'The Adventures of the Emerald Band' Volume One

Chapter One: The Magi Academy: Part 2

2 - George

The twisting marbled grey hallways of the Magi Academy had long confused George. He had travelled these never-ending passages for as long as he could remember, yet he was still none the wiser to the true scale of the Academy. A mage could spend decades exploring, yet still be shocked to discover new bends and corners, new paths and new halls that they could have sworn did not exist.

The walls were grey marble, heavily weathered by centuries of snow and wind. Only the occasional tapestry, painting or torch made any single hallway different from the last. However, as George wondered these endless halls, he swore that the tapestries themselves moved, transferring themselves from one hallway to the next.

George dragged his crimson robes through these ancient hallways which had stubbornly survived countless centuries as a stalwart testament to the education of magic. George pulled the folds of his thick wool robes tighter around his small frame. His pale skin was almost blue as the freezing, mountain air blew fiercely from outside through the empty stone windows which lined the halls. A few small flakes of snow hit his face, making him flinch and seek deeper refuge within the relative warmth of his robes. He shuffled over to the window, swearing as his slightly too large collar relentlessly fell from his shoulders with each step.

The ceremonial red robes were thicker and heavier than his usual faded white or grey student robes, however they were no more helpful in protecting him from the cold he so despised. Despite living almost his entire life in the mountainous Magi Academy, he still could not learn to love the cold. The flaming braziers which illuminated the halls were enough to hold back the dusty snow, but they were powerless against the chilling winds which sang a subtle, almost too quiet to hear whistle. At night, students swore that the halls were talking to them, in ancient, forgotten tongues, whispering mysteries long lost.

He looked out of the icy frame of an old marble window and out over the horizon, hoping it could give him some sign of where he had wondered. Directly below him was the massive central courtyard, the heart of the Academy. It was unnaturally verdant, trees of luscious green overseeing lime-grey paths of weathered cobbled stone. Flowers grew either side of these slightly mossy paths, in all the colours of spring. Reds and yellows and blues, but brightest of all were the violet Mana Lilies which at night glowed like magical fireflies.

The courtyard was a stark juxtaposition to the freezing airs and relentless snow which battered the Academy on a daily basis. However, the ice and cold could do nothing to rob the flora of their warm beauty. A feat which could only be achieved by the powerful magic of the Academy's mages.

Surrounding this garden in the tundra were countless ancient stone buildings which wrapped around the courtyard, their walls decorated with etched arches and pillars. Rising from these buildings were numberless piercing towers which reached towards the heavens, their true heights hidden by the dark grey clouds which swarmed the skies. Each tower held a slightly different design, the product of decades and centuries and millennia of expansion, re-design, destruction and reconstruction. This had grown the Academy into an unmatched citadel of magic, something which despite regular attempts, could not be mimicked.

Some of these great towers were made of large, limestone bricks. Plain, but strong. One was made in the design of a dragon wrapping its long body around the tower, its head acting as the towers roof. However, the delicate draconic engravings were nearly invisible, etched away by time and centuries of watery ice and freezing winds. Yet, the largest of the towers rose even higher, far above the clouds. It dwarfed all the others, its walls an unmistakably brilliant crystal white. Though many of the other towers faced the effects of years of wear, the Archmage's tower was resolute despite its age surpassing the others by several centuries. The sole blemish on its otherwise perfectly maintained walls were a few scorch marks just below the cloud line, the last remaining signs of a siege that had taken place too long ago for even Elves with their lifespans of over a thousand years to recall.