Esteril stood before his Tower as the stones silently slid out of their master’s way. He knew that a storm was coming. Those who had the Gift of the Eye had said that he and all wizards like him would pass into memory, then rumor and finally into nothing more than myth. Esteril Von Durke, Magus of Whispering Vale however, was not one who would allow his name be easily forgotten. He stood in the quiet of the central chamber of his Tower, the stones of which quietly shifted their positions to most effectively channel their master’s will. Before him stood a simple table with assorted blocks of different colors and slowly he began the laborious process of stacking them three at a time crisscrossing each layer. Slowly, the ritual tower took shape until it was the proper 15 stories tall. He then took his book of spells and began to cast.
Battle spells first. Those would be the easiest, he thought. Fire for the upcoming fight. Red bricks slid out of place until a solid red symbol lay on the table. Esteril felt the sympathetic magic of the Wizardcraft respond. As the bricks created a solid small sigil of intent flared on the sides of the bricks showing that the spell had been stored.
There would likely be ground forces, so next he prepared Earth – the power to open canyons and topple armies. Experienced and steady hands deftly slid green bricks from their place to create a second pattern. More sigils flashed a dark green. The commoner magi made compacts with demons to control elemental forces. He scoffed at such weakness. A Wizard was above needing to rely on others for power. Confidence was well and good but precautions must be taken as well. He could not afford to let his confidence become hubris. That would certainly bring his tower down.
Spell by spell, the tower’s stability weakened. Occasionally a brick would stick in place as the whole of the tower shook, threatening to collapse. Twelve spells later, he stopped. He was 1 brick away from casting another spell into his focus however, no bricks would release. One brick was possible but the odds of his success were low. The tower collapsing after channeling this much power would not only waste a considerable amount of his time but the backlash could potentially be deadly. Esteril removed a circlet and held it above his tower. As he did this, the spells stored in the sigils released and magic flowed into his circlet. Having placed it back atop his brow, he stopped. The tower no longer held any power and would not for some time… there was no harm.
He reached carefully for the yellow brick and began the slow process of attempting to dislodge it. The brick slowly freed itself. He placed it on the top of the tower, it swayed as if trying to keep a balance that it had no right to and then collapsed back into a pile on the table. “That. That is the difference between confidence and hubris,” Esteril thought to himself.
In his own Tower, Esteril did not need to expend any energy for simple tasks. He simply willed the candles to light and his writing desk to manifest.
“First, my future student, you must understand that there are towers which channel a wizard’s magic into the shape of whatever spell is desired, and then there are Towers. A Tower is the ultimate expression of a wizard’s power. Even the Dragon Lords fear to challenge a wizard while within his Tower.
I write these words so that those who come after me will know what I was. It has been foreseen that there will be a cycle of great catastrophes that will only end when the world we as Wizards know passes from memory into rumor and from rumor into myth. All we can do is prepare to become nothing more than a child’s bedtime story. Into these tomes I am scribing all my knowledge in the hopes that one day my art will be restored.”