Great Arcana

XVI - The Tower

The silent wastelands of the north are cold, all but barren- desolate places long since abandoned by all save the hardiest living things. Here and there, buried largely under thick layers of everlasting snow, memories of different days still linger, slumbering, waiting to be found again. There in the farthest reaches of the Myngan Elis, among the highest peaks of the mountain range marking the northernmost border of Bóreal, remains a lone pinnacle of the Ages of the Kings.

Eran Aijin, the Wizards' Tower, stands as a lonely pillar of obsidian among peaks of everwhite, majestic and forbidding, a keep of many secrets. At its base it is ringed by a great wall hewn out of the mountainside, topped with high battlements and watch houses for every point of the compass save the uttermost north. Beyond the wall a courtyard in snow, and then a ring of small buildings- a warren of workshops, stables and guardhouses.

The Tower stands among these structures as a God among Men, as tall and proud as the greatest of lords. It rises far- some five hundred feet- with its head often lost in the clouds. Once it was a peak, the twin of the indomitable Mount Immakul, but in the days of High King Elrean the most powerful men in the realm came together to fashion from this peak a great stronghold to guard against the threats of the uttermost north.

No watch house or gate marks that side. Rather, the peak itself is the fortress that stands against the forgotten threat, watching and waiting. It casts a long shadow into the deep valleys beyond, magnified and darkened by arcane arts to discourage any who would pass against the will of the Tower's wardens.

Its powers yet linger, even long after the last wizards to inhabit it died. What enchantments were once wrought deep inside the bowels of the keep none alive now know, but it is known that their effects have not diminished. Eran Aijin stands defiantly against tempest and time, as unwithered as on the day it was completed and the first wizards set foot inside.

Now only the wind whispers in its chambers and corridors, passing through its hallways and staircases like the icy breath of death itself. Not even the beasts or birds now venture inside for shelter from the harsh conditions of the north. They shun it, as the people of the north have shunned it, for fear of what lies in wait inside.

No living thing has set foot within its walls since the final days of the Third Age of Kings, when a terrible power was unleashed inside- a power to rival the gods, too great for any mortal to withstand. If any were to enter it now and survive the keep's own defences, they would find the walls crimson with blood and the floors carpeted in corpses perfectly preserved by the frost. They would see faces frozen in fear or contorted with unspeakable agony, and bodies hideously mutilated beyond recognition.

Here and there soldiers still stand, their faces a mask of shock as their death came upon them suddenly and unexpectedly to freeze them as they were. In one courtyard a few washerwomen cling eternally to baskets and sheets, in another some children sit by an unfinished game of stones. The years have neither touched nor tainted them, as if even Time itself fears to set foot inside.

What transpired on that fateful day is told only in whispers, its evils too great and many to be spoken aloud. Its name, such as it has, is rarely voiced as more than a hush. Thanatos. The Necromancer. Death.

He was a student of the Wizards' Order. One day he was found unconscious just outside the keep. He knew nothing of his previous life, not even his name, so when the wizards took him in they called him Nemir; the Nameless One.

He proved to be an ardent student, devoting every waking hour to the lessons the wizards had to offer. He ate little and slept less, but seemed to grow slightly more with every day that passed just the same. It was only a matter of weeks before he was accepted as an Adept, and his power became ever greater. For seven years Nemir studied with the wizards, until at last only the Great Wizard himself outranked him. He knew all but the Order's deepest secrets, had mastered all but their most powerful spells, and still he craved more. The Great Wizard recognised the danger in his ambition and asked him to depart.

Nemir refused, demanding instead access to the Great Wizard's library, where the Order's greatest secrets were kept. Only a few even knew of its existence and Nemir had learned. When his demand was not met he called down a blizzard to howl around the tower, beating its walls with fists of hail and snow.

He renewed his demand, and through some unseen force his voice was heard by all those inside. His words were as cold and as fierce as the storm he had summoned; his promise as dark as the desires in his heart.

I am the Stormbringer, the master of elements.I am a Child of Mannha, Lord of Fire, and none but Kailo himself shall have the power to stand against me.

I am the shadow on your dreams, the cloud on your mind. I am the taint on your soul. My strength is that of a thousand times a thousand blackened hearts.

I come bearing the darkness of the Void, and I shall rule over living and dead. My birthright I claim thus-

I am Thanatos, harbinger of death.


Few survived what happened next, and none more than suited the Necromancer's designs. They escaped only to tell the tale of the storm that lived and howled through the Tower, taking the lives of all in its path. Their accounts varied even then, terror having broken their minds. Some spoke of a monstrous beast, others of an invisible foe, but on one thing every story agreed:

The winds around the Tower still whisper the promise of Death.