University Through Term Two

Wintershard Apocalypse: (Prestige) Witch legacy with (Prestige) Uni start.

Term 2 complete.

Skills:

5 Athletics (5 Working out)
7 Charisma (1 book, 4 talky, 2 be)
2 Cooking (1 book, 1 be)
6 Guitar (1 class 5 be)
3 Handiness (1 book, 2 fixing things what got broke)
2 Painting (1 large painting)

Traits:

Workaholic
Ambitious
Bookworm
Inappropriate
Genius

---

My name is Alanna Wintershard, and I have a plan.

"A plan?" I hear you ask.

Well, not literally. I'm not mad; I don't hear voices, you know. But I imagine that would be the question.

If I were to tell anyone about my plan.

So, journal, let me bring you, at least, up to speed.

A year or so ago, the calamity known as the 'endless winter' fell upon us. The nights grew long, the days, short and cold. 

At first, it was dismissed as an unusual, but quite natural, phenomenon. Only, spring never came. That is the meaning of the word 'endless.'

Soon, people were at each others' throats. The faeries blamed the vampires, claiming that they benefited the most from the unnatural weather. The vampires blamed the witches - we have the power to cause such a catastrophe, they reasoned.

Needless to say, the humans blamed all of us.

I don't know if it was vampires, faeries, genies, or an army of unicorn-riding werewolves. I don't especially care. The part that everyone forgets about when they blame each other is, there's a problem. It needs fixing.

So. I have a plan.

We aren't allowed to overtly employ magic, even to fix things. But, I think I can channel a spell through the medium of music. It would be the most powerful spell of my life, and if I'm right?

If I'm right, I might be able to drive winter back.

There is a small hitch, however.

We've been conscripted. Me, my brother, a number of others. We're to report to a facility for training.

The humans' aptitude test suggested business for me, or science and medicine. Distressing, if I do say so myself. I was granted a scholarship to pursue one of those paths, though they grudgingly accepted when I said that I would only go if I could study fine arts. They charged me $2200 for the pleasure of being forced away from my original plans, eating the entirety of the scholarship and a little of my own personal funds.

Then, when I arrived, I was delighted to find a guitar just lying around the dorm. I went to pick it up - this was just what I needed - when one of the thugs who had served as my escort snatched it away.

"Not for you," he said. His accent was pretty thick, and he wore a fancy suit. When he spoke, I thought I saw fangs.

I hope, privately, that he dies in the fire of a thousand suns.

He took the guitar away with him, leaving me alone for the moment.

I explored the compound on my own. There was a sign that prominently displayed the warning: "Please retreat indoors during the night of the full moon."

Sensible.

It hadn't been a problem before winter fell, but now, zombies roam unchecked across the grounds. For the most part, the human military contains it, and zombies don't travel during the day, but the undead frenzy on full moon nights; there is no containing them in a frenzy.

There was a guitar class advertised, so I shelled out a little more money and took it, just to spite the thugs who run this place. Then, I ran home to my dorm; it was, after all, a full moon night.

I felt my magic bubble up, demanding to be used. It kept me awake half the night.

Exploring the dorm itself, I found a number of instructional tools. Privately, I wondered how many of them would be yanked away the second I reached for them. Laughing a bit at my own folly, I approached a curious machine that looked not entirely unlike a stylist's hair dryer, from the days when we still could afford to waste time and energy on things such as appearances.

The machine was labeled a "Brain Enhancer." I was skeptical - of course I was - but I plugged in "Guitar" for the setting and settled in to the chair.

I have a plan, and I won't be deterred by some common crook.

The good news is, the machine works. I understand more about musical theory than I dreamed possible, and my mind filled with ideas for how to turn those concepts into a functional spell.

The bad news is, the third time I used it, it broke, setting an electrical fire on my scalp.

I've been called 'fire-hair' before, but never has it been quite so literal!

After putting my hair out in the sink, and scrubbing myself down for good measure, I set myself to studying the workings of this thing's machinery.

I will not be deterred.

I attended classes and lectures, as well as a workshop about learning to draw landscapes. That last was held outside, in the snow and the cold. I despise the cold.

When finals came around, I breezed through the tests. My grade for the first term was an A.

So far, so good. I repaired the machine and resumed my study of the guitar. Before long at all, I was past the point where the machine could help me - I would have to get my hands on a real guitar to improve further.

--

My dorm-mates seem to be obsessed with the concept of fire, such that their determination to catch themselves ablaze is readily apparent in the number of fires our dorm has had these last few weeks. It is something not unlike a miracle that none of them have been killed while I was away at class.

Perhaps I exaggerate.

I am frustrated, however, as I am the one forced to put monetary compensation forth at the end of the term for anything that they damage. I am not entirely certain why.

Moreover, even this facility is not immune to the rigors of corruption - the same thug who stole away the guitar demanded $300 for some kind of 'protection' moneys. I kicked him in the tender bits, and the next thing I knew, I was on the ground and he was counting out all the money I had on me - something like $2400 all told.

More than the broken arm, my pride is sore.

I've resolved to train my body as well as my mind, here. I won't be caught unawares again.