spells... but I am curious."
She seemed nervous, and the Archmage scowled quizzically as he sat up in his chair and waved his hand. "Yes? Go on... do not be afraid to ask."
Eleanor chewed her lip, knowing that this school of mana was surely not taught here for a reason, but she had to know. Her hunger for knowledge won out in the end, and she asked, "Master... I heard a traveller from Sal Kadedin in town last month, and today's subject material reminded me of what I overheard. He was speaking to another man about... about raising the dead, sir."
The Archmage's bushy brows rose sharply, and his eyes went wide as he leaned forward, gripping his armrests tightly. "Eleanor, what makes you wonder about so terrible a practice? Only El Elyon himself has the power to restore that life which he has taken away."
But he knew what Eleanor asked of. And he feared it. And just as he feared, the curious student continued on. "He spoke of something different... of using the dead's bodies to construct a servant, much like we do with minerals to form golems and other constructs. I know our constructs are better and stronger than mere human bone and flesh... but..."
"But what, child?" Rodrigal asked, his brows furrowing as his expression became even more sour.
The student hesitated, fearful of his bad mood, but would not fall silent on him now. "Why do we not use it? It is efficient... it does not require mining of stone, or smelting of ore. We need only use the limitless supply of dead bodies to construct our servants."
Those who didn't want to stay were enthralled now. The Archmage sighed deeply, sitting in deep thought as he scratched his chin... which he noted that he needed to shave when he was a bit less distressed.
"It seems I need to give you all a brief lesson in history, class." Rodrigal announced. "You ask a fair question. I will not deny that. For the answer lies within my own order, I fear. Necromancy, or the enslaving of the dead, is practiced only by dark and evil wizards. Mana, that pure resource which we employ, is not their source of power. Rather, they use the magicks of the unknown arcane, which is of course in the realm of demons and evil spirits. But despite this, there was once an Archmage of the Brotherhood of the Golden Oak who asked your same question.
His name was Sir Cornelius Godric Pellinore... you may ask why you never hear that name today, and that's without a doubt because of the fact that he was the last of his line. He was, like many of you, an outstanding student. He was an original member of the Brotherhood, and greatly respected. It is a shame that all of the good he did is now for nought..."
Pausing only for a moment, Rodrigal continued on. "Cornelius' lust for power was great. He wanted only to serve good with it... as so many do... but it is said that good intentions make up the stones in the road to Hell. It is quite true in his case, for he delved into that dark school of Magic. Cornelius fell in love with the efficiency that has you so fascinated, Eleanor. He was tempted by the lure of eternal life on this earth, and the power over the dead and their limitless numbers. He fell prey to it, and it is my sincere hope that you will not.
For you see, my pupils... Even though Cornelius did so in secret, his old colleagues learned of his heresy. They knew that if he was allowed to continue studying it, his heart would be corrupted, and they intervened. Imagine, if you will, ANY archmage who suddenly turns upon humanity. The results would be disastrous... and so they were, children. It seems to us that the original Brotherhood was too late, for Cornelius employed a terrifying storm of destructive magic when he was taken captive and held by the Church. The very cathedral in which he was held was reduced to rubble, as was much of the surrounding town. Hundreds died, and a line was carved through home and shop as the madman made his escape. He cared more for Necromancy and his freedom to study it than anything else at this point... even the lives of his fellow man, or for his own immortal soul."
The class was silent and in awe for the most part. Many were in disbelief that something like this could ever happen, but they had learned to trust the wisened old Archmage. Of course, the question on everyone's mind was clear; it just took a while for someone to ask, "So... Master Rodrigal, who finally stopped him?"
Rodrigal looked up, scowling darkly in the magelight lamps that lit the auditorium, the weary lines on his face clearer than ever as he gruffly replied, "To our knowledge, Sir Cornelius is still out there."
A young mage raised his hand and protested, "But sir! That cannot be possible! Yes, those well-trained in Mana can legthen their lives, but it must have been over 500 years ago when the Brotherhood was founded!"
The Archmage laughed humorlessly and shook his head in pity. "My child... I have said it once already. Cornelius abandoned Mana. He is a Necromancer, and he was before he was even captured. Last we saw the old heretic, he was but a skeleton in his old robes and a set of black armor. A terrifying sight to behold, I hear. Just remember, class. Necromancy is real... and it is a real DANGER. No man can wield it without sinning and endangering the state of his soul, or the purity of his heart. Stay away from it, and leave the dead as God put them. For Sir Cornelius and the many mana-wielders he has seduced to this most black of the black arts are strong reminders that it IS easy to succumb to. Guard your hearts, class. Oh, and... if you ever see a dead man walking before you graduate, you'd be wise to run. Even afterwards, running is still a good idea. After all... Sir Cornelius is not the only Undead magician out there, nor is he the oldest or most powerful. The Undead rarely travel alone, and Undead sorcerers have likely been training longer than you have been alive. Try to square off with one, class... and you're as good as UNdead."
Mmmmmmm.... It's been a long time.
