[i]Althalus[/i]

Althalus had been picking himself up from the ground after laying there for a few moments after his little flying venture. Flying was a novel and enjoyable experience. Landing, or in his case, falling, was far less pleasant. He would certainly be bruised and in pain tomorrow. Picking himself up, muttering curses at his luck to have decided to room with the only student in the school who didn’t have her room ready for something to be stored in, he began looking for alcohol. That was a perfectly respectable solution for pains from falling from the sky, wasn’t it? Althalus thought so, and began heading to the barrels that apparently held the liquor. He only became aware of something coming towards him by the voices of the people around him rising in minor panic, and the rapidly rising heat. 

Turning around, he saw a flaming bird heading towards his face! Recoiling, he threw his arms up to protect against what he thought surely meant burns. Much to his surprise, however, the bird flew away at the last second, missing him. Well, that was a pleasant surprise, wasn’t it? Looking towards the teacher’s table for the perpetrator of his ‘attack’, he saw none other than Auriel’s smiling self dropping down from the stage. He grinned to himself, and muttered “Very clever.” With that, he continued on his way towards the barrels. Despite himself, he smiled in childish wonder as it began to snow inside of the building. It was a marvel that he appreciated. It even proved advantageous to him, as he passed a dwarf who had been boasting rather loudly of his ‘never ending flask’ that he had Rune Crafted himself. Apparently, whatever liquid was poured into it would last far longer than the size of the flask hinted at. 

The dwarf was too busy staring upwards at the forming icicles to notice that his prized (and thank fully empty) flask was being slipped from his loose grip. Chuckling, Althalus pocketed it in his armor, fully intending upon using it. 

As he drew ever closer to the barrels, the Aeromancy teacher did his display. Specifically, he flew and landed far more easily and willingly than Althalus himself had. [i]Such as shame I’m not an Aeromancer.[/i] The assassin thought sarcastically, weaving through the crowd to get closer to his goal. At least there hadn’t been any more magnetic tricks. That would have been uncomfortable, to put it mildly. The Geomancy teacher was efficient, if simple. His journey towards the barrels was halted as the Noxomancy professor stepped up. This was his blood after all. Much to the assassin’s disappointment, the man was aligned with Pestilence, but at least he was going to demonstrate decay!

An impressed, low, whistle escaped Althalus as he watched the man turn daggers into dust. And he did it all with only a simple touch. If that was the kind of power that awaited him, Althalus couldn’t wait for the teaching to begin. What? It would make getting to his targets all that easier, rather than going through the arduous process of picking locks or hiring someone to pick the locks for him, or leave door opens, etc. The Chantment butterflies were pretty and interesting, but otherwise didn’t hold his interest as he continued through the crowd. The weaving bit nearly dripped him as the ground beneath his feet suddenly cracked open, and Althalus reminded himself to make sure that if he had to kill a Weaving master, make sure the target died within the first shot. The Runemaster was amusing, but he could always hire runecrafters rather than learn the skill himself, no matter how useful it seemed.

He suddenly screeched to a stop as the Demon from before…summoned more Demons. Not only that, he let them rampage after declaring something about his power and that they must become stronger than the Demons or be killed by the Demons. Althalus himself was too busy eyeing said Demons warily as they tore apart staff, and leaving the students alone, interestingly enough. His knives couldn’t do much to save the poor bastard’s lives, but they might be able to distract the Demons to save his own, should they start attacking. “What a nice fellow you are.” Althalus murmured amidst the screams from the staff and the students. 

And then, the Demons were subdued and killed. By trees, no less. Althalus couldn’t keep the smirk from his face as he watched Tree giants and roots kill the Demons, and the damage caused by the Demonomancy Teacher Tyrael was fixed. By this time, he had reached the barrels of Alcohol and was filling the flask with a lovely little whiskey from Port Slaughter, simply known as Lunar. The flask was filled, and he was about to seal it, when the Psychomancy teacher stood and called for a toast. Call it paranoia, but Althalus decided against doing as she wished. While he knew that Psychomancers couldn’t poison anything, except your mind, he didn’t trust what she was going to do.

Of course, in the end, it made no difference. 

He first became aware of the fact that she had done something when he felt himself wearing his mask. Still, it wasn’t anything to be worried about. He seemed to be going about business as usual, for him at least, this time in Port Slaughter. Just him, alone, going to kill a target. It was when he walked into an inn that he began to get uneasy. It looked oddly familiar…and then he drew the sword. Even if he hadn’t recognized that fucking blade, alarm bells would have gone off in his head. He didn’t use a sword. As it was, queasiness began to rise up in him. Queasiness that immediately turned to horror as his little sister appeared before him, and without a second thought he plunged the blade into her body. He tried to fight. In his mind he shouted, he struggled, he tried to make it stop. It didn’t. The blade flashed once, twice. [i]Thud. Thud. [/i] His parent’s bodies hit the floor, one after the other. Killed by him. 

He was howling in helplessness now. Grief and horror and a stomach churning disgust roiled throughout him. Then came his part in this horrific replay of his parent’s murders. Only, rather than it being himself, it was his brother. The blade swung once more and blood sprayed outwards, and his brother’s body collapsed to the ground and darkness devoured the image. And all Althalus could hear was clapping and that bastard who tried to kill him congratulating him. 

When he finally came back to the real world, he was on his knees, breathing raggedly. The flask was held in a tight grip, so much so that it turned his knuckles white. At least it still had Lunar in it. He had a feeling he was going to need it. All around him, he heard sobbing, screaming, retching. Sounds of terror and horror, of pain and despair. Then he heard the bitch’s voice, wishing that they’d all live long and prosper. Snarling a curse, he got unsteadily to his feet, hand going to one of his throwing knives. All around him he could hear people slowly recovering, terror turning to anger. Good. Psychomancers could detect thoughts and emotions, and the multitude of hate and possibly even death wishes around him would cover him nicely. 

People were already beginning to leave, either permanently or just to their rooms remained to be seen. Althalus didn’t need to wind up for throwing his knife, not at this distance. And besides, it’d be too much of a physical indicator of what he planned. Subtly, using the crowd around him to hide most of his motions, Althalus threw his knife at Satori. As soon as the blade left his hand, he turned around, leaving with a crowd of other students. He didn’t see the knife stop a good foot his target, and then fly towards the outstretched hand of Uicle like a loyal little dog. He didn’t see the teacher’s reactions, and didn’t notice that he was passing right by Mar, almost crashing shoulders with her. He just kept seeing the nightmare replay in his mind, warring with the actual memory.

He left the Dining Hall, sat down with his back against a wall, and put his head in his hands. It was better than letting the shaking show.