Marcus Cole - Weapons/Physical Combat Trainer.
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**Marcus Cole is kneeling in the middle of the second floor training area/gymnasium with the lights turned down low, the shades drawn and the doors locked.
He's changed into a fresh set of clothes....a simple black T-shirt and jeans......with the bloodied trappings he'd worn into the school laying in a plastic trash bag by the door for later disposal.
He knelt with his hands clamped together in front of him, head bent low, eyes closed and chin planted hard against his chest....a light sheen of sweat having formed on his brow.
He was muttering something under his breath, completely inaudible and unintelligible to anyone but himself. The mutterings issued forth in a cadence, fast-paced and looping the same phrases at an ever-increasing frenetic pace.
There was a small object being held within his tightly clasped hands, a small glass orb no larger than a golf ball, a pale sky-blue in color at it's center. In response to Marcus' mutterings, the orb began to glow with a bright blue incandescence, filtering through his fingers and partially illuminating the gym.
A low-humming issued from the orb as well, sounding much like the sound a small electric generator would make at low power.
The light show from the orb began to pulse and roil as it collected energy, the flashes making the room look like an old disco nightclub of the seventies.
His sweating became more pronounced, beginning to rivulet down his face. His muttering grew louder now, and impossibly increasing in speed as the ambient light show followed suit in it's intensity to match.
Six feet in front of him, something began to coalesce and take shape, seemingly accruing it's mass from the light now dancing and strobing throughout the room.
Marcus suddenly looked up at the shape, his incantations ceasing as he did so. The writhing form across from him taking a somewhat humanoid shape.
Marcus' expression softened from it's previously strained look.....a joyous smile starting to spread across his face.
A shrill cry for help filtered up to him from the lower floor, diverting his attention momentarily and breaking whatever mojo he was conjuring from the orb, the room falling silent and dark once again.....the image that was taking form in front of him vanishing.
"What....? No....no...NOOOOOOO!" he wailed at the dissapearance of the image, a look of combined grief and frustration now blanketing his face, eyes wide with disbelief.
The cries for help from downstairs sounded again....and a sound of mulling and confusion that made him snap back to himself.
"What the.....?"
He shot up from his kneeling position, tucking the orb into a leather holder on his belt as he ran for the door......pulling a sword from the weapon rack on the wall as he bolted out the door and down the stairs towards the commotion downstairs......**
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