When Brad woke up, he saw Ismeth's grinning face. They were in the building where they found the dead bodies of bandits. As he could see from the window, the day had already dawned. The cold wind was creaking the old door.
"I swear, Brad, because of you, I will die of a heart attack one day," Ismeth protested.
Brad sat up halfway and looked around. There were only two of them in the room. His head was pounding badly. His wrists, which had received the blow, were throbbing and had turned purple.
"Where are the others? Is Middleton okay? How did you find us?" he bombarded Ismeth with questions.
"Okay, okay, man. I'll answer all of them. First, calm down a bit," Ismeth replied to soothe his partner.
Brad struggled to get up. He was still dizzy. He staggered. Ismeth put his arm around his shoulder to support him.
"I think some fresh air would do me good," Brad said.
The two comrades made their way to the bustling square of the settlement. They settled atop a mammoth granite boulder, its surface gleaming under the morning sun.
"Speak, Ismeth," Brad said, his voice firm and clear.
"Our watchman, Jarlhead, reported hearing strange noises in the dead of night, rousing me from slumber. Then, a thunderous blast echoed from within the ancient windmill. We hastened to investigate, discovering a shattered stone slab. You and Middleton were there. And some dead bodies. As the pathfinder was gravely injured, I ordered all of them to take him back to the town to find a healer, while I remained by your side," Ismeth recounted, his brow furrowed with concern.
"Orcs and ogre?" Brad queried.
"Dead, all of them. Throats slit. And that ogre, it was smoking as if it was infused with some dark magic. The scar on its stomach was an ominous burnt mark, as though a spell had been cast upon it.," Ismeth replied, his voice trailing off in disbelief.
"Aye, it was magic. And where is the enchantress?" Brad asked, his tone even.
"What enchantress, Brad?"
"The female mage. Was she not found?"
"There was no mage, Brad. Although Jarlhead claimed to have heard an eerie voice emanating from the labyrinthine halls, I dared not pursue it as there was no need to risk anyone."
"Which direction did the voice come from? East or west?" Brad inquired.
"By the gods, I cannot recall, Brad! We were busy rescuing you two at that moment!" Ismeth exclaimed.
Brad rose to his feet, a scowl etched on his face. "Curses!" he bellowed, his fists clenched in frustration. "And what of the old chest?" he inquired.
Ismeth paused for a moment, racking his brain before replying, "Aye, there was indeed a weird chest. Its lid was open, and its contents had been looted."
"That wretched sorceress tricked me," Brad grumbled.
"Pray tell, what befell you last night? Was this enchantress a friend or a foe?" Ismeth probed.
"I cannot say for sure," Brad lamented.
"You certainly have woven a web of mystery, Brad. Even if she was a sly serpent, was she at least comely?" Ismeth quipped, hoping to ease his partner's agitation.
Brad scowled at his partner, fuming with anger. Unconsciously, he delved his hands into his pockets, where he found a rolled piece of bamboo paper. He withdrew it and unfurled it to peruse its contents.
"My dearest knight, I would dearly love to accompany you on this journey, but alas, I know only too well that other knights will not share your liberality and open-mindedness. They will seek to restrain me with their thick-skulled, brutal methods of interrogation. I have no time for such senseless displays of male posturing, and so I must depart. However, should you manage to find my brother, Charlman, and unravel the mystery of his unfortunate fate, I will wait for you at the Swords Square at midnight, precisely three months from now. I trust you will keep your word and reveal the truth. With a fervent hope that the mysteries will be uncovered, I remain your faithful, Alotta, the rebellious daughter of the Charl family."
"What does it say?" Ismeth inquired, peering over Brad's shoulder.
Brad folded the letter and stashed it away in his pocket. "None of your concern!" he snapped at his partner.
"Alright, alright. We understand that something momentous occurred last night, given how tight-lipped you're being. Did the lady at least possess considerable beauty? And what shade of hair did she possess?"
"Enough, Ismeth," Brad warned, clenching his fists in frustration.
"What shall we do now? Shall we turn back?" Ismeth asked, leaning in towards Brad.
"No, I have one more task," Brad replied, gesturing towards the mountain range in the west.
"Are you out of your mind?" Ismeth asked incredulously.
"You can turn back, Ismeth. I made a promise," Brad said firmly.
"No, this time I won't leave you alone. Even if we're heading into the heart of an orc tribe, I'm with you," Ismeth declared resolutely.
Brad chuckled. "We might be heading towards a place like that. The Black Tower," he said, pointing to the towering structure at the west summit.
"The Black Tower?" Ismeth repeated dubiously.
"The tower of the wizards on the path of Therion," Brad reiterated, pointing to the peak in the west once more.
"Damn, my luck. Look at the partner I've found. He loves climbing mountains and delving into dark towers. He's insane," Ismeth muttered with a smirk. "I swear, with this kind of thinking, we'll end up in Mistra's Black Desert fighting the mist elves. Might as well stop by Romdaht while we're at it. Can't leave the Black-robed wizards out, can we?" Ismeth continued to complain as they made their preparations for the journey.
Brad's mind was preoccupied with the question of whether they should take the underground route or stay above ground, a question he couldn't answer. His instincts had failed him this time. Fortunately, his powers of observation were keen. The gathering dark clouds indicated that a heavy rain was on the way, answering his question in a way. After collecting his belongings, he set out towards the decrepit windmill.
"Indeed, let us burrow underground like moles," Ismeth grumbled, trailing after his partner. "You are operating on another plane altogether today, Brad."
"Say, Ismeth, have you any rabbit skins?" Brad inquired.
"For what purpose?" Ismeth asked in return.
"We shall fashion masks," Brad explained.
"Jarlhead ensnared a pair yesterday. The hides should be somewhere in the vicinity," Ismeth replied.
"Retrieve them and dump your bag," Brad commanded.
"What manner of masks, my friend?" Ismeth inquired.
"Poisonous gases lurk in the caverns below. We must inhale fresh air from time to time to remain lucid," Brad elaborated.
"Hmm, not an altogether terrible notion. However, there exist alternative, less perilous methods," Ismeth mused.
"Actions speak louder than words, Ismeth," Brad retorted. "Incidentally, there's yet another problem we shall encounter below."
"Pray, what obstacle is that?" Ismeth inquired.
"In certain areas, flammable gases pervade the atmosphere. Ergo, we cannot kindle a fire within," Brad warned.
"How then shall we navigate our way?" Ismeth wondered.
"Did you happen to espy the wan yellow dust on the walls during our rescue yesterday?" Brad queried.
"Aye, the walls glimmered in that hue," Ismeth recollected.
"Those very particles shall be scraped off with a blade and deposited into glass spheres, thereby fashioning lanterns," Brad divulged.
"Where the hell might we find such spheres?" Ismeth asked.
"I glimpsed them down yonder. You venture forth and collect the glittering dust and the glass spheres. Meanwhile, I shall fashion the masks," Brad assigned.
"Let us exchange tasks. I've no desire to handle obscure minerals. My forte lies in needlework. Shall we not sew the rabbit skins into a sack?" Ismeth suggested.
"Agreed, Ismeth. The sooner we commence, the better," Brad concurred.
In accordance with Brad's instructions, Ismeth meticulously crafted the masks, and once his task was complete, the two companions ventured into the subterranean cavern at noon. By then, Brad had discovered the glass spheres, fashioned from sturdy mica elements, and he was delighted with their durability. With the lanterns now ready, the brilliant dust they emanated illuminated the path for two or three meters ahead, a remarkable feat.
Brad also conducted a thorough investigation of the ground where he had clashed with orcs and ogres. Though he surmised that Charlotte's footprints led eastward, the tracks were faint and challenging to discern.
Afterward, the duo set off in the opposite direction, following the trail that led west.
* * *
The path to the western summit's tower turned out to be easier than Brad had anticipated, save for the steep climb towards the end. The duo had traversed the tunnels at a brisk pace, encountering no major hindrances. The scent on the western side was less pungent, but sulfur veins encircled them from all sides. Donning their masks was mostly unnecessary. Brad's ingenious idea to use phosphorus lanterns proved effective, casting light on the corridors they traversed.
The caves' atmosphere was dry and frigid, causing Brad's wrist pain to subside and his disposition to ease. Conversely, Ismeth suffered from nausea, teary eyes from the noxious sulfur air, and he cursed dwarves and wizards through his chattering teeth due to cold weather. He placed the blame on Brad for their partnership, particularly as they ascended the steep, razor-sharp and pale yellow rocks. Ismeth was also repulsed by the odor left on his hand after touching the pallid yellow sulfur stones.
After two hours of travel, they arrived at the stairwell that Brad had anticipated. This time, the stairs branched out in two directions.
"So, Brad, left or right?" Ismeth queried.
Brad, who had faced the same quandary a day earlier and had never relished such choices, was relaxed and nonchalant this time around. They were not in imminent danger, after all. "Let's head left," Brad responded.
The duo ascended the stairs that extended to the left, leading to different corridors on different floors. The staircase to the right continued upward. Brad momentarily questioned the accuracy of his decision, observing the staircase, and reluctantly opened the door in front of him. Despite his phosphor lantern, the room was obscured in darkness.
"I don't fancy this," Brad grumbled, taking a step back.
At that moment, Ismeth, who was already shivering, pushed Brad aside and strode inside confidently.
"What's wrong, old friend? Behold, a room with a cozy, crackling hearth," he declared, striding further in.
"What hearth are you talking about, Ismeth? It's pitch black in here," Brad said, feeling a strange sense of unease.
As Ismeth walked towards the north wall of the room, he scolded Brad, "Can't you see the mammoth fireplace ablaze on the wall directly in front of you, Brad?"
Suddenly, Brad heard a loud crackling. "Stop, Ismeth!" he yelled, but it was too late.
A flickering pallor flared up in a quick, rhythmic pulse. Suddenly, a dark, captivating energy surged out like a penetrating arrow that Brad barely dodged. Ismeth was flung back into the corridor a few meters from the room. Rising up swiftly, Brad checked on his partner. Though he was breathing, Ismeth's pulse was feeble. Brad scanned the surroundings, hearing a faint voice. In the center of the room, a silhouette glimmered like a feeble and wan candle flame.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
"I'm remorseful about your comrade. It was unintentional. However, it liberated me from the enchantment sphere that ensnared me."
With anger in his eyes and sword in hand, Brad glared at the silhouette and demanded, "Who are you, and what have you done to my partner?"
"I am Charlman, a wizard. I was deceived by another wizard and incarcerated here. Your friend must have activated the trap that imprisoned me. It was not my fault."
Brad fought to restrain his impulse to lunge and slice the man in rage. He had encountered such bodiless entities once before, on the day that caused him to abandon his temple knighthood training about a year ago. He knew that a conventional sword could not harm these sorts of incorporeal beings.
"Are you but a kind of ghost?" he inquired, finally settling his nerves.
"Nay, I hope I still draw breath. I had ventured on astral travel, disconnected from my physical form," Charlman responded.
"Why?"
"'Twas the sole avenue to infiltrate this tower. Yet an evil sorcerer ensnared me in a peculiar trap within this chamber."
The man's silhouette radiated more, illuminating the room. Brad spotted a shattered jug before an aged hearth. The man had seen it as well.
"This must be it. A hoary ruse. Magic vases wrought in Pharrah. An ensorcelling snare the antediluvian Snakeskin wizards employed to ensnare elder naga spirits." Charlman let out a bitter chuckle.
"Why the mirth? What is amusing?" Brad snapped.
"Please forgive me. It is not about you. This knowledge is delicate and rare. I had imparted it only to my sister," Charlman explained.
"Is her name perchance Charlotta?" Brad inquired.
"Have you crossed paths with her?" Charlman was surprised.
"Aye, the day prior. She divulged your vanishment. I had even journeyed hither to unravel your mystifying fate, owing to my vow to her. Now I rue that decision, as my comrade is ailing." Brad checked Ismeth's breathing, still faint.
I offer my deepest apologies to your friend. If I were in my corporeal form, I could offer aid, but presently, I am limited in my abilities. Perhaps if I knew the nature of the magic that befell him," Charlman said solemnly.
"It was a spell that emitted a pale gray light that moved like an arrow, causing vibrations. I believe it was black magic," Brad replied.
"Hmm. I hope my hypothesis is correct. It sounds like a light beam spell that drains an excessive amount of energy. If that is the case, then it may be that his power was merely temporarily depleted by a simple spell," Charlman mused.
"I hope you're right, Wizard Charlman. But tell me, what brings you here?" Brad inquired.
"It was Charlotta's request that brought me here. She asked me to come," Charlman answered.
"Your narratives seem to conflict, however," Brad interjected.
"What do you mean? I fail to understand," Charlman responded.
"Charlotta claimed that she summoned you here," Brad stated.
"That's preposterous and absurd. Unlike Charlotta, I do not deceive. My vow to Orion prohibits me from doing so," Charlman asserted.
"Your statements continue to contradict. Charlotta purported that she followed the path of Orion as a wizard, while you followed the path of Demian. She also claimed that you gained entry to this tower in this manner as you were impervious to the tower's aura due to your status as a balance wizard, " Brad explained.
Charlman's laughed loudly. His laughter became almost hysterical. "I apologize, my friend. I laugh from nerves. This tower is impregnable, not even the Orion or Demian wizards can breach its defenses. It's a sacred place for those who believe in the Dark Lord, and only they can enter its physical realm. I came because Charlotta pleaded with me to do so, and I embarked on an astral journey to reach this tower because it was the only way, and the way she begged me to take. That's the unvarnished truth."
Brad furrowed his brow. "If that's the case, why didn't Charlotta make the astral trip herself to enter the tower? If that's a viable method, I mean."
"She's a war wizard, my friend, only effective on the battlefield. As for me, I am a specialist in mystical arts," Charlman explained.
Brad heaved a deep sigh. His head was throbbing.
"One of you is not telling the truth, but which one?" Brad began to pace around the room, his nerves on edge. "Let's approach this calmly. So, you went on an astral journey, correct?"
"That's correct."
"Then your body must be somewhere nearby."
"Yes. By the way, what's the date? How long has it been?" Charlman asked, his eyes lit with curiosity.
"It's the end of autumn, on the thirteenth day."
"Oh, thank the spirits. Only three days have passed. That means my body is somewhere confined and fed. If not, I'll succumb to thirst soon. My fatigue and exhaustion could also indicate that my physical form is in a weakened state."
"As an astral traveler, don't you sense where your body is?"
"I can't seem to feel its presence."
"That's dire news."
"Why is that?"
"Because that means, if we can't locate your body, you'll perish. Don't get me wrong; I'm no wizard. I'm just using my wits. I'm really trying to understand your story." said Brad.
"My physical form was situated in the settlement of the wizards," Charlman said with a weary tone.
"Very well, but where precisely was it?" Brad inquired.
"It was enclosed within the windmill," Charlman replied.
"Understood, I'll begin to seek out your body. But I do have another inquiry. If Charlotta didn't make her way here, she must have delegated the spell that would incarcerate you to someone else, who then brought you to this location. Isn't that correct?" Brad questioned.
"Yes, that could be a possibility. A logical assumption. Someone else must have placed the enchanted urn in this chamber," Charlman agreed.
"Then who is this person, and where might they be at present? And the most crucial question, why didn't they arrive to claim their reward after locking you up within the magical vessel?" Brad probed further.
"I...I don't know," Charlman replied hesitantly.
"Thus, neither Charlotta nor you can be trusted. If I cannot determine who is telling the truth, I would rather not trust either of you," Brad declared firmly.
Brad lifted his partner and readied himself to depart when Charlman yelled, "Hold on a moment!"
"I'm afraid I don't want to listen to you because your tale doesn't sound quite logical to me," Brad responded coolly.
"Very well, I confess I've concealed an essential detail from you," Charlman admitted.
Brad looked at him with a piercing gaze, his patience wearing thin.
"It's plausible that the tower's guardian may have imprisoned me," Charlman divulged.
Brad hesitated, his ears attuned to Ismeth's breathing. The steady rhythm gave him hope. He propped Ismeth up against the wall and took a seat on the ground beside his partner, drawing in deep breaths to calm himself. "Speak on, make your tale believable. Or else, I shall rest a while longer and depart. When my weariness ebbs and this cursed headache wanes, our conversation ends. Wizards have tested my patience of late, and I have paid dearly for it."
"I spied the guardian from afar. Non-human, he was, a mist elf, or so he seemed." Charlman began, then stopped.
Brad's eyes narrowed in skepticism. As an evil race, Mist elves were encountered very rarely in Barnachia.
"Charlotta mentioned it to me. But we never imagined he would possess such acute senses, capable of detecting my presence." Charlman continued.
"Why did you come here? Conceal nothing," Brad cautioned.
"Very well, I confess. A tome. An enchanted tome. A prophecy tome, to be precise. It can furnish answers to certain questions. But the chest that protects book is not within this tower. I scoured every inch of this place but to no avail. The only room left unsearched was this one. And it was here where I fell into a trap."
After hearing the word "chest," Brad had pieced together the situation. "An ancient chest with runes that devour light?" the knight inquired.
"Yes, how did you surmise that?" Charlman exclaimed excitedly.
"Because Charlotta found the chest, took its contents, and vanished," replied the knight.
"That sly girl," muttered the wizard with a taut expression, masking his fleeting rage with a smile. However, Brad had detected that momentary flicker of tension.
"What about the tunnels?" Brad pressed.
"What tunnels?" questioned Charlman.
"There are tunnels beneath this passageway. Did you not consider investigating them?" Brad queried.
"I swear I had no knowledge of the tunnels until I arrived here. I even contemplated inspecting the tunnels instead of entering this room. But fate intervened. I opened the door, saw the chest in the center, and charged towards it. And then...boom!"
"Thinking back, my partner Ismeth claimed he saw the hearth ablaze, but all I perceived was pitch-black darkness," Brad reflected.
"Believe me, my friend, that fireplace has not been kindled in three centuries. Your partner, like me, has been ensnared by an illusionary spell."
"You're suggesting that the mist elf is responsible for the sorcery?" queried Brad.
"Aye, 'tis most likely," Charlman replied.
"Very well then, Charlman, would you mind stepping out of the room? You haven't attempted it yet. Give it a try," Brad urged.
The shadowy figure made his way towards the door, as though restrained by some unseen force.
"This is absurd. I can't leave," he lamented.
"We're still at an impasse, wizard. Most of your explanations and answers seem cogent, but someone has ensnared you within these walls. And with my wounds and exhaustion, I'm struggling to decide what to do with you."
"If I were truly trapped here, I'd implore you to come in," Charlman stated, logically.
"That's reasonable. However, you could also be a cunning and sagacious wizard with nefarious intentions," Brad countered.
"Aye, that's also a possibility. You truly are in a quandary, my friend," Charlman conceded, with a wry smile.
"I've survived by trusting my instincts a few times in my life," Brad whispered.
"What do your instincts say now?" Charlman inquired.
"I cannot tell. I'm so weary and my head is pounding, that at present, I am no different from a stone or a tree that a minstrel serenades, waiting for applause or tip," Brad replied.
"The saying isn't quite right, but never mind. Very well. Even though I may be on the verge of death, I am not in a hurry. Might I inquire as to your name?" asked Charlman courteously. He seemed very kind, almost to the point of being suspicious, Brad thought.
"My name is Brad Silverhilt. I am a member of the Illuen knighthood."
"Well, at least you seem to be a good person. Being a knight is a noble profession. Sanctuary knights are particularly admirable," replied Charlman.
Brad's demeanor suddenly became tense. He then let out a forced laugh.
"Illuen who? Do you even know who he is?" he asked.
"How should I know your lord? In which province does he reign?" the wizard inquired.
"You mean to say you don't know who Illuen is?" Brad was taken aback.
The wizard shook his head, indicating a negative response.
"You played your role well. You almost had me fooled. Are you Charlman or someone else entirely? You are not from this era. That's for sure. Any man who lives in this era would know Illuen," Brad said.
The silhouette's countenance suddenly grew serious.
"What are you trying to say, Knight Silverhilt? I am not playing games with you," he retorted.
"For how many years have you been trapped inside that cursed object? Is it a magical vase, a jar or something else entirely? Who cares. You are evil, that's one thing I'm sure of!" Brad yelled, spittle flying out of his mouth.
The quivering of the shadow abruptly ceased. It was at that moment that Brad observed the man's face rapidly transform into that of a mist elf.
"Fool Charlman is dead, but he left me in this trap. Oh, if I could escape through that door, I would inflict serious harm upon you!" the elf bellowed, seething with fury.
"At last, I see your true identity. Where is Charlman's body?" Brad inquired.
The mist elf flaunted his power, snapping his fingers to conjure a display of magic. In an instant, the room's image transformed, revealing a sight that made Brad's heart skip a beat. At the spot where the glass had shattered, a white-robed wizard lay amidst the broken shards, the true Charlman.
"Damn you, you despicable mist elf!" Brad seethed, his anger palpable. "How did you learn all this about the wizard woman and her brother? How could you answer all my inquiries about Charlotta?"
The mist elf guffawed, his amusement at Brad's ignorance apparent.
"Truly, you are a formidable foe, accursed knight. Your mind is fortified by a protective shield of unfathomable strength. Even though Charlman, a wizard possessing a will far mightier than yours, was far easier for me to infiltrate. His mind eventually crumbled under my influence. With the intelligence gathered from both you and him, I wove a marvelous tale. But with each endeavor, the wall shielding your thoughts grew ever taller. At the end, when I could no longer breach your defenses, you discovered my blunder. Who the hell is Illuen? How should I know the identity of a foolish human lord?"
"So, Charlman didn't trap you here," Brad exclaimed, realization dawning on him. "You managed to unlock his mind too. He was also your victim."
The mist elf sneered with annoyance, his frustration clear. "Yes, you dim-witted fool. Charlman was only able to retrieve the magical jug from the depths of the fireplace before succumbing to my mental attacks. However, somehow, he was able to die without breaking the jug and uttering his last breath."
"You were ensnared here by another. But by whom?" Brad queried with fervor.
"Why does this matter to you so greatly?"
"I am at a loss. In truth, I simply yearn to seize Ismeth and depart, but for some reason, I am incapable. I cannot even rise from my position." Brad declared in revolt.
The mist elf chortled once more.
"It appears that my incantation is having a partial effect on you as well. Alas, it acts akin to a potent charm powder, akin to Averan herb; it must be influencing us both. Why?" The mist elf's laughter reverberated off the cavern walls in the corridor.
"Desist from your laughter, you contemptible elf!" Brad spat.
"I am powerless to cease myself. My head is spinning, and I have never afflicted myself before with my own mental assaults." The mist elf continued to snigger and laugh hysterically.
Brad's hand instinctively went to his medallion. "Could it be warding off the mist elf's magic?" he pondered. However, his mind was preoccupied with more pressing matters. Though he yearned to move, he remained paralyzed. His body was completely numb, as if encased in ice. The frigid ground beneath him seemed to sap the warmth from his bones, sending violent shivers coursing through him.
"Was every word you spoke of Charlotta a falsehood?" Brad inquired, praying that the remembrance of the woman would provide him some fortitude.
"What import does it hold?" the mist elf retorted.
"What did you do to Ismeth? At the very least, answer that." Brad insisted, thinking to himself, 'I must rise for Ismeth, at least.'
"I know not. I did not craft that spell. The scoundrel who confined me here must have executed diverse wards of protection."
"Who is that sorcerer? Tell me, you loathsome mist elf!" Brad bellowed.
"Why is it of such importance?"
"I know not. I must discover it. This question is incessantly gnawing at my mind, without rhyme or reason."
"Very well, I will disclose the answer, but with a stipulation."
"What sort of stipulation?"
"I implore you to pledge an oath to me."
"What oath? I shall not make any pacts with the devil."
"If thou canst escape from this place, I beseech thee to locate a sorcerer for me. I implore thee, find her and put a stop to her devilry. She is far more demonic and perilous than I." The mist elf almost begged.
"Tell me, who is she?" Brad yelled and demanded.
"Allendra Cahosse."
In Brad's mind, an array of vivid images blazed like lightning. A plethora of pictures flashed before his eyes. Each one was so vivid and real, they felt like memories that had yet to occur, but were his. Pictures of a woman with facial features reminiscent of Charlotta, with fiery red hair, hazel eyes, donning a resplendent robe in shades of black and navy blue, but much more stunning and alluring.
"I don't know anyone of that description," Brad finally said. But his mind was somewhat alleviated.
"You chose the wrong door and the venom has disoriented your mind. Put on the mask, foolish warrior," a familiar voice whispered from afar, resounding in his mind.
Brad didn't hesitate; followed the instructions and donned his mask, then helped Ismeth with his. After inhaling deeply, the crisp air filled his lungs, and he felt revitalized.
"Goodbye, mist elf. Our paths won't cross again," Brad spoke from behind his mask, embracing Ismeth before ascending the staircase to the door on the next floor.
"Curse you, knight! I'll escape from here eventually, and then I'll hunt you and that wanton Allendra down!" Those were the final words he heard from the mist elf.
With unwavering determination, Brad opened the door and descended heavily into the basement of the decrepit tower, then cautiously made his way outside. He gazed out at the vista. Rain was pelting down on the east side, while the west basked in the sun's final rays. The air was frigid, and the wind was howling mercilessly. He paid it no heed. Removing Ismeth's mask, he laid him on the ground. The mountaintop was shrouded in a crimson haze blended with mist. The sun was on the verge of disappearing over the horizon.
He drew in the icy fresh air, feeling the frosty, penetrating effect of the cold and wind. Suddenly, his partner regained his senses and looked around in amazement.
"What happened to me, Brad? Did I faint? Where are we?" Ismeth inquired, his voice still groggy from his ordeal.
"We've left the tower, Ismeth. You were ensnared in a magical trap, but you've recovered now," Brad replied.
"And what of the wizard you sought?" Ismeth asked, curiosity lacing his tone.
"Alas, he has met his demise," Brad answered solemnly.
"Well, good riddance! A dead wizard is the best kind," Ismeth quipped, a laugh booming from deep within his chest.
After the intense and enigmatic events of the past two days, Brad found himself questioning his views on magic and the practitioners of such. With a genuine smile gracing his face, he resolved to distance himself from wizards for at least three months. In his mind's eye, he conjured an image of the red-haired woman, and as he gazed upon the crimson sun, his heart panged with longing and bittersweet joy.