The New Plan A: Christol

"And a simple charm should allow you to ease any attackers. I would highly suggest that you use this wisely, as it can cause devastating backlash! I hope you all keep up with your studies, as there will be a test in a few day's time. That will be all."

The professor, and older wood elf, closed his book, fixed his glasses, and adjusted his long, flowing silver hair. Christol practically jumped out of his chair, and had to push past the waves of younger wood elves trying to leave. Eventually, after getting pushed backwards many times, or being forced into the wall, he finally broke through and approached the professor.

"Mr. Lorwrite," Christol breathed as he attempted to catch his breath. The professor, Mr. Lorwrite, looked to Christol with a gentle smile.

"Is there a spell or something that involves the flow of time? I seem to be able to pause time, or at the very least, slow it down, but I'm not sure how I do it."

Mr. Lorwrite rubbed his chin, before rubbing his nose in thought. With his other hand, he held a finger against his temple in an attempt to think.

"I do know of one spell that fits what you're telling me. However it is a very difficult spell to master, and from what I've read or heard, Haldore is the only known master of that spell, and he refuses to allow anyone else to learn it. I'd suggest giving it up if you value your life."

Christol turned his head to the side as he recalled the moment in Halden. Flim's frozen face, the silence. The absence of movement by any means, aside from himself and Haldore, who was egging him on.

"That's just it, though. He saw me using it, and in that slow world, told me that he wanted to see how far I could get with it. He wants me to master it."

Mr. Lorwrite rubbed his chin some more.

"I see. Well, I would then suggest trying to reach a level of mastery even Haldore can't match. Then, and only then, may you be able to have a fighting chance if you're going to stand against him."

Christol nodded excitedly, a newfound hope surging through him.

"Is there anyone here in Willspore who can teach me the spell? Or help, even in the slightest bit?"

Mr.Lorwrite seemed to ponder this for a long moment. He rubbed his chin, then his nose again, before his eyes lit up.

"Himrol! He'll be able to help you. He once stood against Haldore, you know. All by himself, too, might I add. And he actually held his own for a good long time. But Haldore has grown stronger, and even the great Himrol has his limits.

"I also seem to recall you mentioning a group of friends you had made. The guards at the gates of the Village seem to recall having seen them, based off of the description you gave me. If I had to guess, they'd want to see Himrol the Great as well."

"Thank you Mr.Lorwrite. I greatly appreciate the help," Christol said happily as he began to walk away.

"Of course, Christol. And do tell Himrol I said hello."

Christol returned to the desk he had been sitting at, and picked up his books, before turning to leave. Mr.Lorwrite gave Christol a wave as he left, with Christol returning the gesture.

As Christol walked through the doorway, he bumped shoulders with a hooded figure. Christol quickly apologized to the person, who gave Christol a smile and shrugged.

"It's quite alright, young sir. I wasn't watching where I was going either. Say, are you a student of Mr. Lorwrite's?"

Christol nodded as the figure removed their hood, revealing sharp, pointed ears and fair skin. Although he was covered in wrinkles, and it was clear aging had affected him, he still moved as though he were as spry as a child. His eyes were quite small, yet felt large, and the green of his irises felt like it penetrated to the very depth of Christol's soul. He wasn't very tall, standing about six inches shorter than Christol, yet he carried himself with a confidence that made him seem larger than what he was. A tuft of short, silvery gray hair sat upon his head, and it was slicked back, revealing his widow's peak.

"Yes sir, I'm a student of Mr. Lorwrite's. Was it the books that gave it away?"

The man chuckled.

"No, no. I just watched you leave his classroom. I also have business for Mr. Lorwrite, though it does not pertain to education, I'm afraid."

Christol nodded acceptingly, though curiosity was eating away at him. Finally, he gathered the courage to speak.

"If you don't mind me asking, sir, what was your name?"

The old man suddenly had a look of sheepish shame, and he rubbed his forehead.

"I had gotten so ahead of myself! My deepest apologies. The name's Laurum Holzboddel. If you decide to travel, you may come across me again. I am a traveling merchant, and supplying high-quality goods is my business. As a token of our newfound friendship, I hope you'll accept this gift, Christol."

Laurum reached into his cloak and pulled out a small, blue dagger, with shimmering azure crystals. The blade seemed to be a short four inches, made with a cool steel, with a bluish tint. As Christol reached for it, Laurum began to speak.

"You may want this dagger. Allow me to explain its purpose, however. This dagger is but one of six parts of a more powerful weapon. 

"There is a dagger exactly like this one, but colored crimson instead. There is also a staff, lost long ago to the dragonborn race. Chances are, they still have it. Then there is the orb. A crystal ball made of white, seeming as though it shimmers all the time, even when no light is around. And a set of amulets. They have charms of a perfect star and a crescent moon. 

"By itself, capable of great things, but together, these six parts make a weapon of sheer magic and power, if the wielder just simply believes. The Godslayer, they call it. Meant to eradicate even the most powerful of enemies."

Wait a minute. Does he know my purpose? Does he know what it is I would like to do? Does he know about Artuck? What about everyone else? Mitrax, Flim, even Cruu.

"Silence your mind, Christol," Laurum said reassuringly.

"I can see you are deep in thought. Your name is written upon the books in your hands, and your attire suggests you are not from here, or at the very least, that you do not understand the culture and customs of Willspore Village."

Christol sighed in relief. 

"You had me scared for a moment there, Laurum. But I'm glad that my thoughts are running away without me again." 

Christol chuckled awkwardly at his attempt at a joke. Laurum did not even chuckle, and Christol felt extremely embarrassed all of a sudden.

"Well, Christol, I will now bid you adieu. Mr. Lorwrite is waiting for me, after all. But I hope we will meet again soon. Remember what I told you! The matching daggers, the crystal ball, the staff, and the amulets. Goodbye, Christol, and remember: You need only believe."

With that, Laurum gave a small bow to Christol before entering the room Christol had just left. 

Christol looked down at the dagger he was now holding. It felt cold to hold, like a dagger shaped piece of ice. As he put it away, he noticed that his fingers felt numb. He shook out his hands to warm them up, and as people passed by him, they gave him strange looks.

Time to go see how everyone else is doing.

Christol had seen the house that belonged to the Great Himrol, and aside from the one interaction he'd had with him, he hadn't been inside the house.

Christol left the university and began walking to the house he had seen many times before. As he walked, he took in all of the sights. The tall, intricate buildings, with their ornate decorations made from years of handcrafted mastery. The people who roamed the streets, seeming ever happier. The children ran and played, giggling all the while. He watched a couple across the street, and a bouquet of flowers suddenly appeared in the maiden's arms, and she smiled brightly before giving her partner a passionate hug.

He saw small critters run across the street, not in fear or sheer survivability, but in play. The city of Willspore was a city of life, and it called out to Christol, beckoning him to stay. And for a moment, Christol considered it, but he remembered his promise to Artuck, and to his brother.

Christol looked up at the sky, and there was a beautiful array of colors, everything from majestic reds and oranges to the deepest of blues and purples. He saw the sun between the buildings, just peeking over the horizon.

As Christol approached the house, the sun had finally gone under the horizon, and the darkness of night began to creep across the sky. The flowers in Himrol's flower bed seemed never happier, though there were no lights on inside his home.

Strange, Himrol always has his lights on at night. I assume it's so he can study his magic, and continue practicing so he doesn't get rusty. I've never seen his house like this. Maybe he does this when he has guests over. If Flim, Artuck, and everyone else is here, then that might explain why the lights are out and his curtains drawn.

As Christol walked up the steps, he could hear a clatter inside, as if someone had been cheering. Christol slowed his approach as he neared the door.

As Christol lifted his hand to knock, the door swung open.