The sands of time are stirring, bringing forth... Creation... A world waits, eyes diverted, anticipating the... Destruction... The hourglass tilts, and the flows of time and the events of man are disrupted. Where will all the chaos lead?
The shadows of the mind's eye, wreathed by smoke rising up from the realm of men. A war is brewing. All is to float towards the heavens, and fall - a stone in the sea. Hearts of evil, intentions of malice... the face reveals itself.
Sometime after the Bandit Campaign, during the continuing peace, Wren was given temporary command over the Tower Guard, on top of his 1st Knighthood duties. He didn't complain, of course. This was just one more chance among many to prove 'the best' or 'the strongest'. Just one more star on the chest. Another pat on the back for the prodigal Knight.
One warm October night Wren was walking across the battlements of the Heartland Wall, just before the castle. A bright, round moon accented the velvet sky, dotted with twinkling heavenly bodies that illuminated the plains of Tharkas. The winds were calm, only a whisper came across the fields towards the Easulan Checkpoint. Wren stood there alone, looking up towards the stars. Suddenly, a flapping came upon the winds, and a screech echoed through the emptiness. The shadow of a falcon crossed the moon and the winged creature came swooping down before the Knight. Standing, quite confused, looking to the Falcon in confusion as it sat perched upon one of the several battlements. In one of its talons resided a scroll.
As Wren approached the noble bird, it fluttered and flapped its wings and let out a mild squak to reaffirm its power before Wren put out his hand and retreived the scroll from its clawed foot. Unravelling the tattered scroll, Wren was curious as to the origins of this bird. Apparantly it was addressed to him. The bird was sent from the Cethindol Tower South of Unluthio. "I would like you to come to my tower, we have business to discuss." Perplexed by the whole letter, especially that little bit, Wren put the scroll back in the claws of the Falcon. With a squak the bird took flight and headed back to the East, where the Cethindol Tower resides.
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A horse sprints across the plains from the Easulan Checkpoint, heading East. Overhead the sky is blue, serene and kind. Nothing but a Falcon flies through the sky as the mighty Cethindol Tower rises up in the distance. Riding up to the base of the tower Wren felt incredibly small standing close to the structure. It's ancient pillars and walls, tested only by time, looming high overhead. At the crest of the building, the four great arch-mages who created the Tower stand, surveying Hypeltheon in all 4 directions. It is the highest structure in the realm. Two massive doors, thirty feet tall at least, slowly swing open, revealing the cathedral within.
Two rows of pillars surrounded on both sides by row after row, column after column of pews that lead up to a large, hanging pedestal. Hovering in the air is the large stone structure, suspended by magic overlooking the pews and gates that lead into the tower. At the center of the middle-aisle cut between the pews is a round rune on the floor with the diameter of a full-grown man's height. Mystical orbs of light hang several feet over the pews providing them with ample light. Lining the walls from the doorway to the furthest end are tall thin iron candleholders that stand 10 feet tall. Hovering just over the ornate tips are more light-orbs. Wren passed down the center aisle, looking at the few mages sitting in the pews studying books or praying. Behind the pedestal is a wall, standing before it is a gigantic statue of an archangel with its mythril sword brandished, preparing to strike. The statue had to be 40 feet tall, and the cathedral's room was about 50 feet tall plus tiered gothic-arches in the ceiling. The base of the angel's statue was a doorway that lead into a narrow stairwell. The stairwell went nearly straight up. There were no windows, no doors, just stairs spiraling upwards with light-orbs hanging in the air every few spirals.
At the top of the stairwell Wren found himself in an ivory white room where two resided. The Grand Arch-Mage sat upon his throne, staff in hand standing perfectly vertical. Knelt before him was another: Asura of the 3rd Knighthood.
"What's he doing here?!" Wren was baffled and slightly insulted by Asura's presence.
"Calm yourself, Knight. You are both here for the same purpose. I summoned him here, much like I have summoned you. There is a legend that's been passed for 1,200 years among the Arch-Mages. During the days of Mithren, at the fall of Evil and the forging of The Gate, two scrolls were born. The scroll of Creation, and the scroll of Destruction. Neither one is of any use without the other. Ages ago a group of raiders scourged the world looking for these scrolls. They're said to hold immense power - possibly the knowledge of the greatest ever to pass through our Order: Grand Arch-Mage Mithren. Several years ago, when I first came to this title, a man brought me the scroll of Creation. However the markings are illegible. Recently I discovered that the Sea of Souls, in the far North West of this world, may be the resting place of the second scroll. It is a massive whirlpool of water so wide and powerful that even the fastest and largest of ships dare not tread too near for fear of being sucked into the void. I'm sure that at the bottom of this churning crevace you'll find several destroyed ships. But it's been said that there is a cavern beneath it all, and in that cavern lies the scroll of Destruction. I've hired you two, a Riono merchant vessel fully manned, and I'm sending with you a mage-in-training as aid. I'm trusting you shall both return alive."
The two, Asura and Wren, ended up staying the night at the Tower. They ate a fine dinner, and slept peacefully on beds of feather pillows and silk sheets and blankets. In the morning they ate a hearty breakfast, a feast if you will, and found their armor polished and shimmering, weapons in prestine condition for the day's journey. Out upon the peninsula, just beyond the tower, was the boat the warriors were to take. The youthful mage met them there. He wore robes of white, lined with green. His hair was brown and short, stopping just below his eyes. He always smiled, which Wren found odd - but the niavette of some was never to be underestimated. So shrugging it off, the two went aboard with their food and equipment that they'd need for the two weeks journey, and the boat set sail just before midday.
