Mental Magics wrapped up, as was becoming a trend, slowly. I spent the time mostly sitting around to regenerate my mana, -which took about twenty-eight minutes, from zero to maximum according to the time as told by my personal device- interspersed with brief bouts of fooling around with my magic in an attempt to accomplish something. Which were unsuccessful. And I did really try. I poked a few more thoughts, attempted to grab them with mana held in hand, I even poked one of my lab rats right in the head with a shadow. I then looked away, completely innocently as she turned her head to look over her shoulder, not at me in particular. Because I'd touched her on the opposite side, of course. I'm not stupid. Not entirely.

Interestingly, I did discover that the threshold of my shadow being able to touch the mind-tentacles was at least seven mana per second. It seemed a bit arbitrary, not to mention expensive. but oh well. I found that, the more energy I poured into it, the longer it could stretch, the larger it loomed, and the more force it could exert. When I had it press against my hand as as a test, it capped at about the impactfulness of a stiff breeze. Hopefully that'd grow in the future, seeing as my own Class didn't provide any strength to me. Having some way to circumvent the issue would be nice.

I did make sure to take time to fully regenerate for the next period. What with how it was dedicated specifically to my most expensive Skill, I imagined I'd be running out quite often. Actually, now that I think about it, how did I do that? There certainly isn't enough time in an hour to restore my reserves more than twice. And only barely room for that. And yet, here I was with a full tank? Ah, it's to my benefit. No questions! Wouldn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth. Where does that saying come from? What does it even mean? I should look that up.

Anyway. First Level E-vo-cation. A nice sensible name. Straightforward and to the point. No beating around the bush. Why can't this be the norm? It just makes sense. No need for those numbers or synonyms, just tells you what it is.

I mused on this as I read the words from the metallic plaque on the door. Bronze or gold, I think. The lighting made it hard to tell. It was set in the center of an ordinary and plain wooden door. A light brown-ish orange color, perhaps oak. But probably not, as that was just the first wood I thought of. The thing was a simple and uninteresting construction, which conversely made it interesting here. On the edge, at about torso height was a simple, probably painted gold doorknob. I grabbed it, twisted to the left, then the right when it didn't turn, and pushed.

I frowned and pushed again. The door moved a bit, but didn't open. I jiggled the handle and tried again, to no success. My frown deepened for a moment before I had the realization, stopped myself from face-palming and pulled. It swung open smoothly.

Immediately a draft of cold air washed over me. It was the sort of chill that passed through your skin and settled in your bones. But it wasn't actually cold, not really. More a tension. An impression of the possibility that something might happen. An energy which suffused every part of the body with its stillness. Like the feeling you get when you know that that falling glass is about to hit the floor and shatter into a thousand pieces. Not a drop in temperature, persay, but a chill nonetheless that shivered my frame and left my bones ringing. It quickly... well, not faded. Became less noticeable? It slipped into the background of my mind, such that I could tell it was there, but that it didn't intrude unless I actively thought about it.

You have entered an area of extreme mana saturation.

Mana regeneration tripled temporarily.

All Stats increased by 1 temporarily.

Well that was unexpected. It answered one of my earlier unspoken questions though. Being how anyone would get anything done in this class when the titular Skill could barely be active for half a minute. Less if you intended to do anything really useful with it I think. Wait. If my Stats were increased, did that mean that my mana, which I already couldn't fill quickly, was also bigger? Yup, it was. Two more points. I suppose triple regeneration mades that a non issue though. On the plus side, I could run the spell for a full thirty seconds! On its lowest capacity at least. Maybe it could fetch me a paper if I didn't want to get up. Possibly even a pencil.

A face popped around the corner of the entrance. It scowled, I think, -it was a bit too far to tell precisely, my eyesight was never the best- and shouted at me from what looked like probably the other end of a long room.

"Don't just stand there and let it out! Get in here!" The words, spoken in the annoyed voice of an older man, shocked me out of my reverie. I scrambled through the doorway, very narrowly avoiding the door as it snapped closed behind me.

The room in which I stood was rectangular in shape. The door was in one corner, set in a small nook about about a stride's depth into the stone wall. The floors and ceiling were the same dull grey bricks as the walls, lit by a familiar omnipresent illumination. About half the room, the side I'd entered on, was filled with normal desks and chairs which faced a teachers seat on the far edge. The other half, slightly larger, was plain empty stone.

There was also the man who'd beckoned me into the place. He was clad in a form fitting outfit of no extravagant detail. A simple long-sleeved grey shirt and baggy black pants. The instructor was short, noticeably so, and stocky. Not to an absurd degree, but just slightly more than average. A perfect descriptor for him, really. He wasn't too thin, or round, or anything really. His face wasn't particularly sharp, nor was his jaw particularly defined. Very slightly darker of skin, but not much. He had the beginnings of a curly beard on his face, a shading of short, dark hairs that made his features even less distinct. And nearly-shoulder length locks that hung from his head, mostly covering his long and pointed ears. All said, he was really just... normal. For a human. Which did make the ears stand out quite a bit in contrast actually. Odd. Anyway.

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What was remarkable was the speed at which he turned his attention away. He crashed violently into a cushioned chair and spun away on wheels, coming to a miraculous stop perfectly situated behind his desk. He sat there straight as a board, with a stiffness that looked a bit unnatural, if you ask me. The aforementioned desk was decorated by a short stack of papers to his left, and a cup of pencils on the right that suggested the unfortunate presence of the despised paperwork in this class. So too did it bear a name placard that looked to be fastened down to the wood.

Earl E. Graves. Bit on the nose if you ask me. Probably and hopefully a pseudonym. I pity whoever is so unfortunate as to be given a name like that. Truly, who would be so foolish and cruel as to make that mistake? Earl himself looked to be busy with, at my guess, a headcount. He'd look up, peer out at the assembled young adults for a few seconds, then scribble something on a paper and repeat. I didn't envy trying to count in this distorted and blurry area. I tried for a moment and gave up when I saw three people occupying the same space.

I found that the student chairs could swivel at a ninety degree angle to face the empty area. The bottoms were embedded in a rather ingenious circular rail contraption set in the floor. I let out a little 'wee' and flourished my hands as I swung. Only to wince at the abrupt stop, accompanied by a sort of clicking sound and the tinny ding of a metallic impact. Eh, that was pretty obvious in hindsight.

Soon enough, Graves snapped his writing utensil down. He pushed his paper off to the side and stood. The teacher braced himself with his arms on the desk and leaned forward, a grave seriousness on his face. Get it? Ah, I'm hilarious. A brief moment later, the bell signaling the start of class rang. Either there was a clock I didn't see or the man had impeccable timing. I chose to believe the latter option.

"If you take nothing from this course," he intoned, "There is but one thing I ask you to learn." He paused, sweeping his gaze dramatically over the room. "Of all the things you will learn and see and do as a Warlock. there is no magic, no secret and no monster more dangerous than recklessness."

"All of you, each and every one, draws power from a source so inconceivable that it could wipe this place off the map with a flick of a finger. And those sources aren't idle. They want. They have goals. Goals they scheme and plot to make real. Goals that are, in nigh all cases not condusive to you or anyone you know remaining living."

"The prime example of this," he continued, "is in the Warlock Class's core Skills. Commune and Evocation. The tools by which the will of your Patron is spoken and executed."

Now he sat back down, turned and gestured at the wall. A large, perfectly square portion darkened and smoothed over. A featureless slate of black. He pointed a finger and began to draw in thin white lines. They glistened in an odd way. Like... frost? That was pretty cool. Hah! I'm really on a roll right now.

A silhouette took shape as he spoke. Spiraling lines traced out from its core and radiated from its outstretched hand. Behind it loomed another, far larger form. More of those paths, these jagged and rough, extended from it and into the smaller body.

"When you use your Skills," Graves said, "they do not draw on your own power. As a Warlock, you do not have power of your own. Not until your Level grows so high that it is currently irrelevant. This isn't only true for Evocation, but all your Skills." He pointed at where the sharp lines converged and smoothed out. "The mana is mostly purified as it passes through the Pact. It retains just a wisp of its qualities. Just enough to exert a modicum of effect over the spell. Changing it, or even denying it depending on the affinity."

At a gesture, the input lines grew thicker, bolder. The outputs, smooth and curving, bent sharply. The crests and troughs became sharp angles, more and more pronounced as the input grew.

"But, as you draw more from the source, more of the unfiltered energy is able to pass through. More of its influence is able to take hold." At another motion from Graves, the larger figure raised its arm up, and the output from the smaller figure similarly jerked upwards. "If you are unable to overpower that influence, should your willpower not be strong enough, you'll find that power no longer under your command."

He looked over the gathered students, searching for understanding. Or perhaps, fear. From the slight flicker of disappointment on his face, gone in an instant, he found none. "Being a Warlock is a double-edged sword. One you have no choice but to wield. On the one hand, a Warlock is far and away stronger than almost anyone else on their Level. On the other, well, we just talked about that."

The silence after that was thick enough to cut. It stretched on and on from tension into, frankly, awkwardness, at least from my view. I stifled a laugh at the sudden inversion of the atmosphere, badly disguising it as a cough. If anyone reacted, I couldn't see it. Earl straightened his posture, drawing up to his full, not quite imposing height.

"For the most part you shouldn't find this an issue at present. You are unable to channel enough mana for a long enough time for anything of consequence to be affected. Not yet." As he spoke, he wiped away the chilling -another one! Truly, puns were the highest form of comedy- image behind him. It vanished in a wave, curling into vapor from left to right.

"It varies, but you should have around five Levels before it's a real problem. Until then the class will focus on improving your willpower and strength of mind. Once the majority of you start to reach that point, that will take a backseat to improving your skills -not the System kind- and optimizing your mana usage to minimize risk."

He moved his seat slightly closer to the work-station and shifted his posture just a bit. I saw him extend an arm, but whatever it was he reached for was on the underside of the desk where I couldn't see it. Though I stopped wondering -mostly at least- when the stack of papers, as well as the pencils from their cup, vanished with a faint, low popping sound, barely audible. A moment later, a single sheet appeared before me, accompanied by a shiny and freshly sharpened stick of wood. The page wasn't blank, and I read a few lines in the short pause. Standard things, my name, and the date and the like. The writing instrument was a matte, glossy red about two finger lengths long. It included an eraser, which was was nice.

"If you haven't noticed, these forms are just some basic information that makes my job easier for having. They aren't optional. But, it's nothing any of you should have a problem with answering." He seemed to think for a moment. "Not answering would definitely be more suspicious if you're trying to hide anything. Lying will only make things more difficult in the future. Don't do that. You probably aren't special enough to warrant it."

I beg your most esteemed pardon? How dare you! I am the most special! Clearly! Say that again once you're narrating your autobiography. Hmph. Everything else he said was accurate enough though. The questions weren't very intensive. The name of my Patron, -I went with the short title of 'Whispering Dark'- its Plane of origin, a brief description, and so on. Annoyingly, but not unexpected, there was a back side to the paper. Thankfully it was mostly dominated by a single question's entry space.

Unfortunately again, that question asked for a transcription. Of what, you may ask? Why, nothing else than the words of my eldritch benefactor on 'its ideal plan for the sapient peoples.' Just great. This was sure to be an experience, certainly.