“The city of Rosvero, a booming trade city in the Kantor Republic, began as a small village at the Republic’s border. Some time after, following an important astrological event, a fort was established near it, and the beginnings of the city as the current residents know it now, grew around it. The origins and the importance of the fortress itself is lost in the flow of time, and to this day there are theories about the true mission about the existence of the fort.
There are rumors, too, about the commander to the local garrison, as well as the fort. Visiting military personnel have always noted that the fortress, called the Black Fortress, is not designed to repel invaders, but rather shaped like that it is containing something. Whatever that something is, if the size of the fortress is any indication, it is either very large, or very powerful. Such rumors also surrounds the commanders. Each commander had either been a magic-user of some note, or an experienced commander of a large military force beforehand. It is also noted by this author that soldiers are often being rotated out of the fortress regularly, and those stationed there have said that they were only allowed in the outermost layers of it, and only the commander has access to the inner rooms.
Various spokespersons in the past have, of course, stated that the sole purpose of the fortress is to provide protection for the city, but scholars have disputed this claim, the fortress itself dates well before the existence of much of the city.
It also to be noted that the majority of sch claims are purely speculation, and should not be taken into account when using this document as a base for research.
Despite these widespread rumours, the presence of the fortress also encouraged trade from neighbouring countries of Imperial-Union of Ming as well as the Independent Trade States, and the local population has also come to reflect this, with a mix of different races living with each other within the city.”
The sound of dry nib scratching on paper paused, and the scribe looked up from his work only to shake his cramping hand and refill the quill, before looking down at the masses of documents that he had yet to copy. The light of the sole lamp barely covered the entire tabletop, but the flickering candlelight from the street provided enough illumination to illustrate a sparsely decorated room, the only other furniture other than than the table and chair being a large shelf, where sheets of documents, both completed and incomplete, lied in neat, sorted piles awaiting either further work, or client pick-up.
The scribe paused in his scribbling and frowned. Was that a tremor? He wondered, and then dismissed the thought as the more pressing matter of his work drove him on. He paused again, the quill lifted above the paper. That was definitely a tremor. He sighed, as he felt more distinct tremors. He cursed the inopportune timing of shaking, and the increasing frequency of such occurrences lately, as he screwed the lid of the ink pot shut to prevent any spillage onto his precious documents.
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A particularly large shudder jolted his ink pot a few centimetres off to the side. The scribe placed it gently on the floor, where there was no chance of it shattering. He then gathered up the rest of his writing implements and was placing them back on the shelf when the ground beneath his feet jolted, and caused him to stumble into the wall. The ground then stilled. A few minutes of respite, and then-
-his lamp slid off the table and smashed itself against the ground, his table was flung up several inches and hit the ground with a large thud. The scribe himself was thrown into the air, and experienced a period of weightlessness before gravity took hold and he landed on the floor. Hard.
The timber of the building above him groaned alarmingly, as smaller aftershocks continued to throw him off balance. The scribe, battered and bruised, staggered out of the dim cellar that served as his work space onto the street, where many others were doing so. He had just turned to identify the source of the shakes-the black fortress-when the final, catastrophic quake came.
The people staggering on the street were flung into the air, away from the fortress. Carts parked on the street overturned and rolled, as the ground beneath them behaved in motions not unlike waves. The scribe picked himself up off the ground and looked around. The city was in ruins. The historical buildings at the very centre had fallen into disrepair, and the last tremor-no, quake-has caused many to lose part of a wall, or a roof. The newer buildings fared worse. Being a large trade city, the majority of these buildings were 3 or more floors high, and the sub-standard timber, never meant for buildings, let alone ones with multiple floors, had broke in an instant. Many of the city’s residents were outside, having ran out after the first major tremor, but most simply dismissed it as a routine thing, climbed back into their beds and slept. Of these, few survived.
The worst affected building was the fortress. Its tall towers, once standing majestically, no longer defied gravity. The main structure, standing firm for many generations, collapsed in on itself, leaving only the remnants of its outer walls. Soldiers scrambled over the debris like ants, searching for fallen comrades, still trapped in their beds.
The commander however, stood at the very edge of a circle of light that illuminated the city better than lamps and candles ever can. Along with him stood 9 other figures, spaced evenly around the circle. Inside the circle, a kneeling figure could be seen, straining to stand up, as if the light had taken on mass and was actively trying to stop him from moving. Even from over 2 kilometres away, one could see that the commander and the 9 mysterious figures were desperate about maintaining the circle.
The figure in the centre gave a great cry that echoed through the city, and collapsed. The commander, having only managed to maintain the circle through the force of will, collapsed with him. The nine drooped, picked up the body of the figure and the commander, before making a hasty exit through a rectangular section of golden light that had suddenly appeared.
The fortress was soon repaired, larger than before.