RP: Upon arriving at his Tower of High Magic, the battlemage paused a moment to take in the sight of his fortress against the dark night sky. With the help of his mentor and long time friend, Lucas Wyngarde, he had manage to create a safe haven for those seeking knowledge and enlightenment. He drifted off into thought, recalling the events that had transpired since he last seen his home. The Pirate Queen Limbo has ascended to the throne,and suddenly, there was chaos and fighting exploding from every angle of the kingdom it seemed. Blaming the incoming regime for this outbreak of violence seemed hasty, at best. Worst of all, this shadow of anarchy had already reached Ironwood. Gream had just returned from the coronation ceremony just in time to witness the five factions squaring off to destroy each other. The dwarf Kellthar had made him a lucrative offer to assist him in battle for the mountain populous, so he took the field to exterminate any and all foes. They only thought they wanted to fight, he grumbled to himself, as he recalled the enemy factions. Many were slain by magic and even more by steel. Didnt they realize resistance is futile? he asked himself. The thought was dismissed after a quick sigh, there were affairs to be tended to after all. He trotted up the tower stairs to his personal quarters two at a time. He knew he could have teleported to his room, but this route was nice too. The smooth stone walls reminded him of his time as an apprentice and besides, stairs were nothing to giant of his stature. Upon reaching the top, the door opened with a wave of the wizards hand. There were a pile of letters and important paperwork awaiting his attention on the desk, but that would have to wait for now. Now was the time for rest. He walked over and took at seat in his favorite chair by the fireplace, took off his boots, and put his feet up on an ottoman. A quick glance at the door caused the portal to close and latch, then the battlemage grabbed his trusty pipe and took a few puffs. Safe, secure, and warm, the fatigue due to his work with the wizards guild and the epic battles from the last reign had finally set in, Gream dozed off to sleep. An hour or so had passed without any movement or sound, save the occasional crackle from the fire, when the sleeping man launched out of his chair. THE ARTIFACT! WHERE IS IT?! He patted down his pockets, removing items such as his flint and spellbook. WHERE COULD IT BE?? The battlemage began nevously pacing in front of the fireplace, trying to use his powers to discern the items location. AHA! I KNOW!, he said as he produced a small pouch from inside his robe. I must have left it in here. Silly me. He opened the pouch and began to root around in it. Its not here either. Youve got to be kidding me. After a few more moments of searching, Gream sat down on the edge of the chair and dropped his head into his hands. This cant be happening. THIS CANT BE HAPPENING!, he shouted at the top of his lungs. He slammed his fists into the arm rests, creating an echoing thunder that could be heard for miles surrounding the tower. Then a moment of clarity hit the angry Wetlander. I left it at the Guild Masters of Wizards Tower! That means...his voice trailed off. Oh sh- The paragon wizard couldnt finish that sentence, for he lay unconscious on the floor.
Posted on: Wed, 17 Dec 2014 06:01:00 +0000
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