The sorcerer’s tower was several stories tall and constructed from the finest black marble. The black marble used in its construction remained unsullied by the ravages of time, appearing unnaturally pristine as if it had been built that very same day. The slowly melting snow also gave the tower a sheen and shine that it never had even in its peak. Regardless, there was always something rather unsettling that Tharos found about this tower; it was as if such cleanliness was merely a front to hide the evils that often occurred within. Although the various arch-mages that once called this tower home were like all mages, capable of both great good and great evil, as the path of sorcery wasn’t for the faint of heart. While lesser minds may think that magic is just the ability to sling spells or chant ominously into magic circles to summon demons from the netherworld, those ignorant enough to think such things would be dead wrong. Magic wasn’t just about slinging spells or summoning creatures from the great beyond; it was the power to warp and bend aspects of reality to your will. It was, in essence, what it was like to be a god. And much like a god, one could be brought down by their own folly and hubris, and that was the fate many mages suffered.
While some viewed these practices as a necessary evil, a perspective shared by many, including Tharos himself, due to the societal benefits of the research, however one still had to question the moral and ethical issues raised by such endeavours. How much blood must be spilled? How much suffering must be inflicted? How many people must be sacrificed for the benefit of others and society at large? These were questions that Tharos and his colleagues grappled with, engaging in vigorous debates but ultimately lacking a definitive answer. Was it right to sacrifice the one for the sake and benefit of the many? When it came down to benefit and the overall survival of the human race, the many always won out over the one. However, it was always the one that pushed things to the next stage; it was always the one whose very actions could benefit the many, yet in the end, it was the one who shouldered the burdens of the many, and in the end, would pay the ultimate price for it.
As he approached the tower, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. His senses were on high alert, scanning for any signs of movement or sound. Despite the empty streets and alleys he passed through, the only sounds were the crunch of snow under his feet and the slowly increasing pounding of his own heart in his chest as he walked closer and closer to the sorcerer’s tower. As he entered the tower’s district, the fading sunlight in the sky was quickly replaced by the darkness of night, and he felt his strength waning with each step towards the looming structure.
It seems like the wards are still active. a good sign at least.
As the wards began to take effect on Tharos’ body and mind, he strengthened his resolve in an attempt to resist their influence.
Focus on the task at hand.
These were the words that echoed in his mind repeatedly. He kept his eyes closed and moved slowly toward the door with weighted steps, as the magic tried to sap every drop of his vitality. After a few tense minutes, he felt his body slam into what felt like a wooden door. Opening his eyes, he saw the sky had returned to normal, and before him was a rather ornate but solid wooden door. Its frame was etched with arcane markings that quickly flashed a faint light blue colour as Tharos placed his hand on the door. Slowly opening the door, the markings started to disappear and fade into the woodwork. To his surprise, he was greeted by the smell of fresh air, clean stone floors, and walls. The torches on the wall were shiny and well-polished, and the spiralling stone staircase before him looked untouched, as if not a single foot had stepped on them. It was too perfect, and that was what truly unsettled him about this place.
Even during the times, I was here with Vartark. It was never this clean.
As he ascended the winding staircase, the torches suddenly ignited, casting a bright crimson glow that illuminated his path to the first floor. The common room he entered was grand and well-appointed, with a crackling fireplace now filling the room with warmth and light. Tharos basked in the fire’s glow, feeling a sense of peace wash over him, a rare sensation for him. But he quickly pushed aside these emotions, shaking his head and releasing a sigh.
Even the tower’s enchantments are still active.
He continued to move forward, disregarding the fireplace and the tower’s attempts to deceive him as he climbed the stone steps. The tower’s enchantments tried to affect his mind and drain his strength, showing him visions of his fears and desires long forgotten. Tharos struggled to resist the effects that weakened his defences, feeling the overwhelming temptation. If he lost focus or succumbed to fatigue, he would be trapped in an endless slumber, allowing the creature to one day break free and spread its corruption and bring devastation upon the lands of Aria once more, as it did a long time ago during what his people would call “the apocalypse war.” This war, even in his day, was more myth and legend than actual fact. The story, as it was told to him as it was to many other Zarbarains, is that one day the people of the sky descended from the heavens upon their flying ships with their men of metal and flesh, purging the lands of all life with cleansing green fire that burned brighter and fiercer than the fires of the sun. Entire cities and towns were encased in glass, and an evil wind swept across the land, causing the people’s hair to turn gray, their eyes and ears to bleed, and their nails to twist and fall out. His people witnessed and endured a world of utter turmoil, with battles that blacken the skies and bled the heavens white, leaving the fields and forests of Aria ablaze in the distance. The prayers of the suffering went unheeded and unanswered, for the gods were silent in those dark days and nights. Many races, both human and non-human alike, perished in this war of utter slaughter. Among the races of men were The Arianen, the kriyauyu, the Orcka, the Gobbar, and among the non-human blood that was spilled were the Gnomes, the Halflings, the Naga, and many more.
However, when all hope seemed lost, a champion of the human race emerged – a saviour of the world and the founder of what would eventually become the Zarbarian Empire. Mithra Narshar, later known as Mithra the Great, united not only his people and other humans but also elves, dwarves, dragons, and other forgotten beings. Together, they repelled the sky people and cast them back to the void from whence they came. Tharos would carry on the fight in their memory.
Tharos finally, after what felt like several hours, reached the top of the tower and entered the sorcerer’s private quarters. Upon opening the door, he was relieved to find the quarters still pristine, with various arcane machines and devices that dotted the room. The most important one for Tharos’ purposes was the circular stone disk on a pedestal in the centre of the room. The disk was adorned with green diodes connected by intricate copper wiring. Taking a moment to absorb the room’s details, he admired the arcane devices, shelves filled with mystical knowledge, and the stargazer pointing towards the heavens on the balcony. Memories from the past flooded his mind as he stood there, lost in nostalgic contemplation.
Vartark you would always talk about how one day this place would be yours, and that would have that Ormazd’s head on a silver platter. sadly, you never got the opportunity.
He let out another sigh as he thought about his best friend. He then turned his attention to the device in the centre of the room. Walking towards it, he reached out his hand to touch the stone disk on the pedestal. He knew he had to be careful; this device not only controlled the magical barrier and other defences of the city but also manipulated the city’s ley lines. One wrong move could have serious consequences, not just for himself but for the outside world as well. As he touched one of the diodes, the stone disk sprung to life, and the arcane etchings and runes on the disk glowed a faint blue. A projection map of the entire city flashed to light, along with walls of text. Scanning through it quickly, most of the defences he wanted to activate were still in good enough condition.
So far so good. He thought to himself.
Just as his fingers were about to touch the combination of diodes required to activate these defences, Tharos heard a faint noise, like a strong gust of wind coming from the balcony. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, followed by an audible but muffled screech.
Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. A sentence that contained more truth than the speaker would realise. He reached for his sword just in time as a winged serpentine creature with the head of an old man burst into the room with the speed of a charging bull. The creature hissed at Tharos, its bottom jaw extending and splitting into two segments, revealing sharp needle-like teeth and a long tongue that dripped a thick black ichor, slowly eating away at the stone floor. He raised his shield and pointed his sword towards the creature. The creature then spewed forth a torrent of black mist that began to corrode the surrounding area and the device itself.
“NO.”
He yelled in frustration and anger, a rare display of emotion for someone typically calm like him. Black feathers emerged from the mist, prompting Tharos to raise his shield to block them. The creature then attacked from above, its fangs bared and tongue lashing out. He retaliated with his sword, engaging in a fierce battle. Unbeknownst to them, the disk in the room began to glow with increasing intensity, crackling with magical energy. Amidst the sounds of clashing steel, he heard a faint ringing noise and glanced at the device, which was on the verge of breaking apart. His jaw dropped in disappointment as he muttered a single word.
“Curses.“
The room was suddenly filled with a bright, blinding blue light, accompanied by a deafening sound resembling clapping and rolling thunder. Both Tharos and the creature were engulfed in an explosion of magical energy as the tower began to crumble and collapse. Unable to withstand the pressure, a beam of energy shot up from the top of the tower, piercing through the thick winter clouds. Tharos, who was pushed straight through the crumbling black marble wall, now lay on the collapsing rooftop of what was once a shop. With his broken and flesh-stripped body, he drifted in and out of consciousness, waiting for his body to heal. With his one good amber-colored eye, he gazed up at the winter sky, unsure of what hurt more – the pain of failure, the loss of arcane knowledge and magical items, a collection that took centuries to build and could never be replaced, just went up in smoke in the span of a few minutes, or the sting of stray snowflakes as they hit and started to melt on his exposed flesh. He let out a low sigh from his broken mouth, which at this point had a sharp and jagged piece of black marble sticking out of it, slowly being pushed out as his jaw aligned back into place. He knew that he was going to have his work cut out for him, for when has he not? For this was a fact that Tharos had accepted about himself ever since he was a young man.
