“The truth is, historians may never know the full extent of truth behind the Magdovan theory,” Professor Campbell had been lecturing for forty minutes now. Denis was genuinely interested in the Magdovan theory – a theory which concerned an incident, that occurred a thousand years ago in Poland. The accounts of the time described witchcraft and sorcery in a town nearby modern-day Krakow. A man by the name of Jazabel had apparently murdered four men and turned on a scholar only to be slain by a man-at-arms nearby. The scholar consequently recorded his findings in official ledgers. The people this Jazabel had murdered were all killed by fire. Their flesh was burned to a cinder to the stage where it was nigh on impossible to determine the identities of those murdered.

Five centuries later an Italian scientist by the name of Nicolo Magdovan claimed that those people were killed by magic. As a scientist, fellow scientists were appalled that such a theory could even be entertained. “Magic disobeyed the laws of physics”, they said. The humanists shunned him. The papists called him a sorcerer for even thinking up such a theory (This followed some misinformation spouted by the Inquisition) Finally, Magdovan was burned at the stake for coming up with a scientific theory to rationalize the notion that magic was possible. His theory has survived to this day.

Denis was unconvinced. It was part of his course study of Modern History (This course included the Renaissance) the idea of magic in society has struck fear into everyone ranging from the old witch-hunts of the 1600’s to ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’. The theory had been discredited by modern science but it still lived on in the hearts of academics worldwide. Historians especially love to point it out as an example of the limits the humanist movements put on itself.

His head ached. Thinking possibly wasn’t the wisest activity he should be doing right now. He had had seven pints last night in the Student Union bar as it was his mate Jason’s birthday. Many commented on his ability to handle drink and blamed it on his Irish roots. His father was born in Co. Wicklow but his mother is from Liberal California.

Suddenly he heard somebody trying to get him to turn around…

OOC: I thought this would be a good chance for somebody to join in? PM me, I have some very broad plot ideas.

Cyris is very much inclined to agree with Magdovan, of course. After all, strange friends, weird encounters, unexplainable happenings, and first hand experience drove home the point of the possibility that magic exists in the real world. Cyris himself would make a good supporting specimen of the matter, were he willing to let himself be poked and prodded by scientists. As it was, he was not thrilled by the idea of being a laboratory guinea pig and was not of a mind to be ousted for his…err…abilities. Thus, he kept his mouth shut and his sister kept his secret.

It so happened, however, that Cyris had already learned much of what was being included in todays lecture several years ago, having been dabbling around on the internet looking for information about magic, other kinds aside from his own sort, and for the hope that there are more like him and he isn’t such a freak after all. So, because this drone is firmiluar to him, not because Professor Campbell isn’t a good teacher, it is that his mind has wandered and he’s pulled out his journal again to cover the page with some ghost story that was likely to creep his mother out and make his sister squirm and end up wanting him to stay with her in her room until she fell asleep again.

It just so happened, however, that his pen, damn the blasted thing, ran out of ink as he was just coming to the closing paragraph of today’s short invention. He really didn’t wish to disturb anyone, since he’s very conscience that they may be interested in the lesson, but damn it he needed a pen.

Trying to sit back and relax did no good and he found himself restless only seconds later and wanting desperately to finish his story. Cloth rustled when he moved, due to the material of his parachute-like pants, and he straightened, as he’d been slouched backwards into the seat, and sat up, then leaned forward.

“Ssst.” It was a soft but distinct sound, the hiss through his teeth. “D,” he couldn’t recall the guys name, he barely knew anyone in the class, but the name started with a D. That much he knew.

Denis recognized the man behind him as Cyris. Some of the other lads in Campus had spoken of him before. A seriously weird fellow by all accounts. Denis was prepared to get to know him himself before allowing his mind to be made up for him by other people.

“Uhh… sure” he whispered back. He reached into his pencil case and threw him back a blue pen. The other man nodded and Denis returned to taking down notes from the lecture.

Professor Campbell continued on his same course, showing slides of Magdovan’s theory written down on the original paper. His theory had escaped Milan and made its way to the Southern Italian city of Bari, where it lived until the outbreak of World War One. After that the slip of paper came to be under the possession of a humanist society and there is an ‘urban legend’ surrounding it. Apparently the Illuminati had desired it, for purposes unknown. The humanists protected the theory at all costs, again for reasons unknown. It would take until the year 2002 before it became public information when it was officially revealed at a meeting of the Royal Society for Historical study in Chelsea, London. The press lost interest in it as soon as they realized the theory had no scientific backing behind it. There has been much discussion in Academic circles as to why the Illuminati where interested in acquiring it. Most academics regard the interest of the Illuminati as completely coincidental and that it was probably some rogue nobleman (who was a member of the Illuminati) who wanted to learn more about Nicolo Magdovan.

It was at this stage of the lecture that Campbell mentioned the legend behind the illuminati wanting the theory may just have been a legend. There is no historical proof to back it.

All Denis knew of the Illuminati was what he knew in Leo Tolstoy’s masterpiece, ‘War and Peace’. He treated it with the same respect he treated the Da Vinci Code and the Priory of Sion – complete and utter gibberish with no logical founding.

A bell went off in the room and this was professor Campbell’s queue to end the lecture.

“Don’t forget there’s an assignment on the Humanist’s impact on social development in 16th century Paris to be handed in by next Monday”

Denis groaned.

**

He was walking back from the College to Campus when he noticed something behind him. It was that guy he had leant a pen to earlier. Denis let out a little chuckle and said out in a friendly manner, “You didn’t need to come all the way here with my pen you know!”

OOC: Actually, by all accounts, Cyris is a rather normal and likable young man. All things considered. It’s his sister who happens to be a little strange, but since she’s twelve, talk of her on campus wasn’t likely. Also, Cyris is new to the city, doubtful people actually know enough to talk about him yet.

Cyris winked a thanks, just a blink of one hazel eye, and then turned his attention from both the professor, the lecture, and from ‘D’ and continued about his story. The young lady behind him, a pretty woman of the most curious and nosey sort who happened to be sitting on one foot and leaning over to peer sneakily over his shoulder, shuddered and her eyes had grown slowly wider over the course of the class. And for those brief moments that Cyris stopped writing in order to borrow the pen, she’d held her breath in anticipation.

Oh yes, this story was bound to knock his father right off his feet this time. Lyss and his Mother hated ghost stories, his mother because it reminded her so much of what Cyris was, his sister because her innocent imagination went wild once she was left to her own devices. But he and his father were constantly in a battle of fright.

The bell rang and despite his not paying attintion to the lesson, he was not the first one out, nor did he leave until the room was empty except he and the professor. Often, he hung back and chatted away with the teacher, whose lectures were tiresome but one-on-one conversations were bountiful. However, he was snapping closed the leather bound journal when he realized that “D” had taken off without his pen.

He really should return it, as he wasn’t the type to keep what was borrowed and if he waited until the next class he would have either forgotten all about the pen or used all of the ink in it too. It didn’t take Cyris long to catch up with his classmate, what with his long legs and long strides. Standing, he towered, thin and tall and his head rested six feet above the ground without the boots. With them it was another inch or something of the sort. His black hair hung in his face and eyes, until he pushed it away. Pants rustled across the ground, button down semi-casual shirt. Loose, comfortable, respectable, classic, and gothic. Don’t ask how but Cyris achieved all of them. In one hand, his history book, a notebook, and the journal.

He smiled. “It’s no problem. I’d have forgotten by next week.” He plucked the pen from behind his ear where it had been resting, more hair fell in his face to be pushed back again. “It isn’t as if I’ve got anywhere to be.”

Looking at the fella again he remembered that it was Michael who said that this man was wierd. It was not easy to recall that Michael himself is a wierdo, calling himself a 'lads lad' but never managed to pull the woman, and was always drunk under the table. I may well have been hasty in making up my mind about this fella

"Cheers" Denis replied. The comparison between them was stark. Denis was dressed in baggy 'Urban Stone' Jeans and an Irish rugby jersey his father got him when he was in Limerick last year. He wore runners that cost his dad two hundred and forty dollars. The fella beside him looked like a goth.

Uck. he thought. Those wierdo's listen to heavy metal all day and believe in witchcraft and stuff.

There was an awkward silence. There was no point in talking to him about football as Denis knew nothing about anything other than soccer and Gaelic. He was always awkward around people he just met. Usually his close friends enjoyed warm political debates and his friends ranged from a socialist, to a devout Christian to a cold-hearted Republican in the US style. As a hairy liberal, Denis had ensured everyone was on the opposite of the Great political divide. Of course Denis wasn't hairy. His brown hair was well kept and there were obvious signs of Brylcream. He may never be a lady's man, but by the Gods he would certainly try.

"So... what do you think of Magdovan's theory?" his tongue began to roll a little bit easier now. "Was he a visionary or an idiot?"

OOC; for clarification, I'm used to writing in my own Irish dialect. For example, 'drunk under the table' doesn't mean he was sitting drunk under the table but that he was an incompetant drinker compared to other people :P

I'm thinking the misunderstanding I have of you through misinformation will lead us somewhere...

Cyris, on the other hand, grew up as a military child and so the making of friends was an easy and firmiluar task to him. His friends had ranged much further, if you can call the dead friends. Ghosts and poturguists, vampires and lycanthrope, boys and girls from any age and culture, even one boy once who spoke no English at all, another girl who was deaf, pot heads and preps, police children, the preachers daughter (Who is not such a good girl after all.) He was at ease, standing here in the silence, offering his ‘potential pal’ smile.

“I wouldn’t call him a visionary but his theory certainly has some substance to it,” he replied. “It’s...unfortunate that there is no evidence to give it some ground.” He’d hesitated because he wasn’t certain whether it really was unfortunate or not. Suposing it was accepted and people believed in magic, what would the outcome be? He certainly didn’t want to end up tied to the stake to burn because he can hear the dead even when he didn’t want to. And he did [/I]not[/I] want people’s family members to come to him and ask if he can look up their dead so and so and talk to them.

“Then again,” he reiterated, “perhaps it’s for the best that his theory never took a firm hold.” Charming smile.

OOC: I understand, much like saying ‘falling down drunk’.

Denis almost squirmed from the smile he was under from Cyris. He felt awkward. There were rumours of secret societies who believe in magic, modern day witches still claim they can use a form of magic also.

"What do you mean?" Denis asked.

"The Church misread him and misunderstood him - much like Shakespeare misunderstood the works of Nicolo Machiavelli" Denis loved discussions like this. In most cases it turned into a lecture with him depleting his stores of knowledge in the process. "He died for an attempted explanation to rationalise magic. Scientists and humanists at the time discredited him as he failed to involve the Scientific Method to follow his theory. According to the Scientific method he was wrong as evidence supported the complete opposite of what he thought he proved. As a scientist, a rationalist, Magdovan betrayed his own people, in a sense, by hanging onto a theory that was illogical at the very worst."

He smiled again.

"Fancy a beer back at my pad? Maybe we can exchange notes... So to say"

“Just that it might be for the better that no one thought he was right. I mean, look what happened at the Salem Witch Trials. People got killed because others believed in magic. It just might be...beneficial that people don’t believe.” He certainly didn’t want to burn alive because ghosts bothered him.

I suppose it’s a good thing Denis likes to lecture to the extent of his knowledge because Cyris had a tendancy to dip out of conversations and listen. He was the one that sat to the side and learned, much less hands on type.

Cyris checked his watch, then looked at the books in his hand and decided it wouldn’t hurt to waste a little time but he’d missed dinner last night and he had to be sure to make it tonight. He was a grown young man, capable of cooking his own but his mother usually got disappointed if any of her family missed dinner.

“Sure, alright. But I’ve got to watch the time. I’m expected home by six.”

Denis led Cyris towards Campus and the Dorms where he had his own room. It was in Dorm B. He was satisfied with the accomodation, but it was a far cry from the lavish lifestyle he led outside the city in the suburbs. He entered the communal kitchen. It was a basic room with a cooker, a fridge, a microwave, a toaster, a coffee maker, a TV and a Playstation two. Jimmy and Sarah were busy playing some wrestling game as they walked in. Sarah said hi, Jimmy was too involved to look in his direction.

Sarah was a beaut. She was naturally beautiful, rarely using make-up (apart from when she hit the clubs) She had blond hair, blue eyes and nearly six foot tall with slender build. She had the making of a model if she wanted. Instead she sat around playing PS2 games all day and occasionally made it to lectures.

Jimmy was huge, eighteen stone in weight. He was barely five foot nine and the weight really hung off him. He was a happy fellow, always liable to do something funny when drunk. Denis had never managed to beat him at Madden

Denis walked over to the fridge and pulled out four duty-free Budweisers, handing them to everyone in the room. Jimmy was delighted when a crisp, cool bud magically appeared in his hand.

"Who's this kid?" Jimmy asked in his laddish, burly way of his.

"Cyris" Denis answered, "He's in my History class."

Denis cracked open his bud with a bottle opener and in turn handed that to Cyris.

"Heading out on town tonight? It's Sarah's birthday..." Cyris must really have been wondering why Denis was been so friendly to him. "... She's nineteen... And still a virgin, eh Sarah?"

It was a pretty obvious joke. Sarah was very comfertable around boys to the extent that Denis wondered if she was the one with the penis, not him.

"Shut your face Irish"

Jimmy laughed. Sarah turned off the console, much to Jimmy's dismay.

"So you heading tonight?" Sarah asked the newcomer.

OOC: Feel free to roleplay either Sarah or Jimmy

OOC: I'll leave them to you until I start getting the hang of their personalities.

IC: Cyris wasn't entirly uncomfortable entering the dorm, nor was he uncomfortable at all meeting new people. It's just part of his life after eighteen years.

It took him mere seconds to evaluate Jimmy and Sarah with his eyes, indeed she was lovely, and then only seconds more to offer them both the same smile he'd given to Denis out in the Campus yard. He took the profered beer and stood behind Sarah and Jimmy, watching the screen for a few seconds. Cyris never was one for video games. Or any games for that matter. He'd rather study something, anything.

Being adressed he turned his eyes off of the screen when the playstation was turned off and shook his head. "No. I'm afraid the bouncers wouldn't let me in." And dear mom wouldn't approve. Pop would probably have a cow too and Gods forbide it that Lyss ever found out. He's suposed to be a good role model for her. "I promised my mom I'd be home for dinner anyways."

He looked at the beer bottle in his hand and debated with himself. It isn't as though he's not drank before, or as though he hasn't been 'out on the town', it's just the debate as to whether he would smell like alcohol upon going home and if his mother would catch it.

"Happy Birthday," he added, taking one short sip.

Denis had the impression people like Cyris were more rebellious than this. For him college ment absolute freedom - freedom from parents, from high school rules and freedom of expression - and he loved college life. He couldn't get his head around it. Cyris was essentially a College kid, but his mother still tied him to the apron. One part of him said this kid was a lost cause and another said perserverence. He had no idea why.

"Watch you don't drink all of that now" Sarah said sarcastically.

"Yeah, wouldn't want you to go home drunk now" Jimmy butted in.

They're like tweedle dom and tweedle di those two, Denis thought to himself.

"Pay no heed to them."

Denis pondered for a moment.

"I've never actually seen you out before. Whats the story with that anyway? You're a college student... Speaking personally I can't remember the last weekend I was sober!"

The less sober I am the easier it is for the spirit world to start bothering me. Unfortuantly, Cyris can't share truths like this with the average every day potential friend. Truth was, he'd like to make a few close friends that he could confide in. Instead he grinned at the prods at his sipping the beer but answered only Denis.

"It doesn't suprise me. We've not lived here long enough for me to actually be seen around anyways but really I don't go out much. When I do I've usually got a twelve year old with me and drinking is not an opption." He shrugged.

Preseverance was more of Cyris' style. Mom didn't have anyone tied to her apron. Not even Lyss. They were just a close family. A lot of moving around and being rendered friendless at least twice a year did that to a family.

"Besides. I think i'd rather be able to remember last weekend and I'd rather not wake up and not know who I snogged the night before while my head was somewhere else."

He smiled pointedly and took another drink. It's amazing that he can say such words that should be mocking but they aren't coming from him. Coming from him they're good natured and easy to laugh at.

To Cyris, college was not freedom. College was just another shackle and chain of the school systems. Freedom would come once he's graduated. once Lyss no longer depends on his every move.

Denis let out a little chuckle.

"I understand mate, even I can't get my head around it." The door opened and Michael walked in. He was wearing a New York Yankee's jersey and a pair of tracksuit bottoms. No-one said hello to him. Michael made a sleazy joke directed towards Sarah and then turned to introduce the newcomer.

"How you doing freak" His tone was happy yet his tone hid his true feelings. Michael could barely hide the disgust he felt for Cyris and Denis had no idea what he disliked about the guy.

"You really are a dick Michael" Sarah was far from happy. She regularly kicked herself as to why she went out with him. Michael was an American football player when she dated him at high school. She dated him for reasons of popularity and because his rippling muscles attracted her feminine urges. Michael was a thoroughly hateful person.

Michael just laughed.

"Turn on Madden there Jimmy till I 'wupp your ass round this joint" As he made his way to the couch he made an impression of a black gangsta' rappa', shaking his wrists in front of Denis. "Listening to 50 Cent today wigger?"

"Screw you" Denis replied with complete indifference.

Michael sat down on the couch beside big Jimmy.

"Sorry bout him" Denis whispered to Cyris.

He chuckled at Denis’ comment and looked up when yet another joined them. As if being called freak wasn’t the oldest one he’d heard, right along with gothic, wannabe, and mansonite. But he didn’t say any of this, he stopped that in third grade.

“Just fine,” Cyris replied instead, very politly, to the newcomer’s comment. His tone was of utter friendliness. “And how are you to day Jackass?” Just like that.

Woe to the day he ever said something like that in front of Lyss and she repeated it to their parents. The world would come to a screeching hault to watch his ass get kicked by his mother.

Cyris listened in a disapproving manner to how Michael spoke to Sarah and Denis but said nothing. He could have asked in a not-so-quiet voice what Sarah was doing with a shit like that or why did they let that idiot hang around her but it really wasn’t his place. You don’t get invited somewhere to start a fight and he’s said enough as it was.

Denis could see the incomprehension in Cyris's eyes. Cyris didn't know that Michael was his first cousin. Where Denis came from, family was important. In Ireland, people simply had to put up with annoying cousins. Michael, however, hadn't a drop of Irish blood in him, coming from Denis's mothers side of the family. Michael was a Bayfield man, through and through.

Denis sat back and took another drink.

Why the hell am I drinking if I've an essay to write?

It was convenient to forget alcoholism ran in his family. He liked to tell himself he'd stop and slow down once he left college.

The beer tasted way to good than was healthy for him.

Well, this was cozey to say the least.

Cyris thoroughly felt uncomfortable and foreign for one of the first and few times in his life. It's rare that a new group of people made him feel so alianated. He leaned back against the wall and watched the three friends of D's sitting there playing a video game. He was forgotten it seemed, which bothered him very little (as he's usually the sort to try to fade into the background anyways) but they were the first to actually make him feel unwelcome in bayfield. Probably wouldn't be the last, but because they were the first it bothered him on some low level.

He took a longer drink from the bottle in his hands and shifted his eyes from the three on the floor to Denis. His eyes watched him for a moment, wondering what exactly was the reason he'd been invited.

Someone was talking. To him. But when he looked around, no one's mouth was moving and no one was looking at him. With a soft grunt he opened his mind and located the source. He had to stop himself from glaring at the door. The ghosts of Bayfield were certainly more persistant then the ones had been in California.

He ignored the spirit and looked at his watch.