Thalor Stormweaver
The Hall of Lumis was a grand hall, older than the capital of Barad Niserie itself, named after Lumis, the Dreamweaver, a minor god who had once whispered dreams into the mind of
Ithlul’s founder centuries ago. The hall was a testament to the city’s ancient origins, built from stone that had weathered countless storms and wars, yet still stood firm in its foundations. High arched ceilings stretched above the round table where the Council of Seven, Ithlul’s ruling body, sat in intense discussion.
Archmage Thalor Stormweaver, a half-elf mage of piercing blue eyes, sat quietly, observing the dialogue unfold between his six fellow council members. His expression remained neutral as they bickered, throwing plans and counterplans around like children arguing over a game.
At the head of the table sat Lord Marcus Thorne, Master of Commerce, his silver hair gleaming in the soft light cast by the magical orbs that hovered above them. He leaned forward, his sharp eyes locked on Lady Seraphine Windrider, the Mistress of Defense.
“Lady Seraphine,” Marcus began, his voice steady but heavy with the weight of the subject at hand, “what is your plan to defend against the undead?”
Seraphine, an elven warrior with centuries of experience and a calm, calculated demeanor, met his gaze without flinching. Her silver hair, pulled back into a practical braid, gleamed under the lights as she replied. “I currently have teams scouting far into the Ruined Kingdom to gather information. It is not looking good for us. For now, our walls and protections are holding against the small hordes that stray into our territory. But,” her voice hardened, “there are hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of undead scattered throughout the Ruined Kingdom. I fear that if they ever launched an all-out attack, even if Valdor himself were still alive, he could not protect us.”
At the mention of Valdor, a legendary dragonborne warrior of old, the room grew somber. Each member seemed to retreat into their thoughts for a moment. The reality of their situation was grim, and everyone knew it.
The conversation continued in circles. Each council member contributed ideas, only for another to point out the flaws, and then counter with their own plans, which in turn were shot down. Thalor watched the back-and-forth, his fingers steepled in thought, waiting for the right moment to speak.
It was Grandmaster Durin Ironhammer, the stout dwarven Overseer of Craft and Industry, who finally broke the rhythm. He turned to Thalor with a serious expression, his braided beard twitching with impatience.
“You’re probably the most powerful person in the room, Thalor. What do you think we should do?”
Thalor scratched his chin thoughtfully, his blue eyes narrowed in contemplation. “I may be strong,” he began slowly, “but even a thousand of me cannot face down that many undead.”
The room fell into a heavy silence. The truth in Thalor’s words weighed on them all. No single mage, no matter how powerful, could stand against an entire army of the dead.
“Our soldiers are not only too few,” Thalor continued, “but they are also not trained to fight the undead. Their combat prowess is rendered ineffective against such a foe. We could consider enlisting the Adventurers’ Guild,” he suggested, the words hanging in the air.
“The Adventurers’ Guild?” repeated Lady Seraphine, her emerald eyes narrowing slightly. “They are an independent organization. They don’t get involved in politics.”
“This isn’t about politics, Seraphine,” Thalor replied calmly. “This is about survival. The adventurers are powerful, and many of them are trained to fight monsters, including the undead. They have experience in ways our soldiers do not. If anyone can bolster our defenses, it’s them.”
The others at the table murmured in agreement. It was an idea that had crossed all of their minds at some point. But there was a reason it had yet to be acted upon.
“The problem is,” Grandmaster Durin said, leaning back in his chair, “we simply can’t afford them. Neither Ithlul nor the kingdom has the funds to compensate the entire Adventurers’ Guild for such a monumental task. Their rates are steep, and rightly so. They are skilled and powerful, but hiring an army of them would bankrupt us before we even fought a single battle.”
The council members nodded grimly. They knew this all too well.
Thalor’s eyes glinted with quiet resolve. “I’m not suggesting we hire the entire guild,” he clarified. “It would be impossible, both financially and logistically. But perhaps, instead of focusing on the entire guild, we could target individual adventurers—those who are known for their strength and skill. We hire the best of the best. Yes, their price will be steep, but going bankrupt is better than letting Ithlul fall and everyone in this city join the ranks of the undead.”
The room grew still as the council absorbed Thalor’s words. There was a logic to it, a bitter practicality that none could deny.
“The adventurers’ guild does have its share of heroes,” Lady Seraphine agreed slowly. “But will a few heroes be enough against the tide of undead? Even the best warrior can be overwhelmed.”
“We can’t win by force alone,” Thalor said softly. “We need strategy, intelligence. We need to know how to fight them, where to strike, and when to retreat. This isn’t about brute strength. It’s about survival.”
Lord Marcus Thorne nodded thoughtfully, his sharp mind already considering the logistics. “If we focus our resources on a select few powerful individuals, perhaps we can at least turn the tide in our favor. But we’ll need more than that. We’ll need allies—more than just adventurers.”
“What about the kingdom?” Mistress Lyria Greenleaf, Chief of Public Welfare, asked quietly. “Surely they will not leave us to face this threat alone?”
Thalor’s expression darkened. “The kingdom has its own concerns. The Ruined Kingdom is a threat to the entire kingdom, true. But they will be slow to act. And by the time they do, it may already be too late for us.”
“So,” Grandmaster Durin grumbled, “we’re on our own. Again.”
Thalor glanced around the table, seeing the weariness in the faces of his fellow council members. They had led Ithlul through many challenges, but this—this was a crisis on a scale none of them had ever faced.
“We need to act swiftly,” Thalor said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension. “The undead are not a distant threat anymore. They are moving closer every day. And if we do not find a way to stop them, there will be nothing left of Ithlul for the kingdom to save.”
The Council of Seven sat in silence, the weight of their responsibility heavy in the air. Each of them knew that the decisions they made in this room would determine the fate of their city—and possibly all of Evralond.
Finally, Lady Seraphine spoke. “Then let’s begin. We contact the adventurers, the best we can find, and we prepare for the worst.”
The others nodded in agreement, though the air remained thick with uncertainty.
Thalor leaned back in his chair, his mind already racing through possibilities. The city’s future depended on the choices they made now. And there was no room for error.
Arlen
The horizon was beginning to glow with the soft amber light of dawn when Arlen and his companions spotted a structure in the distance. The sky was still dark, but the faint light creeping over the edge of the world was enough to silhouette the fortress-like shape ahead. Arlen narrowed his eye, focusing on the details—thick stone walls rising against the landscape, spires and battlements jutting upward like the teeth of a beast.
“There’s a fortress up ahead,” Arlen said, his voice cutting through the stillness of the early morning.
Elara squinted into the distance, straining to see what Arlen had pointed out. “A fortress?” she asked, tilting her head in confusion. “Ithlul should still be about six hours away by my calculations. How can you see that far?”
Arlen paused, considering her question. It wasn’t the first time he had noticed the sharpness of his senses—his vision had become clearer, his hearing more acute, and his reflexes faster since becoming this shadowy form. But he had been so preoccupied with survival and discovery that he hadn’t given it much thought.
“I just can, I guess,” he replied with a shrug, his gaze lingering on the distant fortress. His tone was nonchalant, but inwardly, he couldn’t help but wonder about the changes that had come with his new existence.
Elara glanced at him, curiosity flickering in her eyes, but she didn’t press further.
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As they continued walking, Arlen’s thoughts turned to another concern. He glanced at Fenri, who padded along beside him, the massive wolf’s fur glowing faintly with the red streaks that traced through it.
“You mentioned earlier that the humanoid races don’t get along well with magical beasts,” Arlen said, his brow furrowed. “What about Fenri? Will he be able to come with us into the city?”
Elara hesitated, her eyes flicking to Fenri before she responded. “Well, most of the ‘enlightened races,’ as they call themselves, view magical beasts as inferior,” she explained. “Despite the fact that magical beasts are often more powerful, and in some cases, more intelligent than humanoids, they are still seen as descendants of common beasts or animals that evolved into something greater. It’s a bit... complicated.”
Arlen frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense. If they’re stronger and smarter, why aren’t they respected?”
Elara chuckled softly, as if she were trying to explain something to a child. “It’s not about power or intelligence. It’s about origins. Beasts are driven by instinct—eat, mate, survive, die. Most humanoids view beasts as little more than animals. But under rare circumstances, a beast can evolve. No one knows exactly how or why it happens, but it’s not unheard of. A lizard could become a dragon, or a bird could become a phoenix, though those are legendary cases. Usually, they just become stronger versions of their previous selves. Those that evolve into sentient creatures capable of magic are called magical beasts. In some rare cases they can gain speech.”
She glanced at Fenri, who walked with an almost smug expression as he listened to the conversation. “From what I’ve seen of Fenri, he’s definitely a magical beast. His power, his intelligence... he’s not like an ordinary wolf.”
Arlen looked down at Fenri, who flicked an ear and shot him a look that seemed almost too knowing. “You don’t say,” Arlen muttered, though his mind was turning over Elara’s words. The concept of evolution—from beast to something more—intrigued him.
Elara continued, “Of course, there are higher evolutions beyond magical beasts—ones that gain even greater power, intellect or even human-like forms. But I don’t know much about those. For that, you’d need to speak to a scholar or maybe a magical beast themselves.”
Arlen nodded thoughtfully. The idea that Fenri might be more than just a powerful wolf made him wonder about the true nature of the creatures in this world. Perhaps there was more to be learned from Fenri than he initially thought.
As they neared Ithlul, the terrain began to shift. The rolling plains gradually gave way to the foothills that surrounded the city, the road becoming more defined, with stones marking the path toward the southern gate. The fortress-like structure Arlen had seen earlier loomed closer now, revealing itself to be part of Ithlul’s outer defenses.
The southern gate of Ithlul was an imposing structure. Towering stone walls, at least fifty feet high, rose from the earth, reinforced with thick iron bands that gleamed in the first light of morning. Massive wooden gates, bound with iron, stood shut, but there was already a small line of travelers and merchants forming, waiting to be allowed entry.
Above, on the battlements, armored guards patrolled the wall with practiced vigilance. They wore plate and chainmail, with crests depicting the symbol of Ithlul—a golden tower encircled by seven stars, each representing one of the seven Great Gods. The guards’ eyes scanned the road below, ever watchful for any signs of trouble.
As Arlen, Elara, Marcus, and Fenri approached, they saw two guards at the gate itself, checking identification and asking questions to those seeking entry. The process was methodical but thorough—each traveler had to present identification, state their purpose for entering the city, and undergo a brief inspection of their goods.
Elara, being the daughter of a duke, stepped forward confidently as they approached the gate. She pulled a small medallion from her pouch—a symbol of her family’s noble status—and presented it to the guard.
“I am Lady Elara of House Theodric,” she said with a practiced grace. “These are my companions. We seek entry into Ithlul.”
The guard, a tall man with a stern expression, studied the medallion before nodding in recognition. “Welcome, Lady Elara,” he said, his voice gruff but respectful. He glanced at Arlen and Marcus, his eyes lingering on Fenri for a moment longer than usual. “Your companions will need to provide identification as well.”
Marcus quickly produced a set of papers from his bag, his merchant credentials neatly stamped and signed by the proper authorities. The guard gave them a cursory glance before nodding. When it came to Arlen, however, things became more complicated.
“I don’t have identification,” Arlen said plainly.
The guard frowned. “No identification, no entry. That’s the law.”
Elara stepped in quickly. “He is with me. Under my protection.”
The guard hesitated, looking from Elara to Arlen, then to Fenri, who was sitting calmly but with an air of power that was hard to ignore. “Very well, but the beast stays outside the city,” the guard added, gesturing toward Fenri.
Arlen’s gaze hardened. “Fenri stays with me.”
The guard stiffened. “Magical beasts are not allowed within the city without special permits,” he said firmly. “We can’t just let any dangerous creature walk freely inside.”
Before the situation could escalate, Elara spoke again, her voice smooth but commanding. “Fenri is under control, and I take full responsibility for him. If there are any issues, I will personally see to it.”
The guard, clearly uncomfortable with the situation, looked back toward the higher-ranking officer stationed near the gate. After a brief exchange of nods, he sighed and motioned for the gates to be opened.
“You can enter, but be warned—any trouble caused by the beast will be your responsibility,” the guard said, stepping aside to allow them through.
With a creak of wood and iron, the gates to Ithlul slowly opened, revealing the bustling city within. Arlen, Elara, Marcus, and Fenri stepped forward, the grand city of Ithlul awaiting them beyond the gate.
As Arlen and his companions passed through the southern gate, the city of Ithlul opened before them like a living tapestry woven from countless cultures, races, and architectural styles. The sheer scale of it was staggering. Towering spires and domed rooftops spread out in every direction, rising from the foothills in a way that seemed to mirror the surrounding landscape. The roads were wide and paved with smooth stone, guiding the flow of people, carts, and carriages into the heart of the bustling trade city.
The buildings were a blend of styles, each reflecting the diverse origins of the people who lived and worked within their walls. Some had the rounded, flowing curves of elven craftsmanship, with intricate wood carvings and hanging gardens. Others displayed the more solid, angular designs of dwarven stonework, with dark iron embellishments and sturdy columns supporting balconies that jutted out over the streets. Between them, human dwellings and shops added yet another layer of complexity, their banners fluttering in the breeze, advertising spices, magical items, and textiles from across the continent.
The city was divided into districts, each one catering to a different aspect of Ithlul’s vibrant life. The Grand Bazaar lay ahead, the beating heart of commerce, where traders from all over Evralond set up stalls to sell their exotic goods. To the east, the Artisan District thrived, filled with the sounds of hammering metal, the scent of leather tanning, and the soft glow of magical forges. Further north, the Whispering Market could be found, a more shadowy part of the city known for dealing in rare and sometimes illicit goods. Beyond that, towering over the skyline, was the Tower of Echoes, where the city’s mages studied and communicated with distant lands using their arcane abilities.
The streets were filled with people of all kinds, going about their daily business. For the first time since arriving in this world, Arlen saw races other than humans. Elves, with their graceful forms and pointed ears, moved with effortless elegance, their long hair and fine robes trailing behind them. Dwarves, stout and muscular, bustled through the streets with tools and goods, their deep voices rumbling in conversation as they argued over prices. Gnomes, halflings, and even a few orcs wandered the city, each contributing to the lively atmosphere.
For Arlen, it was a surreal experience. Seeing these races that he had only heard about in stories—fantastical beings that didn’t exist on Earth—was beyond surprising. His single red eye darted between them, his mind racing to process everything at once. They were just as real as he was, and yet so different.
Elara, walking beside him, seemed unfazed by the diversity of the city. For her, it was simply part of life in Ithlul. She had traveled these streets many times before, and the sight of elves, dwarves, and other races was as ordinary as anything else. But for Arlen, who had only known humanity, it was a stark reminder of how far removed he now was from his previous life.
As they moved deeper into the city, the group began to drift apart. Elara had been traveling to Ithlul as Marcus’ protector. It was one of her first official missions as a knight of the kingdom, a duty that carried both honor and responsibility. Now that they had reached their destination, she needed to complete her task.
“I need to finish up my job with Marcus and then return to my father’s estate,” she said, turning to Arlen with a small smile. “My family is expecting me.”
Arlen felt a slight pang at the thought of her absence. He hadn’t realized until now how much he had grown to enjoy her company. She had been more than just a traveling companion—she had been his guide in this strange new world, offering him valuable knowledge and advice.
“I hope we meet again,” Arlen said quietly, his voice steady. “I am grateful for your assistance.”
Elara gave him a curious look, then smiled, though there was a hint of something unreadable in her eyes. “You saved my life from those cultists. Consider this my way of repaying that debt.”
Arlen nodded, accepting her words. While he had saved her from danger, she had done just as much for him by helping him navigate this world. As they parted ways, he watched her walk away with Marcus toward the merchant district, her figure disappearing into the crowd.
For a brief moment, he felt the sad again. But as quickly as it had come, the feeling vanished, replaced by the cold practicality that had become second nature to him in this form. There was no use dwelling on emotions that barely scratched the surface of his being anymore.
With Elara and Marcus gone, Arlen found himself alone for the first time in days. He adjusted the hood of his robe and the mask that concealed his monstrous features, his red eye glowing faintly beneath the wood and cloth. Fenri padded alongside him, his presence a comforting constant amidst the swirling chaos of the city.
“Where should I go first?” Arlen murmured to himself, his thoughts drifting over the many possibilities that lay ahead.
The city stretched out before him like a labyrinth of opportunity. He needed information—about the undead, the forces at play in this world, and most importantly, about himself. The Grand Bazaar seemed like a good place to start. Merchants from all over the continent gathered there, and if anyone knew about strange creatures like him or had heard rumors of the undead threat, it would be them. He could also visit the Tower of Echoes, where the mages might hold answers to his questions about his newfound powers.
But first, he needed to blend in. Moving through Ithlul unnoticed would be difficult, even with his mask and robe. Arlen glanced around, taking in the sights of the bustling city. He could already feel the eyes of passersby lingering on him a little too long, their gazes curious or wary. He would need to be careful, especially if he planned on learning more about his shadowy nature.
With that thought, Arlen began to walk, disappearing into the crowds of Ithlul. The city buzzed with life around him, and he knew that somewhere in its depths lay the answers he sought.