Chapter 1: A Wasteland of Death
The scrap hut was a solemn monument to tragedy, its floor lined with corpses, their lifeless forms sprawled on the dusty ground like discarded puppets. Rowan sat among them, his gaze fixed on the dying flames that flickered weakly in the bonfire. The heat of the fire was weak compared to the relentless onslaught of the desert sun, its rays searing through the makeshift shelter with unforgiving intensity.
“The very last,” came a hoarse voice from the entrance, shattering the silence. The old chieftain stepped through the tattered curtain, his weathered face etched with lines of sorrow and resignation. Rowan met his gaze, as he reached for the leather skin filled with precious water.
“Thank you, Chieftain,” Rowan said, his voice barely audible above the crackle of the flames. He could feel the weight of the old man's gaze upon him, a silent plea lingering in the ash-gray depths of his eyes.
“You are the only one left,” the chieftain stated gravely. “There is no more food, no more water, no more people.”
Rowan's stomach twisted with hunger. “And then what?” he whispered, his voice filled with bitterness. “Even if I succeed, there will be no one left to celebrate. No hope, no life.”
“Do it out of spite, out of hatred, for what the Tower did to us,” the chieftain spat, his voice laced with venomous fury. “Kill them all, eat their flesh, and drink their blood for defiling life. And then you can die with the satisfaction that the people of Esoto took them down to hell with them.”
As the chieftain's coughing fit subsided, Rowan helped him sink to the floor, where he lay still, his breaths growing shallow until they ceased altogether. The silence that followed was heavy, and Rowan was once again reminded of the devastation that had befallen the people of this land.
“It is not fair”, Rowan said, shaking his head. But the Tower didn’t care.
Rowan surveyed the scene before him, his gaze lingering on the bony forms of his fallen people. “You have it good,” he whispered, his words a lament for lives stolen by the merciless grip of the Tower.
“It doesn't matter,” he declared, his voice firm with twisted resolve. “At least I can go out quickly instead of slowly withering away.”
With a steady hand, Rowan lifted the ancient crossbow, its silver bolt gleaming in the dim light. “Only one more thing to do,” he said, his voice steady as he prepared to embark on his final, desperate mission.
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Rowan emerged from the suffocating insides of the scrap hut, stepping out into the barren dead camp. The heat pressed down on him like a suffocating blanket, its intensity searing through his clothes and prickling his skin. Sweat beaded on his brow, evaporating almost instantly in the arid air.
Looking around, Rowan took in the desolate landscape with a heavy heart. The camp, in Rowan's childhood, once a bustling hub of life and activity, now lay silent and still, its inhabitants nothing more than silent victims to the ravages of time and decay. Surrounding the camp were towering rocks and boulders, their jagged edges casting ominous shadows across the lifeless terrain. They seemed like leftovers of a bygone era, the shattered remains of buildings that had crumbled into dust millennia ago.
Not a single living thing stirred in the desolate landscape, not even the faintest whisper of wind through the barren branches of dead trees. Rowan's gaze swept over the bleached remains of once-lush vegetation, their withered husks a reminder of the vibrant life that had once thrived here. Now, only death and decay remained, devastation wrought by the Tower's relentless hunger.
With a heavy heart, Rowan made his way towards his hut, the only structure in the camp still standing except the chieftains hut. As he entered, memories of happier times flooded his mind, memories of laughter and play echoing through the empty silence of the camp. He glanced at the small, dirty blanket lying on the right..
From a small table, Rowan retrieved a sword. An old relic from a time of old. His fingers traced the rough edges of its blade. His gaze fell upon the scattered remnants of makeshift toys strewn across the ground, a silent testament to innocence that had been lost to the Tower.
Stepping outside once more, Rowan put on a pointed sun hat that hung on one of the metal tubes that held the hut together. The hat shielded his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun as he made his way towards the backside of the hut. There stood two tombstones fashioned from rough-cut stones. Rowan approached them solemnly, his heart filled with grief .
"I'm going now, but I will see you very soon," he said softly. Anger and sadness welled up within him, but he pushed the emotions aside, his mind hardening with each passing moment.
"I will get my revenge," he vowed, his voice ringing out into the empty silence of the camp. "I am going to tear it down."
With one final glance at the tombstones, Rowan turned away, his footsteps echoing against the barren landscape as he made his way towards the exit between the rocks. Ahead, in an orange sea of rocks and sand, loomed the dark silhouette of the Tower with its broken top.
Chapter 2: Hope and Despair
Rowan trudged through the unforgiving desert sands, each step a struggle against the relentless heat that threatened to sap his strength. The Tower loomed in the distance, a dark sentinel against the blinding sun. With each passing moment, Rowan started to doubt his decision more and more. It felt like a heavy burden that threatened to crush his spirit.
As he descended a dune, his eyes never leaving the towering spire in the distance, Rowan's thoughts turned to the uncertain outcome that awaited him. He knew the odds were stacked against him, that he would likely meet his end in the desolate wasteland before ever reaching his goal.
“What would happen if I succeed?” Rowan wondered, his mind awash with questions and doubts. “Will life return to the land, breathing new hope into the graveyard that was once my people's home?” How long would it take for the land to heal, for greenery to once again blanket the barren landscape? And what of others like him, survivors clinging to the faintest shred of hope for salvation?
Lost in thought, Rowan took a swig from his dwindling water supply, the warm liquid offering a momentary respite from the oppressive heat. But his moment of reprieve was short-lived, shattered by movement on the side of a nearby stone spire.
A Scalespawn.
The demonic lizard, its grotesque form twisted and malformed, lunged towards Rowan with a ferocity that reflected its reptilian nature. Its six legs propelled it forward, its mouth dripping with acidic poison that sizzled and steamed against the scorching sands.
Rowan's heart raced as he braced himself for the attack, his sword at the ready. With desperate precision, he parried the Scalespawn's bite. With a swift strike, he severed one of the creature's legs, eliciting a guttural hiss of pain.
But the Scalespawn was relentless, its demonic instincts driving it forward with single-minded determination. It spat acid in retaliation, the corrosive liquid burning through the air like molten lava. Rowan raised his hat as a makeshift shield, deflecting the attack.
With a roar of defiance, Rowan pressed the attack, his sword biting deep into the creature's neck. Inch by inch, he hacked away at the Scalespawn, his blows fueled by a mixture of anger and instinct. Finally, with a decisive strike, he severed the creature's head from its body, sending it tumbling to the ground in a lifeless lump.
But to Rowan's astonishment, the body continued to twitch and writhe, its limbs flailing blindly as if guided by some unseen force. With a sense of unease creeping over him, Rowan watched as the body staggered to its feet, stumbling blindly towards the rocks before disappearing from sight.
Confusion clouded Rowan's mind as he watched the creature vanish into the shadows, its movements unnatural and unsettling. “They are different”, he said, a realization that sent a shiver down his spine. The influence of the Tower must have changed them, twisted them into something even more demonic than before.
With a wary eye towards the horizon, Rowan continued his journey towards the Tower, expecting the challenges that lay ahead to only grow more perilous the closer he got. “No turning back”, he said, with a grim smile. “Death behind, Death ahead.”
But he was determined to confront the darkness that reclaim his homeland, even if he wouldn’t be the one to see its rebirth.
And with every breath, he whispered a silent vow to those who died, a promise to bring a satisfying resolution to their suffering.
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As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the barren landscape, Rowan sought refuge atop a towering rock, his weary eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. The Tower loomed in the distance.
With a heavy sigh, Rowan settled onto the rocky roost. The desert seemed endless, stretching out before him like a vast ocean of sand and stone with layers of shifting dunes and ancient ruins. He had hoped to make more progress by now, but the Tower remained distant, taunting him.
As night fell and the twin moons rose into the sky, casting their silver glow upon the landscape, Rowan decided to rest. He knew the dangers that lurked in the darkness, the Scalespawn that prowled the night with predatory intent. He dared not light a fire, to not draw their attention, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.
Climbing to a higher vantage point, Rowan looked over the dunes. And then he saw her, a lone figure racing across the desert sands, her long white hair streaming behind her like a ghostly veil. She carried a spear, her movements swift and sure, but she was outnumbered, pursued by three Scalespawn trying to kill her.
Without hesitation, Rowan sprang into action and shouted: “Over here! To me!” to the woman as he raced towards her. She turned to face him, her eyes wide with surprise as he joined her. Together, they turned towards the demonic enemy.
The creatures hesitated for a moment, taken aback by the sudden appearance of another human. It was all the opening the woman needed, as she lunged forward with her spear, driving it deep into the flesh of the nearest Scalespawn. Rowan followed suit, killing the Scalespawn next to it that was too stunned by the death of its kin to react. His sword found its mark with deadly accuracy.
The third one lunged at the woman, which parried with her spear, only for it to be broken by the force of the impact. The demonic beast fell to the side and the woman impaled him with the splintered side of the lower half of her spear.
"I didn't think other people were still alive," Rowan said with disbelief as he turned to the woman beside him, taking in her youthful features and determined expression.
"Not many are left," she said, her voice soft but strong. She looked at the spearhead made of silver, just like Rowan's bold and said " Thank you for saving me."
"My name is Rowan," he said, extending a hand in greeting.
"Azena," the woman replied, clasping his hand in hers. And in that moment, as the cool breeze whispered across the desert sands, Rowan knew that he had found an ally in the lonely expanse of the wasteland. He thought: “And she is not the only one still alive,” he thought.
"What are you doing out here?" Rowan asked, curiosity piqued by her unexpected presence.
The woman met his gaze with a steady look, her gray eyes reflecting the light of the moons.
She pointed with the silver spearhead to the tower without saying anything.
"Same," he said, following her gaze towards the looming silhouette of the Tower. Rowan nodded, feeling a sense of fellowship blossoming between them in the fading light of the setting sun.
Perched atop the rocky outcrop, Rowan and Azena sat in silent contemplation, their eyes fixed on the ominous silhouette of the Tower. The air hung heavy with tension, like a suffocating shroud over the desolate night desert.
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"Do you think we can do it?" Rowan's voice broke the silence, as he turned to Azena beside him. He was uncertain about the outcome even with another ally.
"We have to," she replied, her tone firm.
Together, they watched as the desert below them stirred with movement, the sand shifting and writhing as Scalespawn emerged from their hiding places, their twisted bodies casting long shadows in the dim light of the twin moons.
Neither spoke a word as they observed the creatures prowling the desert below, their senses keen and alert for any sign of danger.
Rowan knew that their survival depended on remaining unseen, avoiding notice of the demons that hunted in the night.
Suddenly, a deep, resonant hum emanated from the Tower, reverberating through the air like a chaotic melody. The Scalespawn below froze in their tracks, their eyes fixed on the dark spire as if drawn by some unseen force.
"Whatever is happening is making it worse," Rowan whispered, his voice barely audible above the hum of the Tower.
Azena nodded in agreement, her gaze never leaving the structure. "We might not have a lot of time. My tribe must survive."
Rowan's thoughts drifted to his own tribe, lost to the relentless decay that had consumed their land. If there were still people out there, survivors clinging to the faintest shred of hope, then they had to be saved.
As night turned to dawn, Rowan found himself dozing off regularly, exhaustion and tiredness weighing heavy on his weary limbs. Each time he awoke, he felt Azena's presence beside him, her head resting on his shoulder as she slept. The gesture reminded him of his wife, of the moments they had shared, before tragedy had torn them apart.
Throughout the night, the Tower continued its relentless humming, its eerie song a constant reminder of the darkness that ate away at the land of Esoto. But as the first light of dawn painted the sky in hues of pink and gold, the humming ceased, and Rowan watched in silence as the Scalespawn below dispersed, returning to the depths of the desert from whence they came.
Azena awoke, her grip tightening on her broken spear as she surveyed their surroundings with a steely resolve. After taking a sip out of her water skin she looked Rowan in the eyes. "At the end of this day," she said, "we will be dead or victorious."
Rowan nodded, his gaze returning to the Tower on the horizon.
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As Rowan and Azena pressed on through the searing heat and unforgiving sun, the Tower watched them, its imposing presence casting a long shadow over the bleak landscape of death. As they drew nearer, Rowan finally caught sight of the Tower in all its terror. Made of deep blue stone that gleamed in the harsh sunlight, the Tower rose from the sand like a monolithic monument to some long-forgotten civilization. Its smooth, cylindrical surface seemed to stretch into the sky, its top broken and jagged like the trunk of a tree ravaged by a violent storm.
But there was little time to marvel at the Tower's beauty, for they soon found themselves facing off against a horde of Scalespawn, their evil flesh emerging from the sand like specters of death. Rowan and Azena readied their weapons, bracing themselves for the coming onslaught.
The battle was fierce and unforgiving, the air filled with the clang of metal against scales and the sickening crunch of bones. Rowan fought with all the strength and skill he possessed, his sword flashing in the sunlight as he struck down one Scalespawn after another.
But their numbers seemed endless, and for every creature they felled, two more seemed to take its place. Just when it seemed they would be overwhelmed, a deep roar echoed from deep below the sand, sending the remaining Scalespawn scurrying away in fear.
“What now”, Rowan cursed, wiping away the tears of sweat dripping into his eyes. Azena did the same and came closer to him, her heavy breathing the only sound in this waste of sand.
Rowan and Azena exchanged a wary glance, their senses on high alert as they scanned the horizon for any sign of danger. And then, with a thunderous rumble, the ground beneath them began to shake, the sand singing and churning as something massive rose from its depths.
Out of the swirling dust and debris emerged a demon unlike any Rowan had ever seen. Standing three times the size of a human, its humanoid form was fleshy and grotesque, its obsidian-colored skin gleaming in the sunlight. White demon horns protruded from its skull, framing a pair of glowing red eyes that burned with a fierce intensity. On its forehead shimmered a black crystal.
With a deafening roar, the towering demon charged forward, its massive form bearing down upon Rowan and Azena like a force of nature. Rowan's heart pounded in his chest as he braced himself for the impact, his grip tightening on his sword as he prepared to meet the creature head-on.
As the demon's fist came hurtling towards him, Rowan leaped to the side with lightning speed, narrowly avoiding the crushing blow. Azena moved in tandem, her spear flashing as she struck out at the creature's exposed flank.
The demon was quick to retaliate, its massive claws slashing through the air with deadly precision. Rowan felt a searing pain as one of the claws tore through his clothes, slicing deep into his flesh with a sickening crunch. With a cry of anguish, he stumbled backward, blood pouring from the wound.
Azena rushed to his side, her eyes blazing with determination as she fended off the demon's attacks.
But the demon was relentless, its monstrous form shrugging off their blows with ease. With each passing moment, Rowan felt his strength waning, his vision growing dim as the pain threatened to overwhelm him.
With a desperate surge of will, Rowan mustered all his remaining strength and charged forward, his sword held high above his head. He whirled to the side as the flat hand of the demon came down on him, trying to crush him. Rowan jumped on the hand and rammed his blade down. The demon roared and jerked his hand up, catapulting Rowan into the air, blade in hand. Rowan didn’t need to think, there was one thing to do.
With a primal scream, he used the momentum of his fall and brought the blade down with all his might, aiming for the creature's head with deadly precision.
The sword connected with a sickening thud, sinking deep into the demon's skull. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as Rowan stared into the creature's glowing eyes, his heart pounding in his chest.
And then, with a gurgling murmur, the demon collapsed to the ground in a heap, its lifeless form unmoving. Thrown off, Rowan rolled through the sand, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to breath.
But it was not over, just like the Scalespawn, despite the light in the demon's eyes vanquished, its body began to twitch.
“Not this time,” Rowan said, taking the loaded crossbow from his back. Immediately he shot the one silver bolt it had deep into the skull, and the demon stopped moving.
But victory came at a cost, when Rowan looked down at his mangled arm, torn and broken by the demon's ferocious assault. He threw away the now useless crossbow and looked at Azena, her face bloodied and bruised but alive. He felt a surge of relief wash over him.
DIzziness started as Azena rushed over and started to tie off his stump with the cloth from the arm that bled in the sand under him.
“How do you feel?”, Azena asked, “We are almost there, you are not going to die on me, right?”
With every moment the pain from his arm grew bigger. Between gritted teeth he said: “It will be fine.” While envisioning his wife and daughter he added in his mind: “I will be with you soon.”
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As Rowan and Azena stood within the shadow of the Tower, their senses heightened by the eerie stillness that permeated the air. Rowan knew that they stood on the precipice of something truly ominous.
With no visible door in sight, Rowan and Azena were forced to improvise, hoisting each other up to one of the windows on the back of the Tower. Rowen went first, unable to lift Azena anyway with his missing arm. As he climbed inside, he was greeted by a cool, musty air that sent shivers down his spines, the scent of decay hanging heavy in the air like a tangible presence. He uses his remaining arm to pull Azena up. When he did it the pain shooting from the wound was almost unbearable.
Azena said with a caring tone: “I’m sorry, are you alright?”
With pain under his breath he said: “No other way.”
Descending a stony staircase that led deeper into the bowels of the Tower, Rowan and Azena exchanged wary glances. Azena spoke first, her voice tinged with apprehension. "I feel something really bad coming up from down there."
Rowan nodded. “You are right, I feel it too. It’s like a presence, watching. Waiting.”
Rowan nodded in agreement, his grip tightening on his sword as they ventured further into the darkness. With each step they took, the air grew cooler, the oppressive heat of the desert above giving way to a chilling stillness that seemed to seep into their bones.
Finally, they reached a room bathed in darkness, its windowless walls looming over them like silent sentinels. Stone furniture littered the space, the remnants of a bygone era slowly crumbling into dust beneath their feet. In the center of the room, a large table stood, its surface marred by a dark stain that Rowan feared was ancient dried blood. Light came from glowing runes, etched into the walls, their purple light casting a weird tinto onto the shapes.
"There are no books," Azena observed, her voice barely above a whisper as she surveyed the room with a mixture of curiosity and dread. "Only remnants of what once was."
Rowan's gaze lingered on the table, his mind racing with thoughts of the tower's mysterious past. "I wonder who this tower belonged to," he said, his voice filled with a sense of unease. "In the legends of my tribe, the tower has always been there, always forbidden to go near. But we always knew it was something evil."
Azena nodded in understanding, her brow furrowed in thought. "My people tell tales of giants who made a pact with the black moon, building the tower as a monument to their dark deeds."
Rowan thought of the sky outside, the two moons hanging low on the horizon, the big one white and the small one silver. "None of them black," he said.
Their following thoughtful pause was interrupted by a sound from outside the Tower walls, the unmistakable sound of Scalespawn burrowing through the sand that surrounded them. With a sense of urgency, Rowan knew that they could not linger here any longer.
"We better keep going and end this," he said. "Before they find their way in."
A grating female voice suddenly whispered in Rowan's mind: “Turn back and live. Proceed and die.”
Rowans heart raced and he met Azena’s gaze who, judged by her wide eyes, seemed to have heard the same.
Chapter 3: Life Reborn
As Rowan and Azena descended deeper into the bowels of the Tower, the air grew thick with anticipation, each step echoing through the intestinal staircase like a drumbeat of impending doom. The humming sound from earlier reverberated through the stone walls, sending shivers down Rowan's spine as he tightened his grip on his sword.
At the bottom of the Tower, they found the source of the evil, a grotesque mass of flesh suspended from chains, its writhing form covered in white-striped paper adorned with golden runes. The stench of decay filled the air, thick and cloying.
"This is it," Azena whispered.
Rowan nodded, as he raised his sword, ready to slay the darkness. But before he could attack, the voice of the demon echoed through the chamber, mocking them with its sinister laughter.
"You foolish beings," it said, its words dripping with malice. "Always struggling, always spiteing the inevitable. I will be freed, and I will rule."
Rowan screamed in defiance, the faces of his dead family and tribe flashing before his eyes as he charged forward, his sword aimed at the demonic mass. But to his horror, the blade, sinking into the flesh, corroded upon contact, leaving him powerless.
An eye opened on the mass of flesh, its gaze locking onto Rowan with a chilling intensity as the voice continued its taunts.
“You worthless speck of dust, wasted your precious silver on my servant. Now you will die.”
Rowan felt a surge of despair wash over him, realizing that he had failed.
An arm of meaty flesh grew out of the mass and grabbed him.
Rowan screamed in pain, from the grip and from the stump on his arm. “At least I died trying,” he thought. He turned his head to Azena and shouted: “Run. I have failed.”
“No,” Azena said, her eyes blazing with determination as she held up her broken spear, its silver spearhead shimmering in the dim light of the chamber.
“Silver”, Rowan whispered and with a burst of renewed vigor, Rowan reached out, catching the spear with his only arm, as Azena hurled it towards him with all her strength.
"No!" the demon screamed, its voice filled with rage as Rowan drove the silver spearhead into the flesh of the creature. For a moment, the grip around him tightened, threatening to crush him with its monstrous strength. But then, with a sickening squelch, the flesh began to dissolve, melting away into oozing puddles of steaming ichor.
The grip around Rowan loosened and he fell to the ground. As the last traces of the creature vanished, Rowan felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him, his limbs heavy with the weight of their victory. Azena rushed to his side, her arms wrapping around him in a tight embrace.
"You did it," she whispered, her voice filled with worry and admiration.
Rowan leaned into her embrace, his body trembling with exhaustion.
“Don’t you dare to leave me now”, she said, her voice shaking. “There are still people out there, new friends, new family… me.”
Rowan felt a bond sealing. A chain stopping death from pulling him away.
Azena held him up, her strength bolstering his own as they stood together.
As they made their way back out of the Tower, Rowan felt a sense of relief wash over him, knowing that his journey was finally at an end. And as they emerged into the light of the desert sun, Rowan felt a lightness in the air, as if the land itself was finally able to breathe again.
“It will take some time,” Azena said. “But life will come back.”
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Rowan rested on the top of a big rock, looking east, where he assumed his old tribe camp was. The tower that ruined this land was too far away, so all he could see was the endless stone desert. The heat was bearable today and he noticed small shrubs and grasses growing at the feet of the rocks all over the place.
He took a sip out of the recently made animal skin. The water was cold and refreshing. His old water skin, made out of human he had thrown away a long time ago.
As Rowan descended from the rocky outcrop, his heart felt lighter than it had in years. The weight of his past, replaced by a newfound sense of peace and contentment. Azena awaited him at the foot of the rock, her smile radiant and her belly round.
"Food is done," she announced, her voice filled with warmth and affection. Rowan returned her smile, feeling a surge of gratitude for the life they had built together.
Hand in hand, they made their way back to the camp, the sounds of laughter and chatter filling the air around them. Rowan's home nestled in a small valley, surrounded by rocky cliffs and lush greenery. In the center of the camp, a tranquil pond shimmered in the sunlight, its surface rippling gently as water streamed in from a nearby spring.
Around the pond, fresh green plants flourished, their vibrant colors a testament to the new life that had returned to the land. Children played and laughed, their joyful shouts echoing through the valley as hunters returned with fresh game for the evening meal.
For in the embrace of his loved one, surrounded by the beauty of nature and the promise of a new beginning, Rowan knew that he was home at last.
The End
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