05-07-2007, 11:51 AM
As noted before, this is here for you enjoyment as well as your criticism. See anything you find.. annoying, ect 
Just tell me. I'm out to try to make it more enjoyable for my future readers
Part 1: http://www.forums.finalhit.org/showthread.php?tid=16684
Part 2: http://www.forums.finalhit.org/showthread.php?tid=16885
Master Eugene Hempstead was the dictionary meaning of boring, and all such related words like mind numbing surely included him. Rockett stared at the mage before her. The master of the Alambran history class was a shriveled prune of a mage. His skin was mottled with age. Not even Brittany Hall with all of her beauty products could have saved him now. Hempstead craned his neck forward like a turtle as he surveyed his class. Blinking owlish eyes, he slowly opened his mouth to begin his incessant drone. No matter how hard anyone had tried to concentrate, it was impossible to figure out what he was saying or even to pay attention. The students had concluded that Winterlocke, the magimaster of Alderwood, could not possibly fire someone who had been teaching when dirt was new. Hempstead would be at his desk until he croaked.
Once, Rockett had given a third rank an enchanted pen, which copied the sounds it heard. In Hempstead’s class, the background gossip was written down in great detail, including the fact Ariella’s hair color was not naturally red. Even the ‘doink’ for every time a paper airplane hit the chalkboard had been noted. However, none of Hempstead’s commentary was scratched down. When she had specified the spell to only pick up Hempstead’s voice, the third rank had returned to her with a grim expression and an hour’s worth of straight lines in his history notebook.
The day worth remembering had been the day Hempstead had been a substitute lecturer for Rockett’s history class the year before. Blake Dranger and his sidekick Daven had slipped some sort of herb from the experimental garden into Hempstead’s morning tea. The frail old man had spent a good candlemark jumping up and down on the desks, turning the entire room upside down, before some masters came to the rescue. Blake ended up at the Juvenile Mage’s Correctional Facility and Daven was still serving detention every Monday. Without Blake, Rockett’s class had grown quiet, but word was Blake would be back in a month.
She had not minded Blake. He was daring enough to greet her or crack an occasional joke around her, but he always timed it just right as to not agitate her. His genuine character had kept him from being permanently expelled.
Daven wisely stayed away from Rockett. She made it clear that the simpering freckle-faced boy annoyed her. The sorceress also knew that Daven had never forgotten the time she had turned his charcoal into a firecracker a snide remark he made. The basics master refused to believe his story, thus he had ended up with five more detentions.
Rockett’s mind slowly shifted away from the droning voice of Hempstead. She closed her eyes and forged onto the smoky recesses of the ethereal plane. She was always there on the plane with her mind. Its existence was only accessible by her mind, so when she was awake and focusing on her physical world she could simply drift on the ethereal plane without concentrating on it. Her second year at Alderwood had nearly passed before she began to realize the truth of the plane. Before she had found that sometimes when she closed her eyes and always in her sleep, this place of smoky shapes and endless depths came to her. Nobody but herself had ever existed on the plane when she was a child. At night she had always been alone. In the children’s homes that had traded guardianship over her, she had spent the darkest hours roaming aimlessly, looking for a way out of the shoddy prison. Even if she had found the ethereal plane back then, few human minds could come to it. It was not until her first year in Alderwood that Rockett began to see the shapeless glimmers of others at night. During the day, when she sought the solitude of her mind, the glimmers were gone. Her second year, one who had the power to consciously walk the plane came. It had been a great black form pulsing with power but radiating tranquility. The sorceress remembered reveling in the taste of It. It had floated across the expanse, stroking her smaller presence with great black tendrils. The moment those tendrils had touched her essence, she had suddenly understood what this place was.
Tiny wisps of blue-tinged smoke swirled around her as her mind reached out across the plane. For the last few years, she had known that like Earth was one plane and Alhambra another, the ethereal was a plane for the mind. However, she had never taken the power she knew was there. Mage’s feared those “walkers” who could enter the ethereal plane freely. To be one was to dance with death. Because she could never get away from it, she merely used it to slip away to peace.
The scrape of chairs as tyros began to stand pulled Rockett’s focus back to the classroom. She glanced up at the chalkboard, noted the homework, then stood. Conventional spells with Tangaunté was next and last of all Master Pythos’ mathemagical theorems.
Just tell me. I'm out to try to make it more enjoyable for my future readersPart 1: http://www.forums.finalhit.org/showthread.php?tid=16684
Part 2: http://www.forums.finalhit.org/showthread.php?tid=16885
Master Eugene Hempstead was the dictionary meaning of boring, and all such related words like mind numbing surely included him. Rockett stared at the mage before her. The master of the Alambran history class was a shriveled prune of a mage. His skin was mottled with age. Not even Brittany Hall with all of her beauty products could have saved him now. Hempstead craned his neck forward like a turtle as he surveyed his class. Blinking owlish eyes, he slowly opened his mouth to begin his incessant drone. No matter how hard anyone had tried to concentrate, it was impossible to figure out what he was saying or even to pay attention. The students had concluded that Winterlocke, the magimaster of Alderwood, could not possibly fire someone who had been teaching when dirt was new. Hempstead would be at his desk until he croaked.
Once, Rockett had given a third rank an enchanted pen, which copied the sounds it heard. In Hempstead’s class, the background gossip was written down in great detail, including the fact Ariella’s hair color was not naturally red. Even the ‘doink’ for every time a paper airplane hit the chalkboard had been noted. However, none of Hempstead’s commentary was scratched down. When she had specified the spell to only pick up Hempstead’s voice, the third rank had returned to her with a grim expression and an hour’s worth of straight lines in his history notebook.
The day worth remembering had been the day Hempstead had been a substitute lecturer for Rockett’s history class the year before. Blake Dranger and his sidekick Daven had slipped some sort of herb from the experimental garden into Hempstead’s morning tea. The frail old man had spent a good candlemark jumping up and down on the desks, turning the entire room upside down, before some masters came to the rescue. Blake ended up at the Juvenile Mage’s Correctional Facility and Daven was still serving detention every Monday. Without Blake, Rockett’s class had grown quiet, but word was Blake would be back in a month.
She had not minded Blake. He was daring enough to greet her or crack an occasional joke around her, but he always timed it just right as to not agitate her. His genuine character had kept him from being permanently expelled.
Daven wisely stayed away from Rockett. She made it clear that the simpering freckle-faced boy annoyed her. The sorceress also knew that Daven had never forgotten the time she had turned his charcoal into a firecracker a snide remark he made. The basics master refused to believe his story, thus he had ended up with five more detentions.
Rockett’s mind slowly shifted away from the droning voice of Hempstead. She closed her eyes and forged onto the smoky recesses of the ethereal plane. She was always there on the plane with her mind. Its existence was only accessible by her mind, so when she was awake and focusing on her physical world she could simply drift on the ethereal plane without concentrating on it. Her second year at Alderwood had nearly passed before she began to realize the truth of the plane. Before she had found that sometimes when she closed her eyes and always in her sleep, this place of smoky shapes and endless depths came to her. Nobody but herself had ever existed on the plane when she was a child. At night she had always been alone. In the children’s homes that had traded guardianship over her, she had spent the darkest hours roaming aimlessly, looking for a way out of the shoddy prison. Even if she had found the ethereal plane back then, few human minds could come to it. It was not until her first year in Alderwood that Rockett began to see the shapeless glimmers of others at night. During the day, when she sought the solitude of her mind, the glimmers were gone. Her second year, one who had the power to consciously walk the plane came. It had been a great black form pulsing with power but radiating tranquility. The sorceress remembered reveling in the taste of It. It had floated across the expanse, stroking her smaller presence with great black tendrils. The moment those tendrils had touched her essence, she had suddenly understood what this place was.
Tiny wisps of blue-tinged smoke swirled around her as her mind reached out across the plane. For the last few years, she had known that like Earth was one plane and Alhambra another, the ethereal was a plane for the mind. However, she had never taken the power she knew was there. Mage’s feared those “walkers” who could enter the ethereal plane freely. To be one was to dance with death. Because she could never get away from it, she merely used it to slip away to peace.
The scrape of chairs as tyros began to stand pulled Rockett’s focus back to the classroom. She glanced up at the chalkboard, noted the homework, then stood. Conventional spells with Tangaunté was next and last of all Master Pythos’ mathemagical theorems.
I'm good at those
