Why are you a Necromancer?
Duncan throws a crumbled piece of paper into the pit that was once the school of Death, spits after it, then plops down on the bench next to Malorn with a heavy huff.
“Ambrose…” he growls.
Malorn closes his textbook and gives his friend a look of confusion. “What was that all about?”
“The Headmaster is trying to get me to change schools,” Duncan replies, folding his arms defiantly. “Have you gotten any letters like that?”
Malorn shakes his head. “No, not yet.”
It’s just the two of them again, all alone next to the pit. Other Necromancers have either changed schools of magic or simply quit their studies altogether by now. Malistaire’s disappearance was already a heavy hit to their morale, but with the Death classroom all but gone from existence, what’s the point in showing up for class anymore?
“Well, I’m not quitting, and I don’t want you to quit, either,” Duncan says. “If you give up then I might as well move to Marleybone.”
Malorn rolls his eyes and grins. “I don’t think you’d last a day there, Dunc.”
“You know what I mean.”
A cold breeze rushes up from the pit, washing over the two students without a care, as if it were trying to mock them. Duncan slouches forward in some sort of effort to keep himself from shivering, his hood hiding his face.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Malorn speaks, “what got you into Necromancy in the first place?”
The question hangs in the air as Duncan remains silent, the only indication of life being his heavy breaths that crystalize around the edge of his hood momentarily before fading into the ether. It’s hard to tell if he’s contemplating or simply doesn’t want to answer. Malorn continues to wait patiently.
Finally, Duncan draws breath, preparing to speak.
“It felt like this was where all the misfits were.”
Malorn shifts on the bench ever so slightly. “And do you like it?”
“Of course I do!” Duncan replies, sitting upright in an instant. He turns to glare at Malorn with fiery eyes. “I’ve loved every single moment that I’ve had in that classroom!”
“Hey, I wasn’t accusing you of anything,” Malorn says, attempting to defuse his friend’s anger with a light chuckle. “I was just curious, that’s all.”
Duncan clenches his jaw, his eyes searching for something to say in response. Finally, he just shakes his head and lowers it again, moaning, “I wish Professor Drake were here…”
Malorn nods next to him. “I wish he was here, too.”
“He was such a good teacher,” Duncan continues. “He treated us like family. It felt like I truly belonged there.”
Malorn can’t help but let slip a small frown. He’s not quite sure what the frown is for, but he knows that what Duncan is saying is striking some sort of chord within himself. But what?
“What about you?” Duncan asks, turning his head just enough for Malorn to get a glimpse of the edge of his eye. “Why did you take up Necromancy?”
“Me?” Malorn hums, his frown fading for the moment. He surveys their surroundings as his mind searches for the words to describe his motivations. “Well…”
He spots a pair of flowers across the street from where they sit, both of them wilting. He can sense their fading life. The pull isn’t strong but it’s there, nagging at him in the back of his mind. Slowly, he gets up from the bench and strides over to the flowers and crouches down behind them so that Duncan can watch.
“Pick a flower,” Malorn says.
Duncan raises an eyebrow of confusion. “What? Why?”
“Just pick one.”
The other Necromancer stares at the flowers silently, his eyes barely flickering as they move between the two small plants at Malorn’s feet.
Finally, he raises a finger. “That one.”
Malorn gives him one simple nod and begins.
He holds one of his hands over the flower that Duncan chose and concentrates on drawing out of it what little life force it has left. The flower shudders as its energy rushes towards Malorn’s fingers, decaying at a rapid rate, almost turning to black ash then and there.
His fingertips buzzing with the plant’s energy, he moves his hand to the other flower and pushes it back out of him, directing it down towards the earth. The energy seeps into the ground around the flower and it perks up immediately, the gray petals turning crisp white and the stem standing straight and firm. The grass around it glows with the remnants of the energy, and new buds of green sprout where the old flower once was.
Malorn stands and calmly walks back over to the bench, content with himself.
“That is why I became a Necromancer,” he says to Duncan as he takes his seat once more. “To take the dying embers of life and help them to grow into something new.”
“Then why didn’t you just become a Theurgist?” Duncan inquires.
“Theurgists prolong life artificially. Necromancy, however, has the power to take what once was living and turn it into something new and beautiful. A life without death is a boring one.”
Duncan lets out an amused huff. “You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?”
“I have,” Malorn nods with a small smile of pride on his lips. “And I think I chose right.”
“How? Our teacher is gone and so is our classroom. We’re the only Necromancers left at Ravenwood.”
Malorn frowns again, that same chord having just been struck.
“Things might seem hopeless right now, but we can try and rebuild,” he says.
Duncan lets out an incredulous sigh. “We’re not Professors, Mal! What do we have to teach novices? I think we’re better off waiting for Malistaire to return, or for the Headmaster to find another Death Professor.”
“And who knows how long that will take?” Malorn argues back. “What if the Headmaster doesn’t find a new Professor? What if Malistaire doesn’t come back?”
Once again, Duncan shoots Malorn an accusatory glare. “I thought you had more faith in him than this.”
“I respect Malistaire as much as you do, Dunc! All I’m trying to say is that waiting around for something to happen might not be the best-”
Duncan stands sharply, cutting Malorn off. Anger radiates from his dark-robed figure as he curls his fingers into tight, trembling fists.
Neither of them say a word, letting the tension in the air linger and grow each passing second. Now Malorn might know what about Duncan is rubbing him the wrong way. He wasn’t in this for the magic. He doesn’t care for Necromancy. The only thing he does care about… is Malistaire.
But Malistaire was an obsession that grew over time. In which case, what drew him to that classroom? Why did he truly pick Death as his school of magic? It couldn’t have been the Professor alone, could it?
“He will come back,” Duncan growls at last. “Mark my words.”
With that, the student walks away from the pit and from the bench that the last Necromancer of Ravenwood perches on.
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" wait , - you think you broke a rib , " mia barely holds back a laugh . it strains tight against the back of her throat . " how ... " a smile betrays her , in the heat of the moment , she stands in disbelief . " with all that armor and somehow you cracked your fucking rib ? " excuse her response ... we don't know whether she's in shock or just surprised .
you take one look at @batfall , and the last thing you think ( possibly right before you get your teeth kicked in , ) : hey ... your armor looks a bit fragile . IT LOOKS LIKE IT CAN TEAR EASILY ...
the earth remains still for her , but for him , it might be spinning . running through a construction site might not have been the best idea for either . a potential financial building , stripped of it's muscle and skin with only it's bare bones showing . metal , concrete and thin tarps blowing in the wind . the sound of gotham city below them , sirens blaring and echoing against the tall buildings . it's treacherous up here on what would be the sixty - fifth floor , the foundations of this place are weak from being abandoned and barely completed .
it suddenly dawned on her that perhaps bruce wasn't fucking around . " shit , " she whispers , " you're not joking are you ? " the fixer offers her assistance as she goes to where he is sitting on a pile of marble . then kneels down in front of bruce , she can see how much of a strain it was to even sit straight . breaths are labored , which is a possible sign of a rib problem . maybe they weren't broken , but perhaps they were just bruised ? " okay let's take a second ... as much as it hurts , YOU NEED TO KEEP BREATHING . " she looks him over quickly to see if there was any other possible injuries . ones that were more life threatening . as soon as mia was satisfied that there wasn't any immediate concerns , her eyes turn upward to look into his . " i bet this wasn't on either of our wheel houses today . "
p . tarantino quotes , " i think i cracked a rib . "
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