The massive chamber stretched ahead of him, dark as the Void until the wizard illuminated it with a wave of his hand.  The three-score figures scattered around the chamber in various postures – some standing, others sitting or sprawled completely onto the floor – began to stir shortly after.  A deep sepulchral moan began to echo in the chamber as the first of the figures saw the massive robed figure in the doorway.  In moments the entire chamber writhed with the semblance of life as the noisome things that lived there moved eagerly to the door as if to greet their benefactor. Read the rest of this entry →

The flickering candlelight barely illuminated the massive tome on the table as the pen scratched its way across the pages.  The massive stone walls of the room helped ensure that the sounds of the pen’s movements and the occasional creak of the overburdened chair were louder than the screams elsewhere in the tower.  The various glass jars and bottles that sat among the bizarre implements lining the various tables and benches in the room reflected a dim but steady blue glow that lit the room better than the pair of feeble candles next to the tome.  The pen moved at a steady pace across the page despite the dark, guided by the obese man taxing the wooden limits of the chair he occupied. Read the rest of this entry →

The soft rustle of fabric behind him brought Merrus back to the present.  Turning quickly, he saw the tall slender form of Maedwyn approaching him slowly, her white dress and fair skin softly glowing in the magical illumination.  The only Eldehil member of the Dreaming Tower, it was fitting that she should be the last visitor to the Elder Patrician; the pair of them represented the oldest of all of the mages who called the Tower home.  She had been the first to give homage to him half a century ago when he was chosen as Elder, and now she was the last of them to say goodbye to him.

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Merrus stood in the vast Chamber of the Circle, occupying the place where Troius had faced his accusers three years ago.  The seats that surrounded him were as empty as the shadowed void that existed beyond the reach of the chamber’s steady glow of magical lighting.  The Elder Patrician rubbed his grainy eyes with a slightly trembling hand, shoulders slumping.  The right arm of his embroidered tunic was stained by his morning’s tea.  A simple spell could have removed it, but even such a small display of power felt utterly beyond him.  His mind felt stretched, pulled apart by events beyond his control but ultimately his responsibility.

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