Eilert Draugr, twenty eight years old, married, professor. He had many areas of specialty, all of which he was more than competent to teach: history of ancient civilizations, numerous dead languages, archeology (although it was believed by his colleagues that he was rusty in this field, considering his lack of physical activity over the years--he was at least more than capable of teaching the history of the subject), geology, geography, and numerous other social sciences--even a few subjects that crossed into entirely different curriculum. He had only taught for a few years, but he was still rather exceptional at it, albeit quite a bit reserved--recently, that is. Something had happened, something that had him acting a bit off--something the students of Worcester Academy, a preparatory school with a rather rigorous curriculum for its students.
The truth of the matter was that Eilert had been sick for a fairly expansive amount of time, and he was under the impression recently that he was going to die--and by the end of last semester, he had prepared himself for that. It must have been a shock for him when penicillin treatments finally started to take effect, and though he still looked pale and deathly, he was alive--but weak.
His physician had told him some time ago that there would be side-effects with his new treatment, some debilitating effects that would only last for a little while, only during the necessary amplified treatments. A new method had come about, a new synthesis of penicillin that, combined with a group of particular drugs (referred to as "antibiotics"), could reverse his condition, but allotted somewhat bothersome side-effects when taken in large doses, and it just so happened that his treatment called for large doses daily for the next six months, after which he could cut it in half for the next few years, and though he was still scheduled for checkups on a biweekly basis, it had been declared that if he was perfectly fine after an expansive checkup after the next few years, he'd be off of the medication entirely.
"M-Mr. Draugr~!" a young girl called out to him, a stutter in her voice.
One of those side-effects was an occasional blanking out. An even rarer side-effect was lucid dreaming, be it a waking or a sleeping dream.
Eilert's main room was a large lecture hall with a path of steps leading up from the desk and "stadium seating" with long desks and drawn chairs all lined up, totaling sixty chairs. Worcester Academy, as an independent school, accepted students of all ages, but subjected them to different levels of curriculum based upon the average intelligence of their age. Eilert's classes were more geared towards upper level students--those close to ready to move on to a university. Most students even went on to prestigious schools, although most of which were purely religious.
This wasn't an hour during which he had a class, but he had one to teach soon enough. Two of his students were in the room, both of whom had been trying to get his attention for some time. Zenos Williams, known to many of his peers as "Taint," was nearly ready to graduate and a student in Eilert Draugr's dead (and dying) languages class. He was a tall young man with chin-length brown hair and European lineage--though his accent was modest. He often found it difficult to smile, and looked either serious or confused at all times--usually the latter. He could grow no facial hair and had a somewhat long face . . . and despite this, looked a few years older than he really was. Like all other men (and boys) in the Academy, he wore the traditional uniform of a dark blue sweater, a white button-up undershirt, and slacks. Zenos Williams was six feet tall and hadn't an ounce of extra fat upon him at all.
Standing by Zenos Williams was an oriental youth far from graduating, yet an absolute treat in Eilert Draugr's dead languages class. Mayako Takamine, fourteen years old, female, single--close friend to Zenos, and one of the few who could sit by him and still get a semi-decent grade. Mayako Takamine was amongst the few oriental students in the academy, and truthfully looked much younger than she really was; she was far less developed than most girls her age, possibly just because of her lineage. She had hair that was almost purely black, albeit a hint of violet in extreme light (a trait not unusual amongst those of the orient), and stood no taller than four feet and eleven inches tall. Despite her heritage, she spoke English perfectly, completely without an accent--though, this had more to do with her being raised in this country than anything else. She, too, wore her uniform--like all girls: a dark blue sweater over top a white button-up undershirt, a knee-length skirt, and dark stockings underneath of this. Mayako, was looking up to Eilert, just before his desk, with a concerned expression and a book held close to her chest.
"Hey, I think . . . I think I should get a doctor," Zenos whispered.