[center][h1][color=00aeef]M[/color]arco [color=00aeef]M[/color]axell[/h1][/center]
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The hour grew late and the young boy still hadn't finished his studies for the day. With news that the kingdom had gown to war, many of the solders and knights of Barcea were busying themselves preparing for the worst. However, Marco still was told to do as instructed.His lessons would take priority over all else, unless an emergency occurred. Master Az'Cer Codigo, Arcmagus of the Capitol, had given his a harsh lesson about the reality of their situation. 

[indent][color=0072bc][i]'A Mage does not prepare his body like a knight does, but his mind and his spirit, in times of crisis. Your greatest tool was a clear head and sharp wit. You remember how your father sacrificed himself to save you, don't you? Keep that in heart and be prepared to do the same. The queen has graced you with her mercy and you will grace her with your loyalty. You are to lay down your life as will as the rest, even in face of your worst fears, child.'[/i][/color][/indent]

Sighing deeply, he scribbled away with quill and ink. He had to transcribe some of the older text unto fresh parchment, translate a few terms into more a. It was murder on his wrist, each loop of cursive brought about a sharp pain, and his eyes strained to see in the sim light of his candle. At this rate he wouldn't be finished until the first light of dawn. However, the boy had a nice mug of hot fresh coffee beside him. Never did Marco ever truly live until he tasted the nectar of hot bean juice. He had always seen his father drink it, but couldn't understand for the life of him why it was so important. Then again, he didn't really understand what was important overall to begin with...

He raised a hand to his face and pressed the tips of his finger into his eyes. The slight pressure blocked out the light, causing stars to pop and explode behind his heavy lids. How long had he been working again? It almost seemed as if he was working through the entire day. [color=00aeef]"Perhaps sleep is the answer,"[/color] he thought to himself as he removed his hand and went for his mug. [color=00aeef] Coffee doesn't seem to be doing much more of anything other than making my bowels act up.[/color] As if on queue, his stomach gave a howler. [color=00aeef]"Another restroom break, a few more pages, and then I will choose to sleep. Master will punish me for not completing my task on time, of course."[/color] He gave a nod, affirming his decision before pushing himself back away from the hardwood desk he had hunched over. Joints crackled and clicked as he stood up, the soreness of his tired limbs rose up with him. He downed the last few dregs that remained in his cup and took it with him as he descended from his spire work place.

His master had personally requested that Marco be allowed a room to rest and a room in which he could work. Marco never believed that in his years he would ever be able to stay in a place such as this. Grand halls, regal balls, and plenty of food for him to gain more than a few inches of fat. In all honesty, the life style made him fell more lazy. So whenever the opportunity arose for him to help around the castle he took it willingly, as long as it didn't interfere with his work. He enjoyed the view, though it was a bit vertigo inducing at first. It was a swirling staircase, enough room for two men to walk abreast at any point, that spiraled high into the air. 

Marco placed down his mug on the windowsill of his bedchambers and started to undo his breeches. He hands fumbles lazily with the knot, when he heard a communion out in the hall. [color=00aeef][i]'Perhaps it is just a collection of drunk guards, trying to dull the edge of the recent events'[/i][/color], he thought to himself as he sat about. He did his business rather quickly, the caffeine more so forced its way out of him. [color=00aeef][i]'Perhaps I should ween myself off of the stuff... these unexcused breaks are becoming more frequent and it displeases me.'[/i][/color] He could only sigh as he reached for a cloth to clean himself with. There was much for him to consider before the night was through.

He stopped, stained cloth in hand, as the earlier commotion came closer. Before he could only hear slight shouts and an rare yell, not too uncommon for drunkards, but now he heard the truth. The song of ringing steel, the pained, labored, grunts of combat, and the unforgivable sound of death. Whomever was engaged in the fighting, it was intense. Marco felt his lung seize up as he silently listened. He could not tell exactly whom was fighting, but knowledge from the earlier events of the day gave him a strong inkling. He reached behind his waist to the spell book that he never kept far from him, as he was instructed, and edged slowly back into his bedchambers. 

The air felt different was the screaming continued farther off, muffled by so much stone and distance. Marco could feel the energy of the night and knew that he wouldn't be able to get his work done. [color=00aeef][i]'Master Az'Cer will be cross with me'[/i][/color], he thought sharply. His brow creased as a frown crossed his face. Why would he be concerned with his master's will at a time like this? Their lives are in danger and he still holds the mindset of a servant. He needed information, it was the key to any situation as he had learned repeatedly. He had nothing really to protect him, being dressed in his night clothing and barefoot, other than his spells, he would rather use the time to prepare a few layers of protection. 

He kept the light of his bedchambers dimmed, make it appear as if he is not alert, and started to chant in the tongue of the Divines. He felt power surge through his being as he channeled magics beyond his comprehension. Soon his attire changed and he stood clothed in [url=https://67.media.tumblr.com/7cc1e9ba8b9d8d5c4f2f4c6d620d058c/tumblr_nz68w8CNSk1t5z3yho1_540.jpg]ethereal robes[/url] with tendrils of magic trailing from his hands. His chamber doors flew open with a loud crash, shadowed figures rushing forward with steel in hand. Their keen edge gleamed like slithers of the moon, Marco knew that they were not for show. 

[color=00aeef]"Bego-!"[/color], his words were cut off as a dagger dug its way into his shoulder. Had he stood still for longer than he did, his life would have ended. The blade was aimed for his heart and it burned like the sun in his arm. The boy wouldn't be able to negotiate his way out of this situation, so he turned to the magic that he had been learning. He called out for the Divines to give him strength that his body lacked and threw up his palms. The movement caused his shoulder to burn again, but he followed through anyway. An invisible wall of force shot forward from the boy and pushed the creatures backwards. There was a thunderous crash as he moved most of the belongings with them. Loose bits of parchments, books, strange instruments, and even a small table where sent flying towards the exit. The instruments exploded into a cloth of glass and broken pieces, along with the wooden shrapnel of the table. This was the gift that he was graced with, and it would be his one true friend before this night was over he was sure. 

Left panting as the magic faded from him, Marco knew he had to find help. In truth he had not killed the creatures. His display of power had only stunned them at best, so he had to be quick. Using his main hand, he took the dagger by its hilt and wrenched it free from his flesh. It was a deep wound, one that would hinder him in the future unless it was taken care of now. Normally, he wouldn't waste one of his back up plans now... but this was a time of crisis. He turned to the windowsill where his coffee was left waiting. Kneeling down to reach his satchel, the boy mage removed a thin vial filled with a vibrant pink substance. A healing potion, if his notes on the subject of Potions had anything to say. While it wasn't as potent as one his master could craft, Marco's would help his own natural healing process along. He uncorked the vial and down the contents, smacking his lips a little afterwards. His eyes widened as he felt a surge of energy run through him. His pain was gone, along with his exhaustion. He tossed aside the vial and went about wrapping his wound up.

Shortly afterwards, he stood in the hall outside of his room with his satchel slung over his unharmed shoulder. He covered his mouth at the sight of the carnage. Dead bodies of his friends, allies, and kinsmen. There was so much blood, it pooled even after being soaked into the carpet. He felt his hands trembling. His whole body was left shaking like a leave in a gale. It brought back that night he had lost his father, the same terror that he felt at seeing his world around him shake and scream like a banshee. He needed help, he hand to run. Someone, somewhere, could protect him. He was just a boy, he had no place in a war. He turned to look over his shoulder as sounds of shuffling came from the pair of creatures he attacked earlier. He gathered what wits were left about him and ran as far as his legs would take him. He wanted to scream, he wanted to yell, for help, but all he could manage were the tears flowing down his face.