Demon in the Tower

Down on the southern coast of Termana stands a lonely grey tower with a pier. A monolith against the drab brown and blue horizon as seen from the sea, but to the sea farer a likely welcome sight with its torches blazing at night, but by day a scant break in the horizon. This tower belongs to a little known wizard named Malagarn. The few who are aware of his name know him to powerful and eccentric, a conjurer of dire repute. To even fewer, he is good business, like the guards he keeps in his company. All know not to steal, for his memory is like a steel trap. One item out of place, and off comes the hand once the culprit is found, then the rest of the body off the pier followed closely by a bit of wizardry to discourage swimming, usually a spell encasing the torso in ice. On the few rare days this has occured, the work detail was blessedly light. Recently however, there has been a stir.

A stranger of no repute whatsoever has come amongst them, a stranger that Malagarn himself knew to be extraordinary at first sight, though why he could not say. He hired him with minimal haggling. The stranger was named Velius, and he was a red haired young man who looked to have a trace of elven in him, which would have accounted for his exceptionally piercing violet eyes, angular features, and a subtle point to his ears. He carried no weapon, but proved capable enough with short swords. The young man set to his tasks with an eagerness that set the others ill at ease, and had an intellect that pleased even the doddering wizard that housed them. The captain was a boorish sort, dull of wit but stout of physique and constitution. He ruled the crew of a dozen guards through sheer imposing presence, his half plate decorated with horns on the shoulders and elbows to make him more menacing than the raw physical power that nature gifted him with could accomplish. His axe was scored on the business edge, proof of use to reinforce the threats most were used to.

The young man proved a stark contrast to this side of reality, cool and unflappable, but with a spry wit that was welcome to all. He set to his tasks with the demeanor of one who genuinely appreciated two meals a day and a roof over his head, and the state he was found in made this scarcely surprising. Grey with dust, his tunic chalky white with evaporated sweat, scabbed over knuckles, and trembling with spasms from dehydration. In spite of this all, however, he still managed to crack wise in his still hoarse voice about the tastelessness of the  luke warm water offered him. Once he managed to drain the contents of the skin down his throat a half hour later, of course.

The fine guardsman he turned out to be seems a stark contrast to the desperate stranger they took in, after his first month he was placed in charge of the first floor detail. Greeting the rare guest, maintaining presentability of the guest quarters, and first line of security against the odd thief were the chores accompanying this assignment.  Chief among the rewards of his swift promotion was the use of one of the nicer chambers in the tower, complete with a king sized bed with a blanket made from the furs of some sort of woodland predator that he had never encountered, nor cared to inquire about. Solid grey and thick of mane, the status of luxury was lost on noone. The armor he aquired was heavy leather with metal rivets down the chest to reinforce, his weapons a pair of short swords that he accepted with a curious disdain, but voiced no complaint. Everyone noticed his skill with them, as well as the odd callouses on his hands. They were worn from travelling, but not fighting. He moved like a fighter in his sparring sessions, but something was different about this man.

Came the close of the second month, the unflappable stranger amongst them had gained a popularity with the men that even the Captain could not ignore any longer, and some suspected even the old Mage had taken note, for the Captain was not known for his sharp mind, yet there came a day when he walked down the stairs, axe in hand and called to him, with the Mage standing at the top looking down. The doddering old magus wore naught but simple sandles and a black robe with silver lining, his attire simplistic for one of his station. The only article of note was his silvery staff that from where Velius and the other men stood appeared to be encrusted throughout with something like crushed crystals. Velius had never been on any floor but the first, only the Captain and a very select few were welcome above the first, and no strangers save for the Wizard’s personal guests. He had had none since Velius arrived.

“You, Velius the stranger. Came to us half dead from no water and given a job and roof. You keep secrets. I grow weary of this, and your tongue.” The grizzly of a man with horny steel armor grasps his axe meaningfully with fire in his eyes. His thick beard barely manages to conceal the steel-trap set of his jaws as his heavy breath accentuates his eagerness to do business over the matter. The wizard at the top of the stares watches with an amused and oddly curious expression, making it no secret to Velius who set this up. His lips twist into a sardonic expression mixing sarcastic humor and threat all at once as he replies to the big man, his tone scarcely matching his expression.

“Yes I keep secrets, the kind one such as you could never appreciate with a mind as dull as your edge, I should relieve you of all your worries here and now, I come to you with no malice and earn my keep, and this is how I am repaid? You alone with that wood cutter?” This last line is spat out, more than spoken, as if he were genuinely insulted by this aspect of the situation more than any other. Initially Velius draws the weapons he was given to work with, but then he surprises all by tossing them away with a distasteful expression, as if glad to no longer be weighted with them. He then smiles placidly at the captain, who snorts like a bull and fidgets with his grip on his weapon as if uncertain of how to deal with this. “I tell you now, Captain. You better give me your best. I would hate for your last fight on your master’s behalf to be your most disappointing display.”

With that, the captain growls and rushes Velius with surprising speed, but hesitates in his execution as he sees something that makes everyone’s jaws go slack, except for the wizard’s. In his left hand, or rather around it, a transluscent blade of otherworldly make appears into existence from nowhere into his hand, three feet in length and as violet as the warrior’s eyes as he sidesteps the warrior’s charge, whirling about with the bizarre blade with all the grace of a dancer to bring the otherworldly edge expertly to the backside of the bigger man’s leg as the axe hums harmlessly past where he was. Stepping back from the now hamstrung warrior he levels the tip of his blade ominously at his chest, which is eye level to Velius the short. The big man stares in astonishment, as if at a total loss of how to proceed when Velius instructs him, “You started this. Finish it, or my next attack will.”

The big man tries again for a sweeping strike, which Velius nimbly ducks while stepping crossways forward slightly in a maneuver clearly unknown to those watching, his back mostly to his adversary and his blade arcing in a quick, slightly diagonal and upward angle to find his groin, then he twists around the otherway, uncrossing his legs via spinning on heel to bring him about facing him properly as he drives the blade home in an expert thrust to his diaphragm. As the blade enters, all who are present notice a smell like brimstone accompanied by a sizzling sound moments before the blade vanishes as suddenly as it appeared. No blood pours from his wounds, but he drops to his good knee. Velius steps behind him and glances up to the Wizard, who is grinning like a bearded scarecrow. The old man nods, and the strange sword vanishes from from his grip to be replaced after a couple heartbeats by two shorter blades of a more bizarre make than the previous, this time their shape resembles the leaves of a violet fern. Velius spreads his arms wide then crosses them forcefully, the two blades expertly intersecting like the jaws of an otherwordly pair of shears. Now they all can see plainly the cause for the lack of blood as the head of their late captain hits the floor, the wounds are frozen.

“Three cheers for the new captain.” The old wizard declares in a deadpan tone. “I knew there was something about you. Travelling through the desert in commoner’s clothes. Any other traveller from anywhere you may have come from would have dropped dead long before you got here. All by your lonesome to boot. None of these other halfwits had the presence of mind to question it, or at least the stomach to give voice to it, but I suspected! You are an Elan!” He points his finger accusingly at Velius’ face, but his grin contradicts the gesture. “But like I said, three cheers for the new captain. Now’s the time for eating and drinking, discussions about your post can wait.”

As per the Wizard’s instructions, a meal was prepared in ‘honor’ of his new appointment. The wizard presides at the head of the long dining room table, with Velius sitting opposite. The guards pile in on either side, within a few minutes the meal is brought forth and served. Delicacies unlikely to be available anywhere within a week’s travel are piled before them and they all eat heartier than they have in several moons. Noone questions the lack of a supply train or hunters to accomodate such, they just eat their fill, the wizard included.

Once they have all finished dining, the wizard pipes up in his nasally tone,”Now, don’t think you will be getting any special treatment just because of your talents! You will be afforded the same luxuries as your unfortunate predecessor! Once you are finished, I will escort you upstairs and show you your new duties. In the meantime, your promotion means a gap in the command!” With that, he points over to another young man, a stout veteran not much taller than Velius who favors a claymore. “You! You are the new second!”

Velius clears his throat then, and runs a hand through his burgundy locks before his speaks. “I would like to get a start on right now, if it isn’t much trouble. Though we may have all the time in the world, they don’t. We can digest and walk at the same time, can’t we?”At this sentiment, the wizard chuckles his approval.

“That is just one more trait about you that I like. Always ready to get started. That other dullard couldn’t get a thing done without an hour to figure it out or an explanation! But you are a much brighter sort, aren’t you? Let’s go!” Rising to his feet then with a pop in one of his knees, the aging magister leads the way to the stairs, castigating the other guards roundly who don’t get back to their duties immediately. Velius follows closely with a wry grin on his face. They scale the stairs to the top of the banister then head to the one door none of them had been allowed through. They all knew there to be at least three other stories to this structure, and had merely been left to speculate as to their nature. Velius would be the first in quite some time to discover.

Through this door was a round stairwell leading up. In the center of the structure was a vaguely transparent spire connecting the center of the ceiling of the first floor with the floor of what seemed to be the top story. A humming sound was ever present, accompanied with a pulsing sensation that resonates down to his bones. A spider network of glowing, silvery lines radiated from the base and top of the spire, leaving Velius to wonder why none of them had ever noticed anything odd in the day to day activites, and what the nature of this structure could be. As if reading his mind, the Wizard piped up with an explanation. “That, my new Captain, is the finest and purest quartz I could manufacture, those lines you see are the same and lead to the base of the tower. All the vibrations of the earth, and the living vibrations of your comrades are transmitted up to my working chambers thereby, fueling my conjurations and amplifying my workings! Quite harmless, however, because it is far too rare to find suitable replacements. The price I must pay for minimal distractions, I suppose. This entire tower is an arcane amplifier and beacon, thanks to that wonderful rod! Years of labor perfecting its design, and the payoff has been marvelous, as you may yet see!”

Velius was indeed amazed at the oddity of this tower’s design. Only two floors occupied in such a tall tower that could probably accomodate six or seven judging from its conventional exterior, when they reached the top, the old mage leaned back, loudly popping his spine with a groan, then openned the plain wooden door leading to his own floor. The room that greeted them was not especially unusual, which surprised him as much as anything else. Looking about, there was a long row of dusty old books along one wall, his bed and sleeping area cordoned out of view by a clever arrangement of shelf sets littered with alchemical devices, ingredients, minor projects, and more books to grant a modicum of privacy. On the opposite wall was a similar arrangement, but with a more martial flare. In between this was an elevation in the floor by two steps and circular. An abrupt, circular elevation with strange script along the inside of the second step and an altar of sorts in the middle. “That is my working area, do not disturb it under any circumstances unless I say.”

With this instruction, Malagarn steps over to his personal space and waves dismissingly to Velius. He gestures vacantly to the other sleeping area which Velius rightly assumes to mean to start setting his personal affairs in order. The sleeping situation isn’t all that different from that which he had before, though one thing catches his attention. A relief of a toad head with tentacles spiralling around it that is situated over his bed troubles him somewhat. He takes it to be some sort of religious iconography, as it is exquisitely detailed and crafted with tiny stones over roughly a yard square area of the wall, and he is familiar enough with the common gods and traditions of Termana. The only frog lord he is really familiar with is the demon Tsathogga who sits in the briney mouth of the river Styx, devouring the rejected souls of traitors and the faithless, but this is like no symbol of his he has ever heard of. He troubles his head over this for but a few moments, then dismisses the query with a quick prayer to his own lord, Erias, the god of Dreams.

It hardly takes him any time at all to adjust things to his favor, what catches his eye and occupies his attention most in this process is a fine suit of scale armor on one of the bottom shelves. The chest pieces shimmer like polished brass, and the pauldrons gleam silvery in the candle light. He judges accurately that it is just the right size for him, greaves, pauldrons and all. How this could be when the former tenant was more than twice as large as he is only compounds the mystery, he quickly realizes. Stripping his former studded leather garments, he dons the new suit once he is satisfied by the lack of arcane ornamentation that it is not ensorcelled. Fitted with his new garments, and his head swimming with awareness of the strong possibility that he is being set up for some foul purpose, he steps out from his area after folding his previous garments neatly on the shelf the previous suit lay. The interior of the scale armor was very comfortably padded, and in places reinforced with a thin layer of soft leather, almost like that of treated doe skin. The scales are well oiled, and recently judging by the lack of noise from his movement as he steps near the raised circle, noticing the wizard standing vacant eyed at the altar.

“Aaah, I see you found the ornaments of your station well enough, look by the door and you will see two more gifts I have for you. I think you will appreciate the humor in the gesture…” With that, Velius looks to the door and indeed is driven to chuckles by the sight of two exquisitely crafted leg sheathes, the right size for a pair of short swords. Stepping over to them he snatches them up and straps them to his thighs and the thick leather belt that came with his new armor, then stands for a moment in the torchlight examining himself much to the strangely behaving Mage’s delight.

“Yes, it suits you marvelously, My Lord chose well as always! Now that you are dressed for the occasion, he would very much like to meet you, Velius D’Seryan!” With that, he raises his arms and the room goes dark as the twilight hour before dawn. The only sound he hears is the nasally chanting of Malagarn, then after an uncertain period of time the smell of swamp gas fills his nostrils accompanied by the invisible but ever present supernatural ‘weight’ of another world crashing down on his shoulders and threatening drive the wind from his chest as realizes something else is here, and he has indeed been drawn into something he does not want to be part of. Looking around serves no point at all in this situation as the sudden ringing in his ears and ther utter absence of light robs him of anything by which he might formulate an understanding of what is about to happen.

Moments that could have been hours laters, the candles and torches of the room flare back to life brilliantly, dazzling his eyes. When his vision corrects itself, he sees a strange knight standing across from the wizard with a jet black longsword in his hand of truly elegant craftsmanship and clad in equally black full plate armor of matching craftsmanship. The armor and sword alike are undecorated save for the symbol on his chestplate, which matches the iconography on his wall, but what disturbs him most is that the sword in his hand is implanted in the Mages heart, the wet tip of the black sword extending shallowly from his back, and the helmetless knight is leering at him from beneath his shock of pale blonde hair. Dazzling blue eyes gaze at him laughingly as his silent rictus grin seems to implant itself straight into his brain. It takes him no time at all to realize that this knight is neither human nor elf, and with the way his presence filled the room he very likely neither belongs nor has ever been part of this world in the first place. After a moment, the unnatural humanoid personage lowers his arm, allowing his former subject to slide quietly to the ground in a pool of blood. As the pool of blood grows around the lifeless mage, the knight steps casually to the edge of the circle, his armor as noiseless as if it were naught but clothing, the only sound being his footsteps light against the stone floor, the armor reflecting none of the light from the candles, but rather more like void stuff forged into the shape of armor and a sword.

Velius cannot shake his stare, every fiber of his being consumed with the awareness of this person’s otherworldly nature and numb from the weight of his mere presence in a world to which he does not belong. Then he spoke, stopping mere paces from him. His voice, though pleasant and vibrant with cheer, cut like glass across his mind. “Oh how I have longed to meet you since you first stopped by! You see, I do enjoy the company of new minds and meeting of fresh faces! That look on your face is what is most rewarding. I felt you when you first arrived, and I learned all about you from that doddering old bat, lying over there.” He gestures dismissively to the corpse of Malagarn, his face never changing. The diabolical creature steps closer still to Velius, the smell of the swamp threatening to gag him, but pulling him out of the reverie to which his sanity had been confined. He manages to find his voice enough to question the man-thing,”So what exactly do you want me here for?”

The thing steps behind him and places its hands on his shoulders, he gets a horrible feeling as a slimey protrusion enters his vision beneath his jaw, encircling his neck accompanied by the sound of gasping from behind him just moments before seeing that the tip of the protrusion was itself like a fanged mouth, which spoke into his ear with a disgusting, lip smacking voice “I want entertainment, the thrill of a challenge. I like games you see.”

With that, Velius pulls away from him, almost convulsing at the slimeyness of the tongue across his neck before turning on heel to face the thing. When he wipes  the spittle from his neck, he realizes its fangs must have cut him as he looks to the blood on his hand that he wiped away. Looking up to the creature, his stomach turns once more as he notes the unnaturally long tongue sliding back into his mouth.

“My proposition to you is simple. I am going to go downstairs and impersonate one of your crew, you are going to figure out who, if you can. I will let the survivors go along with you, if they want. But…if you cannot figure out which one I am before I take the last guard, you belong to me, just like the doddering old wizard Malagarn! I win!”

“I don’t think I like this…” Velius never gets to finish the statement before he is knocked sprawling by the flat of the black sword in the fiend’s hand, the impact resonating through his whole body and leaving him senseless. “I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU LIKE! THIS IS ABOUT ME!!!! ME!!!! ME!!! WHAT I WANT!!!” The thing’s face contorts into a mask of rage as it emphasizes each yell with a kick to his stomach and a stomp to his back, he then reaches down and grabs the back of his head when he is finished and whispers gently into his ear, “Oh, and two more points, you have until midnight tomorrow! And if you tell anybody about our little game, the whole thing is forfeit and I win! Don’t you worry your little head, though, I will take my time, as well you should too!”

How long Velius was out, he knew not. He did know that what he had experienced was no dream, however. As he wrestled himself upright, pain shot through his side, evidencing at least one fractured rib. He looked about for some place to begin and the most obvious place was the body of Malagarn. A short inspection revealed nothing useful, nor did a brief perusal of his texts, which were largely written in a language beyond his understanding. His obviously more recent writings, however, did seem to be more jumbled and distorted in his writing. A frantic trend was plain throughout, which kept with what he had experienced of this ‘god’ firsthand. He meditated there on the mage’s bed for several minutes, going over what the mage had told him of this place, which had not been much. Realizing he had nothing certain to go on, he studied the chamber one more time then thought out loud to himself,”Why has it never left, and what drew it here to begin with?”

He steps downstairs then, to check on the men and at least make a show of playing the monster’s game. It does not take long for him to realize it was well under way. Half of them were gathered in the central lobby, and they immediately greeted him with a withering glare.

“What is going on here, you go up there and straightaway something sets to tearing us apart when we are alone!”

Velius does not reply, the rules of its sick game a burning brand upon his mind as he studies them all. He had only been amongst them two months, but he knew them plenty well. A curious idea popped into his mind, then. Just an experiment that might or might not weed out the being. Stepping downstairs he made a show of stoicism as he approached the door with a simple declaration.

“Why don’t we put some fresh air on this situation? Whatever is behind this is either inside this tower, or it is coming and going. Either way, if it has not left then it is going nowhere. This is an order, everybody out to the pier.”

The men looked to each other with confusion for a moment then started towards the door. Being troopers true, they would not disregard so simple an order. One of them piped up, however.

“What manner of silliness is this? A killer is on the loose and you want to go fishing? He killed three right off the bat, messed them up so their own mothers could not recognize them and disappeared a fourth! We deal with this now!”

“Are you questioning me, Jerec? Now is not a good time for this. Out the door, now.”

“No. We stay in here, and figure it out now. One of us is not who he seems. We can’t go upstairs, but you can. You with that freakish power of yours. What have you been doing up there with that senile old codger?”

With that, the other men formed a line between him and Velius, staring him down coldly. Jerec favored a short spear and a short sword, the sword currently sheathed as he leaned against the spear, eyeing him with an expression that at once bespoke arrogance and accusation in a manner that Velius could not help but be infuriated by as he met those grey eyes of his. The man seemed ratlike with his balding head and curious ears, not elven at all but nevertheless protruding in the manner of the swampfolk far to the northwest in the Blood Bayou region. He spoke with the neutral accent of one who never stayed still long and had been many places, but condescension and arrogance transcend dialect and language alike.

“If I wanted to kill you I would do it openly as I did the former captain. And I will if you disobey me once more.”

“Do it. I’m not going out that door, don’t anybody else either.”

“Everyone, out the door. I am the captain, and you have been warned.”

With that, his trademark blades snapped into existence and he slung them both with dead eye accuracy at the man, but he anticipated this. Deliberately slipping the base of his spear, he drops to the ground and rolls to the side as the other men make a hole for the captain, startled into obedience by sudden violence. Both men knew not to expect interference, the leadership had been formally challenged, and the right to lead could only be earned or retained by rite of arms. Jerec draws his short sword as he readies his spear in an unusual fighting manner clearly not born of training, but by personal preference and experience.

At this point they are both under the bannister, with Velius standing plainly, his fists clenched with blades of violet energy crackling from his knuckles, and the elder warrior in his unusual fighting posture with his short spear raised high for either a thrust or a throw, short sword in his opposite hand ready to eviscerate. Velius sighs and with a flicker of motion launches another blade at the man which is likewise dodged, but in the same moment he reacts Velius is already in motion as well, the elder fighter quickly overwhelmed as he pushes the attack up close with a greater ferocity than the elder warrior can muster with his unusual choice of weapons.

“Your style is odd, but I see the merit of your choice, I trust you see now the weakness?”

The man is forced to backpedal to keep from getting skewered by the other fighter’s punching attacks, one of Velius’ blades finding hs spear shoulder. He rolls with the blow, attempting to come around with a disembowling swipe, but Velius’ other hand is ready, knocking it downward to merely smack against his greaves. This serves well to upset his balance and break the rhythm of his assult as he stumbles aside with the force of the blow, thankful that the other man was using a weapon too light to be effective as a slashing implement against decent armor.

He does not speak a reply, forced to acknowledge the reality of the other’s observation, but his wiley movements still serve him well as he circles away from him in the instant that it took Velius to recover, allowing him to jab from a distance with the spear, as if his adrenaline were numbing the pain and offsetting the weakness wrought by his injury better than any anaesthetic. The time it took him to maneuver, however, was all the time it took Velius to ready his next attack, countering his spear thrust with a thrown blade that caught him square in the chest. Wasting no time, he followed through soundly with the surprise afforded him with a throat cut, then a nimble dancing withdraw.

The man gurgles up blood, initially red, then quickly it turns to black as his gurgling turns to an almost croaking sound. The men stare in amazement at this, confusion over whether he is really dying as his bloody face changes from one of shock to an oddly familiar leer. Velius narrows his eyes and shouts “Run!” as he charges the revealed beast, attempting to knock it down with a skillful thrust kick, but is momentarily surprised when it sidesteps the manoeuver and he finds himself knocked down with a forceful swipe of its spear. This is all the motivation the men need to evacuate. Unfortunately, however, the men find this quite impossible as the door slams shut the moment they open it.

Velius recovers his footing and retrieves his blades, now staying well away from the grinning man-beast, but it does not pursue this time, instead it speaks in an impossibly deep voice. “Would you like to see what I am? Did you really think I would keep my word? I only wanted to see how clever my new plaything was, and rest assured that I am pleased!”

He backs up to the stairway, taking one step at a time backwards as he finds himself locked in fascination as the thing’s shape twists and bulges, it’s skin turning grey and stretching to accomodate what it is trying to become. The men scream in horror and some abandon reason to claw at the door, forgetting the weapons at their sides as it absorbs its arms into itself to replace them with four great tentacles tipped with pads riddled with suckers ringed with spurs. Velius bolts to the upstairs door then, only one possibility blazing in his mind as he tears away from the beast in time to miss the finality of its transformation, heralded by a deep belching noise that drowns out the death screams of the men he had no choice but to abandon.

The sight of the shimmering column greets him as expected upon tearing open the door, borderline madness from panic threatening to overwhelm reason guides his actions as he drives his blades into the pillar, channeling the entirety of his power into this singular assault. Immediately upon the completion of this act, a wave of supernatural force blows him away and against the wall, driving the wind from him utterly. He senses the building shuddering, but in his daze he cannot tell whether it is his head spinning, or the beast marching up the stairs, swollen to dimensions ever more grotesque. When the building fails to quit shuddering, and his vision clears, he stumbles to his feet and recalls the pain in his side. It had dulled earlier, his force of will driving it to the background where he could all but ignore it. Now, however, it had resurfaced with a vengeance, forcing him momentarily to hobble to the door, not caring about what may lay beyond.

As he stepped through, a grisly seen met his eyes that surpassed anything he had witnessed since coming here: the body parts of his comrades from the last two months festooned about the doorway, a large pool of fresh blood collected at the base of the doors themselves evidencing where their dismemberment had actually occurred along with spray marks throughout the chamber, even in such impossible places as along the ceiling high up from the floor. What disturbed him most was how much of them was missing.

A loud crash snaps him out of it, allowing him to dart down the stairs as a deep reverberation fills the air, a humming resonance that accompanies a splitting throughout the walls and a collapsing of the ceiling as he reaches the door, not caring about anything else as he flees the collapsing tower. It does not occur to him to take note of how it seemed to pile inward rather than exploding out or falling to its side, but rather simply crumbled. It does occur to him that his rash decision in attacking the pillar had been correct, and somehow dispelled the beast thereby allowing him to escape.

As he returns to the dusty wastes of the southland, many more things would occur to him about this bizarre series of events. Such as how cruel fate can be, the arrival of a stranger heralding the demise of so many. How ineffectual he had been in preventing it in spite of everything, how alone humanity really is, and how fragile mortality can be are all thoughts that will way heavily on his mind as he journeys forth once more into the scarred lands of Termana.

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About Velius

Greetings to the world! I am 27 years old and live in the South, and enough said about that.