Children In Black: Illtrum Academy [complete]

[Salem Ave]

<center><u>The Cruxshadows - Children In Black</u>

The day is withering
Broken by the weight of the tide
All shadows past
Grow longer
Till they smother light
and leave no trace
For evidence
And the final light has fallen silent
to me resurrection follows [of these]
Leave this among
the dreams dreamt
Of love shared
Of gods challenged
In victory of the mortal chains
Snatched away
In the attempt

All the little children
All dressed in black
With their darkened eyes
And holy artefacts
Mamas watch your babies
Keep them safe and sound
Don't let them play in graveyards
Don't let them find this out

You may be
sorry
You may be
sorry Babe

Purarities speaking
Are rising from their mouths
It must be the devil
Making these horrid sounds
Speak no evil, baby
Your daddy told you twice
Don't be so short of free
Lost only in the night

You may be
sorry
You may be
sorry

Powdered cheeks and perfumed skin
The midnight cold corrosion
my destined fingers wander
Sent by old... explosion
comes heralding cold to beat
Another hand to feed
like fish within the net
Like babies cold in sleep
Caught in sleep

destined... pebbles...
let me fall quickly into sin
in turn...rain on my warriors...
let thunder cry out lies
and decayed vagrancy
...on my thinning lips...

***</center>

The mountains to the north of Vance are wild and riddled with a terrible array of traps that will devour any who is so ill-fated to come across them. These pitfalls that dash the sculpted landscapes are no creation of nature, but a method of protection. Not from wild beasts that roam the pathways, nor from demons who lurk in the shadows, but from humanity, the greatest plague of all. Thankfully, it is a disease that has little, if any, endurance and once repelled a small number of times will give up its quest. At least, most are like this. Some persevere, and this minority and ripped limb from limb and tossed off of the cliffs to a frightening death.

Some.

There are others. Others whom the demons step aside for, whom the beasts shrink away from, whom the snares even slither out of reach from. These few, this lucky band of men, are blessed in this way for they are considered a rarity. A commodity so sparse that each must be rounded up and tailored from the earliest of ages. They come from wide backgrounds and stretch across a full spectrum of species, from human to gelatinous blob. They are guided by the will of some unseen force into the depths of the mountains and trek for lengths of time surpassed only by nomads in search of this calling; this siren that lures them forth. And what is it that they find?

Beyond the hills, deep into the valleys, beneath the canopies of trees, shrouded in a veil mist … A castle. Spires, turrets, banners. Dungeons, ballrooms, parlors. Alas, no monarch calls this formidable house home, but instead a thousand or more lieges patron it, each day of the week. To all but them, the purpose of the bastion is unknown, however they like to term it as…

The illustrious “Illtrum Academy”.

[Salem Ave]

It was founded over four centuries ago by one Archibald Illtrum for the purpose of educated the gifted, and ever since it's beginnings has held a strong reputation - one that stated it did not exist. To the public, it is still the abandoned manor of the Illtrum family. To the students and faculty, it is the workhouse which houses 1346 humans, and not-so-humans, every day.

Not just any normal people may attend, however. Those who do come are handpicked by fate because of their gifts; whether it is due to a special connection with the force, curious racial ability or just outstanding intelligence. The school is much like any other academy for the gifted, with the simple exception of the mystery which shrouds it.

Oh, and the classes of course. Lessons are not or a normal range. Mathematics, language, literature, the three sciences - all of these are taught, but are taught alongside fencing, mage craft, summoning and other unordinary lessons. All lessons must be attended by each student, as it is considered that every skill is vital to each pupil. An hour worth of each particularly class a day keeps their knowledge on it up, and their will to rebel down.

Down, but it's still there. Many try to avoid lessons so that they can canoodle with others - this would be difficult during lesson times primarily due to the fact that all classes are single sex - yet fail miserably all thanks to the school patrol prefects; an entourage of risen demons leashed to their due by high power mind control. All students who are caught are rounded up into their house blocks and punished accordingly (accordingly being in correspondence with the mood of the house guardian on that particular day).

The house guardians’ moods change like the weather. Irregular and unpredictable, they may be cheery and boisterous some days whilst others they endure a dies irae, a day of wrath, in which all students are subject to unreasonable, and unquestionable, punishment. It does not help the hearts of the students that one guardian in particular is on a constant trip of anger.

“Barflus” – the towering yellow demon of Barfleur house. It is said that this ebony-stripped monstrosity descended from heaven after being personally removed by God, and that his bitterness towards mankind for tainting him with their imperfections will forever be a part of him. All around the Barfleur dormitories and house areas coats of arms and flags of the horned-warrior adorn the walls in fearless majesty, a constant reminder of the attitude expected of all Barfleur students – Keep your friends close, and your enemies even closer. Barfleur is a ruthless house to be a part of, and high achievements in sport are expected of every single pupil, where as academic achievement is neglected.

This is not the view of “Dunar”, however. The benefactor of Dunelm house encourages to no end intelligence, knowledge and wisdom. Infact, it is almost frowned upon for any student of Dunelm house to strive and gain excellent results in sport. The wizened battle mage who appears as the emblem on all of the crimson banners of the house is said to have once been a childhood idol of Archibald Illtrum, whom the former headmaster watched from afar dreaming of someday becoming as wise as he. It should not be assumed though that Dunar and his followers are by any means weak, it is quite the opposite. After all, knowledge is power.

Unfortunately, not as much can be said of the two remaining houses. It seems that mediocrity reigns over Provost and Hotspur, as if the way between brawn and brains was being fought between Barfleur and Dunelm so no other distinguishing personalities would be needed. None the less, those who reign over the two houses do have some curious qualities.

Of house Provost there is “Milner”, an archangel draped in blue, sworn to serve peace. Many have speculated that the angelic man is infact a Jedi whom Archibald once knew, whilst others attribute him to Illtrums lack of creativity. Either way, his personality is consider clerical and his demeanor placid; and the same lethargic peace is expected from those of Provost House.

Hotspur have often been said to have the worst deal. Their guardian is not a philosopher, not an angel, nor is he a demon, but infact a Siren. A lewd looking female wrapped loosely in silk, cradling a harp in her lap is the very imagine that each Hotspur students wakes to each morn. Though her beauty his no ends physically, it is merely skin deep, and “Zofi” is bitter and sour inside. She too is spoke of as being a fallen angel, who spent her time luring in and destroying helpless souls. Legend goes that she is infact the force who draws people to the academy, though evidence has never been found that she actually existed.

Students are expected to follow the teachings of their guardians, and upon entering the school are often assigned to their house purely on the basis of how their personality and attitude it. Rather prude.

[Salem Ave]

Vividly, he recalled it – his first day at the Academy.

As a boy, of the age of 8, he had been informed he was to leave home. This did not particularly bother him. His parents were people who he saw infrequently, and for the most part he lived alone in the company only of the yells and shouts from the apartments by his own. What he actually knew about his mother and father, and their daily activities, could be written on the top of a pin. Thus, when an escort came to bring him to Vance, he was more than willing to leave. He packed his bags with what little he had, mostly books, and boarded the craft off of the planet.

Exactly why he was chosen was explained to him on the journey to the school. The main explicated that the Illtrum Academy was a school like no other. People did not approach it to join; instead they were contacted due to their nature. Often they would be admitted because of their peculiar appearance, Salem reasoned that this was why he had been chosen. Even as a child, he looked unlike anyone else. His skin was pale and looked out of place with the mop of black hair he bore. Equally, the solid pools of white that functioned as eyes were rare – they were the reason for his aversion to light; as a human pupil draws in light through the tiny black dot, so Salem’s eyes did with the larger circle of white, thus meaning that evening in bright light he would absorb the full extent of the rays – which was a hazard to his health.

As well as this, there was the fact that he bore wings. Not angelic in form, but instead leathery, which stemmed from a few inches below each shoulder and spanned only 2 and a half foot each, though they were enough to carry his lithe frame. As he grew, of course, so did they, and by the time he was 16 they spanned to a good 6 foot each, though this matter will be addressed later on.

His arrival; it went smoothly. He was inducted into the Dunelm house and began lessons quickly, immersing himself in the life of the school well. Others may not have taken to him immediately, but some found his eccentricities attractive and would approach him. Of course, being the nomad he was, Salem used any means necessary to shun them, and often succeeded.

[Salem Ave]

It had been three years, and now he had finally returned.

At the gravel path leading up to the building he stood. It was so quiet now. Where once one would have been able to here the low hum of movement, now nothing but the whistle of passing wind could be heard on the air. It was a bitter wind at that, icy and chilly to the bone – Salem stood with his cloak held tightly around him, hands pushing firmly into the woolly pockets. Once the Academy has stood as a great testimony to architecture, now it was ruined. The main building where lessons were conducted remained the least affected, yet still roof tiles and bricks fell from their places. The house buildings bore the worst of the decay, and almost all of Provost House had collapsed to shambles. His eyes were drawn, of course, to the Dunelm House…

When he first entered it looked to be nothing more than a church. Stained-glass windows bore the figure of Dunar, staff in hand, as he commanded tomes in their thousands and willed the knowledge of the universes to his mind. He recalled clearly how he had stared up into the eyes of the guardian and wondered if this was the destiny he had been set, to become a scholar, an academic. On meeting the others in his house his thoughts were confirmed and he learnt of the house traditions, before being shown to his new quarters – part of a cloister that would have served as a home for clergymen when the building was still a chapel.

And so he retraced his first steps. The stairs up to the boarding rooms were crumbled, but he managed to climb his way back up, and found much to his surprise that some of the furniture lay intact. In his mind, the image of the rooms reformed. They were decked in the house colours – in this case deep crimsons with some shades of navy. Each bed was identical, and had a small table beside it with a few draws to keep personal items in (Salem recalled having kept a diary in his cabinet, alongside the provided religious text the Academy had given him, and a statuette of a saint from his mother).

Each roomed was designed to fit around 16 people, with 8 beds on each side. They were single sex, of course, though the boys and girls areas were very close together and children fraternized after dark. Salem tended to stay and read, and if he didn’t do this, he would lie – as he did now – staring up into the ceiling. It was chipped and cracked now, as it had been then, but the dark red paint didn’t look quite as impressive as it had once done.

“Salem an’ Maria, sittin’ in a tree…”

His eyes slid closed, as his mind moved back to a memory of a night in the dormitory. It was early on in his time at the school, perhaps in his first year. In the dead of night he’d snuck out to meet with a student named Maria, with whom he had developed a friendship upon the mutual dislike of the rest of Dunelm house, and the school at large. The two had talked under Vance’s twin moons for some time before being caught, causing both to be publicly humiliated. It hadn’t bothered him particularly, but he remembered how much shame he’d brought upon Maria, who lost her reputation as a ‘popular’ student by socializing with him.

How fickle children’s minds were.

[Salem Ave]

Rising to his feet, he looked out with narrowing eyes onto the dark landscape. There was little to see now, but off in the distance he could still make a shape out.

As a younger student he’d often wondered what lay off to the west of the Academy. During sports lessons others would be sent there, whilst he and his fellow Dunarites practiced offensive magic’s (which now sadly he had no recollection of). It was only on his second year that someone explained to him what the large area of land was for. Apparently it was the stadium for some kind of physical sport. With this knowledge alone, he’d begun to imagine what each piece of equipment did.

At either end of the large strip of land there was a huge sweeping wooden ramp that curled up and over the pitch itself. Mounted atop each of these slopes was a net. Lower down at the base of the verges there was a net also, though it was a lot smaller than the one above it. The aim of the game, or so he was told, was to push a disc through the net. More points were gained from hitting the high targets, though it was rare that players with less than 3 years experience could achieve such a thing due to the height and degree of accuracy needed. In joking, someone had commented that with wings like his – for they were now a good 4 and a half foot in diameter – could easily play the game.

And one day, he did.

Without hesitation or fear, Salem drove his claws into the stonework of the window that looked out towards the field. A loud mind-scraping noise echoed as the talons screeched into the stone, pummelling the surface time after time as he scaled downwards. About ten foot from the floor he dropped and landed with a thud in the mud around the house base. The Knight broke out into a run and charged forward at a run towards the field. His cloak whipping at his body as the wind picked up, he gave a grunt and felt a twitch in his upper back. Desperately, his wings tried to unfold.

Coming up to one of the wooden ramps that was nearest to the castle, he charged into the inside and thrust the toe of his boot against the surface, aiming to propel himself up into a jump. Arms spreading out wide, his mind shot backwards…

And his wings unfurled. At the age of 14 he made the team, and extended his leathery wings to the wind. The current cut beneath him and lifted him upwards as the other players around him got into place, ready to begin the game. Looking downwards to the others, he saw those who he worked with on a day to day basis in a new light. Today Dunelm were facing Hotspur, and thus each player wore either a green or red armband. Salem bore a red strip around his forearm, and the number 8 on his back, which signified that he was a member of the attacking side of the team. The reason for this, of course, was his wings. Of all of the players he was the only one who could fly naturally – a member of Hotspur had cast a levitation spell on themselves and was hover precariously at the other end of the field, looking as though she would drop out of the sky at any minute.

A shrill blow of the whistle and the game was underway. The centre player lobbed the disk towards another behind her, and he in turn threw it at immense speed down the field. Hotspur intercepted, and as Salem weaved back and forth waiting for someone to tackle and field it towards him, the opposition scored. A few cheers and curses were uttered before play got back underway again. The game moved back and forth between the teams, with Salem gaining the disk only once, sadly, at which point he soared upwards and made a triumphant drive down through the net. Never the less, he was commended for his efforts.

[Salem Ave]

His eyes snapped open and he found himself no longer in the bright and sun filled past, but in the darkness of the present. The momentary linger midair ended, and he plummeted downwards, boots driving into the thick churned up mud below. One hand landed in the grass, testing the turf beneath it as two of his three talons curled into the dark mush. Through a curtain of black hair his eyes raised to look to the stars and the cloudless sky, whirling him back again this time to a far more painful memory.

Boots still in mud, he thundered along a beaten track. A hasty look back to his left and he could see others too following, whilst up ahead another couple ran. Somewhere far behind the group a torch light wheeled back and forth, catching one of the figures on occasion as the wielder yelled out for them to stop. At the forefront something began to glow and then in a flash of orange light shot out towards Salem. With ease he leapt up above the projectile as it whooshed through the air, burning up before striking a tree. The sphere of energy collided with the bark and toppled the large oak straight into the path of those following.

What was happening? Only ten minutes ago they had been practicing their additional course work on the control of matter when something he blundered the classroom. On the advice of an older student the group had fled for the woods, leading to a pursuit from whoever had interrupted their extra lessons. One suspicion he had been developing over a long time now was that these after dark lessons were not permitted, and that the study of the dark arts – which would be the eventual destination they would reach – was profusely forbidden.

Kaet had thrown the fireball which had knocked down the tree. Along side the leading boy, who was tearing ahead, was Pili – who was widely known fro being Kaet’s girlfriend. The two were the leaders of the small group of students, and unlike her boyfriend, Pili was far more interested in shadow crafting and necromancy than cheap conjuring. Salem had met them through his playing sport, as they had taken an interest in his wings, of all things.

“RUN FASTER!”

Deciding against the oafish method of escaping, Salem took to the sky. His wings carried him upwards, to canopy level, where he caught up with the leaders quickly. His eyes could not longer pick out the shapes of those following, though their lights still flickered over the escapees. The three others who were running with them flanked the others now, leaving only Salem alone. On occasion they called up to him for a report of where the pursuers were, until the time at which he could no longer even see the torch light. At this point he descended, and landed with a deep breath.

Regressing into the present again, Salem wheezed. He could feel a deep pain in his chest, as his mind fabricated what happened next…

[Salem Ave]

Pili frowned and scolded Kaet. The two began to argue, as Pili put forward the point to Kaet that he’d told one of the staff about what he been going on. After a minute or so she seemed convinced that he was telling the truth, though this was proven wrong as suddenly out of no where Kaet was struck to the floor. He clasped his nose and whimpered as blood oozed from his nostrils. Eyes widened in shock, he looked to Pili, who stood over him – her fingertips some how elongated by shadow.

At this point it would be wise to say that in the group there were cliques. These were composed of those who favoured Pili, and those who stood by Kaet. At this point it was obvious the group was dividing into two, as some clenched fists causing the hum of heat in the air, whilst others summoned shrieking shadows that coiled around their beings. Salem knew nothing of these techniques, and thus simply balled a clawed fist, raising it as a show of his defence. To add to this, he pushed backwards and lifted a foot or so off the ground, wings beating hard.

It was then that Kaet’s underlings turned upon Pili. Each of the fireballs they had created shot at her. In a response shadows were rending into existence as beings borne of darkness shot up to shield their masters from the heat. Salem watched in awe at the level of experience he’d not before witnessed (thus far all he’d been able to manage was a small cyan orb that could light his way on dark nights). In the fray of the combat he remained still, though this resulted not at all in his favour.

Both sides could not tell who Salem supported and thus when it came to it they saw him as an enemy. Panicked, he turned and began to flee. His was bore him onto a wind heading straight back for the school, casting him forward at a sharp speed that would have him home in no time. That is, if one thing didn’t stop him. He had not counted upon the accuracy of the young mage’s and in a single moment found a sphere colliding with his back. It immediately struck him from the air, throwing him down into the leafy carpet of the forest. The fire raged over his skin, baring his back within seconds and working instantly upon his wings. The flames licked over the black leathery tissue, burning it away bit by bit.

He did not scream.

He would not scream.

Those who had been chasing the group caught up to him and with the gesture of a hand the flame died away, though not without injury. Picked up, he was carried away and fell unconscious within a moment or so; the pain had been too great.

[Salem Ave]

When Salem had awoken that night in this room, in the Dunelm house quarters, he had felt a profound sense of loss swelling inside of him. Where once beneath his shoulders leather and bone had cradled him, now there was nothing. Tattered and scarred remains of his former glory lay at his bedside, crumpled as some form of sick nostalgic comfort blanket. He could not stomach looking at them for more than a moment.

It was not just the loss of these wings, these things he had lived with since birth, but somehow he felt changed mentally. Today he had been shown a side to his ‘comrades’ that he had not seen before, and was very clear on his opinion of these revelations – he did not like them.

There was nothing really left for him at the school, if there had ever been anything at all. This thought in mind; it would not be hard to push himself to leave. Before he finally departed, however, there was business which he would need to conclude and some loose ends to tie up, both of which could be done in one sharp swipe.

After Salem began to show his face once again around the schools grounds, and his health had recovered such that he was able to attend classes once more, his friends – and former friends – once again began to approach him. Those who had been with in the forest were rarely seen, but then he had heard they were on some sort of long term punishment. At least, most of them were – the ringleaders had managed to some how escape being scolded. Probably, Salem thought, by paying off the teachers. Whatever the reason was, this left them accessible, and that was all Salem needed.

[Salem Ave]

The image that broke Salem, this time, from his regression was that of his hand tearing the still beating heart from Pili’s chest. He recalled how he had one by one systematically killed her and her dregs, and then moved on to Kaet and his company. His punishment had been one that he had expected from the moment he set out to achieve his goals – expulsion. The academy would not train a killer, and to cover up for their failings in his education banished Salem for Vance. There last will and testament to the boy was to grudgingly pay compensation for the loss of his wings, before he was shipped away to Corellia.

One of the first decisions Salem made on arriving on the planet was to visit a doctor. Those at the academy had refused to reconstruct his wings, however he found one such surgeon on his new ‘home’ that performed the operation and once again the young valcian could spread his wings against the wind and fly, with the added strength of metal reinforcing his replenished flight.

Salem took one more look back across at the school before vaulting himself into the ramp he stood by. His claws thudded into the wood work as he carried himself up the structure to its zenith, and there he stood for what seemed like forever before whipping downwards, slipping like a shadow out of view.