Light rest ye merry Magisters

Lord Magyk Sunwing, Overseer of the Sancta and secretly self-proclaimed heir to the throne of Quel’thalas, was in a severely bad mood. Despite Quel’thalas being under the eternal illusion of springtime, someone had foolishly forgotten to add the relevant heating spell, so the kingdom still suffered from the chill that accompanied Winter Veil. After struggling against the biting cold that seemed to have infected every inch of his office above the Bazaar, he had only succeeded in setting alight some paperwork that had included his personal order for some special Winter Frostwhiskey from Ironforge that he had taken a liking to a few years ago. A loud thud had hit the window, and as Magyk opened it, he only saw several children talking amongst themselves below. He sat back down, as another thump hit the window. Once again, there was nothing to suggest anything had occurred. Closing the window once more, he stood next to it and watched as one of the boy’s conjured a snowball. Magyk opened the window and started to scream at them to stop messing about, only to receive a face full of snow in return. He slammed the window shut and grabbed his lynx fur trimmed cloak from a stand by the door. Storming down the stairs and out onto the streets of Silvermoon, he had spotted the children’s, drunk on cheap alcohol no doubt, and trying to impress the young ladies sitting by the fountain, sniggering amongst themselves. Magyk swept towards them, and saw their smirks turn quickly into looks of terror as he approached.

He gave each elf a piercing look in turn. “Who?” With one word, Magyk was secretly delighted to see half of the small group flinch. He watched carefully as several elves moved their eyes distractedly to one side, and followed their gaze, looked down at a black haired apprentice, standing with his hands in his pockets and looking down. He put his finger under the boy’s chin and listed his face up to look at him. “Mr...” When the boy stayed resolutely silent, Magyk glanced at the rest of the gathering, and it wasn’t long before a young blonde girl uttered the word ‘Dawnblood’. He wished the group a short happy Winter Veil and grabbed the culprit by the ear, at which he started to protest, before looking into Magyk’s eyes. Magyk half dragged the elf back to his office and dumped him unceremoniously into the chair opposite his desk, threw his cloak across the room where it landed on it’s hook (which had taken months of practise), and settled himself into his high-backed mahogany armchair, gazing across the desk at the delinquent like a lion looks at his prey.

He spoke in a quiet voice, sounding more disappointed than angry, which he had found over the years to be more useful in making the other person feel remorse. “Do you know how much work I have to do? How much it takes to make a city function? How much gold you have cost the city, even in such a small amount of time, because I haven’t been working?” He could see the boy beginning to lose his cocky attitude with every word, his face softening. “Whilst you enjoy your holiday, some have to work, even through this festive period. I do hope you understand how disappointed in you I am...” He watched as, unexpectedly, the boy’s bottom lip trembled, and knew he had learned his lesson. Still... “I shall be reporting your behaviour to your tutor, and your parents. Shall I do that today? Or wait until after the Feast?” Magyk watched as tears filled the boy’s eyes. Magyk leaned across the desk, his fingers steeped. “I hope you have learned your lesson. Of consequences, and of responsibility, even when we ‘let our hair down’. I won’t say anything, if you promise you will not do it again. Do we have an agreement?” The boy nodded quickly, smiling slightly. “Off you go then” Magyk watched as the boy half ran from the room. He looked down at his work, part of it burned, and began copying the documents again.

After a minute or so, he stopped, thinking. He stood and walked over to the window, and looked down at the Bazaar, the children were still there, now throwing snowballs at each other. Magyk watched them for a while, then glanced at his desk as another stack of forms appeared in front of his chair. He walked across the room, grabbed his cloak again and hurried down the spiral stairs and onto the Bazaar plaza. He walked towards the children again, and seeing their returned looks of horror, conjured his own snowball and threw it one of the children, landing a shot on their shoulder. The children looked confused, except the black haired boy, who retaliated with his own ball of snow, hitting Magyk square in the forehead. Magyk grinned as the snow fell away, and proceeded to have one of the best snowball fights in over six hundred years.

Lovely... just lovely!

God, i wish Cat could have caught Magyk in doing that

I'd like to contribue to this snowball fight.

Bizzard's a good spell.

Lovely Story, Magyk - so truly Magyk apart from the twist at the end, revealing another side to him.

Loved it