The Stone Altar

A Chapter by RedBull7

"Student Number Twenty!" The shrill voice of the head sorceress exploded outward, echoing off the monumental walls of the Grand Hall. All fifty two pairs of eyes began to hunt for the next person who would discover their fat. A frail blonde girl rose up amidst the throng. As she approached the altar at the end of the hall she kept her head down, her curly locks hung loosely in front of her face. When she finally reached the circle engraved in the center of the ancient stone platform she turned around, revealing a sickly white face, and eyes that appeared to be sucked into the back of her skull, symptoms of a combination of fear, awe, and anticipation. The circle she was standing in began to glow, and a buzz filled the air. Every person in the room appeared to be holding their breath, until a ten foot tall ornate cross slowly began to form above her head in brilliant purple light. For an instant, not a single person dared to move, when all at once the entire crowd erupted with fanatic cheering. The cross was the symbol of the healer, the best path a girl with magical talent could hope for. The girls face lit up, all traces of anxiety washed away in an instant. She stepped off the altar, and was led out of the hall to prepare for her new life.

"Ehem," the sorceress cleared her throat louder than was necessary. The noise slowly died down, and she prepared to continue. "Student Number…," she hesitated; the number seven left a bad taste in the mouths of sorcerers who had been at the tower long enough. She took a deep breath and started over. "Student Number Seven," she projected, louder than the previous time. Again, all eyes searched for the next young sorcerer.

Student Number Seven, better known as Jordan "Bull" Balorsson, had been taken from his family and brought to the tower at the age of ten, after he had been found to have magical talent. Jordan learned of his ability when he had been cornered by two older boys, and he blasted them fifteen feet away, then passed out from exhaustion. When he awoke, he was on his way to the tower in the back of a hay filled merchants wagon.

Students spent five years at the tower receiving basic training in magics and discipline, before they are subjected to selection on the stone altar. It is there that their path is chosen, and it is decided whether or not they will be a mage. Not all students pass selection, and not many know what happens to those who don't.

There are many paths that a sorcerer may walk, the more common ones being healer and battle mage. There are also ones that few people know about, ones that aren't seen for hundreds of years, such as elemental mage, a power more recently given to Hawthorn Black seventy years ago. Black didn't live long due to his greed for power. He died when he tried to do more than his body could handle. He pushed himself to the limit, and farther, until one time he miscalculated, and the energy demand was too great.

"Student Number Seven," the sorceress' words rang out, and echoed within Jordan's mind. This was his moment. He stood up and began to make his way forward, his mouth became dry, and he started to sweat when he realized that all eyes were on him. When he reached the stairs, he was almost too nervous to go up, for fear of stumbling. He planted his foot on the first step, and painstakingly made the ascent. He found the circle engraved in the center of the altar, and noticed strange runes carved all the way around, with one in the middle. He stepped onto the circle, and instantly felt his body thrum with powerful energy like he had never felt before. He turned to face the crowd and waited for something to happen.

The hall was silent, and he feared for the worst. Is it supposed to take this long? Thoughts were racing through his mind. Five seconds passed, then ten. A murmur ran through the crowd, and people began to look around. He didn't know what was happening and he felt panic rise within himself. The he felt it too. A deep rumbling coursed through the cavernous room, and he felt the energy within him spike. He feared that he was going to explode, or spontaneously combust if he couldn't release the energy inside. He tried to step out of the circle, but he couldn't move. Everyone in the room stopped as he flung his arms out, and began to glow. There was an ear-splitting crack, and all the energy was forced out of his chest in the form of a colossal silver dragon. The dragon flew up into the air, and then came down, passing just above the heads of the awe-struck students below. It arced up just in front of Jordan and let loose a deafening roar, then exploded in an awesome display of blue flames.

Jordan looked down at where the dragon had blasted out of his chest, and groaned. His shirt was practically non-existent in the front, and what was still there was smoldering. Blood trickled down from the worst of the scorch marks that covered his chest, and where the skin wasn’t burn to a crisp it was badly blistered. What few chest hairs he had finally begun to develop had been cruelly obliterated. Once the initial shock had worn off, the pain almost knocked him off his feet. His ears began to ring, and when his knees buckled there was nothing he could do to soften his fall.

He woke up two days later with a pounding headache, and a body that felt like it had been tossed off a cliff, but all he could do was praise the gods he was alive.

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