The sorcerer’s tower was several stories tall and constructed of 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. There was something rather unsettling about it, as if such cleanliness was merely a front to hide the evils that occurred within.
While some viewed these practices as a necessary evil, a perspective shared by many, including Tharos, due to the societal benefits of the research, one had to question the moral and ethical issues raised by such endeavors. 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.
As Tharos 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 pounding of his heart. As he entered the tower’s district, the fading sunlight was 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 color 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 spiraling 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 Tharos 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 would suddenly ignite, 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.
“at least the tower 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 defenses, feeling the overwhelming temptation. If he lost focus or succumbed to the fatigue, he would be trapped in an endless slumber, allowing the creature to break free and spread its corruption once more, as it did during the eternity war of his ancestors. His people witnessed and endured a world in turmoil, with battles raging that darkening the skies, with fields and forests ablaze in the distance. Tharos finally reached the top of the tower and entered the sorcerer’s private quarters after what seemed like hours of exhausting effort. Upon opening the door, he was relieved to find the quarters still pristine, with a circular stone disk on a pedestal in the center of the room. The disk was adorned with green diodes connected by intricate copper wiring. Taking a moment to absorb the room’s details, Tharos admired the arcane devices, shelves filled with mystical knowledge, and the star gazer pointing towards the heavens on the balcony. Memories from the past flooded his mind as he stood there, lost in contemplation.
“Vartark you would always talk about how one day this place would be yours, and that would have that oteap’s head on a silver platter. sadly, you never got the opportunity.“
Tharos let out another sigh as he thought about his best friend. He then turned his attention to the device in the center 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 defenses 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. Just as his fingers were about to touch the disk, 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 realize. 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. Tharos 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.”
Tharos 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. Tharos retaliated with his sword, engaging in a fierce battle. Unbeknownst to them, the device in the room began to glow with increasing intensity, crackling with arcane energy. Amidst the sounds of clashing steel, Tharos 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 and blinding blue light, accompanied by a thunderous sound like clapping thunder. Both Tharos and the creature were engulfed in an explosion of arcane 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, lying on the collapsing rooftop with his broken and flesh-stripped body, drifted in and out of consciousness, waiting for his body to heal. With his one good 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, or the sting of stray snowflakes on his exposed flesh. He let out a low sigh, knowing he had a daunting task ahead of him once again.
