Road Trip to the Dragon Isles - The Sands of Time (Part 1)
01 Deepkolt 349 AC
The Valley of Blue Sand fades behind the party as they ride north into the desert. Arthur rides Nightrend, Agnes, Davaa and Altan sit high atop their camels, and Phineas brings up the rear on his Across-the-Plains-inator. The stallion is wary of the gnome's bizarre device, refusing to go near the thing.
The blue sand gives way to gold and white, with short patches of exposed rock scoured bare by the unrelenting desert winds. The dying vestiges of winter still cling to the land, sparing the travelers from the searing heat that will arrive just a few weeks hence. Grit still stings their exposed skin and forces them to squint to protect their eyes. Phineas pulls his goggles down and takes the lead, blazing a path for the others to follow.
Close to noon, the desert begins to look and feel... wrong somehow. Sand, instead of forming into dunes, twists into geometric spirals and cones. Sand flows up these formations even without driving wind behind it.
Granite grumbles, "We've reached the Sands of Time. The wizards' tower shouldn't be far off."
"If I recall correctly, you said if we approach the Tower at the center they should polite enou...." Arthur freezes. "Wearing the robes in black....crap....the wizard, I wonder if he was a part of this tower."
The dwarf scratches his beard, "Could be,” the dwarf says. “Black Robes are like veins of coal running through the same mountain. Hard to tell where one seam ends and the next begins.” He scans the horizon uneasily. “But mark me, lad—walking into a wizard’s sanctum is like stepping into a smithy where you don’t know who’s holding the hammer.”
Davaa raises a single closed fist, signaling a halt. He sits higher on his howdah, shielding his eyes from the sand and wind with one hand. After a moment, he points and says, "There."
At first no one can see anything except blowing sand and heat shimmering off of the desert. But then the wind shifts and a narrow, dark shape appears on the horizon.
A tower.
The tower.
Black. Two cones rising from the desert, one pointing up, the other pointing down and meeting at a narrow waist in the middle.
Granite lets out a low whistle. “Well I’ll be chiseled… the wizards didn’t just build a tower. They built a stone hourglass.”
"Fascinating,” Phineas mutters, leaning forward to peer through his goggles.
Altan glances nervously at the shifting dunes. “You said the wizards here were polite,” he says to Granite.
The dwarf grunts. “Aye, Polite as a master smith with strangers in his forge.”
Arthur nudges Nightrend forward to be up front with Davaa and Granite. "We have no real choice but to keep going." He nudges his Khur desert stallion with his heels, urging it forward.
“Technically, my boy,” the gnome mutters to the stallion’s retreating tail, “we do have another option.”
A gear clicks. Steam puffs from a side valve. “We could just go around.”
Agnes rides alongside him on her camel, one eyebrow raised as she watches the towering structure ahead slowly emerge from the haze.
“Where would the fun be in that?” she replies lightly.
Granite snorts. “Fun?” the dwarf rumbles. “Walking into a wizard’s tower is about as fun as sticking your beard in a forge bellows.”
Davaa studies the horizon with a warrior’s eye.
The tower grows nearer with every step.
The upper cone of black stone rises from the desert to a height of one hundred feet. Narrow windows dot the side of the tower facing the party. The ground slopes downward into a bowl-shaped depression surrounding the tower. The wind blowing across the lip of the bowl creates a deep, resonate hum.
Phineas nods, "Just like a bottle. The wind draws air from inside the bowl out while other air rushes in to replace it."
Altan shifts uneasily in his saddle. “You sure the wizards here are polite?”
Granite strokes his beard. “Polite enough,” he says after a moment. “So long as we don’t start swinging hammers in another dwarf’s mine.”
As the party advances, the spiraling dunes seem to shift around them, guiding their path ever closer to the tower.
Arthur looks all around taking in as much as he can. "Just think about how many eras this might have been here for, all the knowledge that's inside, all the stories the stone could tell us if it could speak." Arthur smiles, "Alas, I'm no wizard so I would assume most of that knowledge would be wasted on me."
Granite chuckles, "Aye, lad. Ye may not be a wizard but ye can still spot cracks in a foundation better than most. That's worth more than any spell-slinger or pile o' scrolls I've ever come across."
Agnes smiles, her voice teasing. "Granite is correct, my knight. Not all knowledge is ink and parchment."
Davaa snorts, "The only knowledge I care about is getting through the next day without being turned into something...unnatural."
Altan mumbles in agreement but his eyes still roam across the tower walls with undisguised curiosity.
The party wends their way around the last spiral of sand. The hourglass tower rises before them. Its upper cone points down, meeting the lower cone as it reaches skyward. The narrow section in the middle is surrounded by a narrow balcony.
Phineas brings the Across-the-Plains-inator to a stop, letting steam hiss from its pistons. “Fascinating,” he mutters. “I’d like to examine the structure. There should be no way the center of this tower should be able to support the upper section..."
Davaa narrows his eyes, scanning the tower from the waistline to the spire.
“There,” he says, pointing. A solitary figure in black robes moves along the circular balcony at the tower’s waist.
Agnes tilts her head, studying the distant robed figure. “Looks like our welcome committee has arrived,” she murmurs.
The figure pauses, lifting a hand, and a faint, commanding voice carries on the desert wind, both audible and magically enhanced, “Travelers. Welcome to the Sands of Time. State your names and your purpose here.”
Arthur stops "My name is Arthur. These are my companions: Agnes, Davaa, Altan, Granite, and Phineas. We are traveling to the coast and seek shelter for the night. We mean no harm or ill intent."
As soon as Arthur finishes speaking, the figure from the balcony vanishes and the tower door swings open. A man stands just inside the doorway. His black robes hang loose and unadorned except for a narrow silver clasp at the throat. The hood falls back slightly, revealing a young man with sharp features and watchful eyes.
“I am Nicholas,” he says calmly, voice steady despite the imposing group before him. “Acolyte of the Fifth Rank.”
He beckons the group forward, “Enter. Guests are welcome, but none shall wander beyond the first floor unescorted. Food, water, and quarters will be provided.”
A broad stairway made of the same black stone as the rest of the tower leads up along the inner wall. The entry hall has three large dining tables. There is a door at the far end of the chamber and three doors along the wall to the party’s right.
Nichols motions to the three doors. "You may select any of these rooms for the night. The kitchen is available for your needs but dinner will be served in an hour."
Arthur steps forward. "Thank you." Arthur looks to his friends and speaks in a hushed tone, "I think we should share a room and rotate watches like normal."
This receives a round of agreement from all of his companions, none of whom are particularly keen on being left alone with one of the tower's dark wizards.
"I have some small duties to attend to. I will return shortly. Do not venture beyond this floor," Nicholas says as he lifts a smokeless torch from a sconce at the bottom of the stairs. "There are things here that... well, things you don't want to encounter without a wizard by your side no matter how..." He pauses and looks directly at Agnes, "formidable you might be."
Tall black pillars rise to a ceiling the light doesn't quite reach despite the flickering purple lanterns placed all around the room. The aroma of herbs and spiced meat wafts into the dining hall from the doorway that Nicholas indicated leads into the kitchen. As the door leading out of the tower swings shut, the unrelenting drone of the desert wind is cut off, leaving the group surrounded by silence.
Granite clears his throat. "There is a potential gain to be had. We have several enchanted items leftover from that fight with the dragon and the mercenary with the green cape that none of us can make use of. Fine pieces of craft but they weigh down our packs needlessly. Perhaps we can trade for something useful these wizards posses."
Agnes tilts her head slightly, her eyes drifting around the chamber as if she can feel the magic humming through the tower’s walls. “Wizards do enjoy acquiring interesting objects,” she says softly.
Davaa folds his arms. “Just make sure they don’t decide we’re the interesting objects.”
Altan snorts quietly at that.
Arthur looks to Agnes, "He knows, there's no way he doesn't know" He looks to Granite "I was thinking the same thing."
About an hour later, Nicholas returns. He is followed by three other black-robed wizards. The first is a man Arthur immediately recognizes - the wizard from the Khur encampment, the one who kidnapped the prince.
He moves with composed, deliberate steps, his black robes flowing around him like shadow. His expression is calm, controlled—though his eyes linger on Arthur and the others for just a fraction too long.
Nicholas stops before the party and bows his head slightly. "Allow me to present my fellow initiates, Rohzgan and Ogderel and our master, Magister Zalthex.
The man identified as Rohzgan slows his entrance. The strange otter riding on his shoulder stares steadily at Agnes. Its claws dig into his arcane owner's robe, causing him to wince.
Zalthex's brow furrows for perhaps a quarter-second as he notices Rohzgan's reaction to the group. Then he lays eyes on Agnes. He bows slightly, his eyes never leaving her. "I welcome all of you to our tower. It isn't often that we have the privilege of hosting such... interesting guests."
The magister moves forward gracefully and extends a hand to her, "Your Grace, may I escort you to dinner?"
Agnes inclines her head, "Of course, thank you for your hospitality."
As the group heads toward the dining hall, Arthur speaks, "Nicholas, I was wondering if you may have items to trade?"
“If you wish to discuss matters of commerce,” the young acolyte says, “the tower does occasionally engage in such exchanges.”
Magister Zalthex scoffs, "Dinner first, children. We can discuss plebeian matters of barter later. For now, let us enjoy each other's company." As he leads the group to the dining hall, his staff taps lightly on the stone and he seems to glide more than walk. He turns and looks to the party, his gaze lingering on Agnes longer than the rest. "I hope the trip through the desert wasn't too arduous and that our accommodations are to your liking."
"The trip was long but not overly difficult," Agnes carefully replies.
"That is both good and bad to hear. Good because I would not wish any distress upon you, bad because you may only choose to stay a short while to recover from the rigors of travel. Ah, perhaps I can persuade you to extend your visit." Zalthex's voice is smooth, with the practiced pitch and rhythm of a trained thespian.
"Here we are. The dining hall. Agnes, Arthur, will you do me the honor of sitting beside me?"
Arthur looks to Zalthex, "Unfortunately, we can't stay. We have a long way to go." Arthur sits but does not eat, instead keeping a carful eye on Rohzgan. He holds Agnes’s hand, "Sir Zalthex, I mean no disrespect but I must ask...is there something you want from us?"
"This far from civilization?" Zalthex smiles and looks at Agnes once more, "Just some pleasurable company."
Servants come bearing platters of roasted desert goat, flatbread, olives, and spiced wine.
Zalthex steeples his long, slender fingers and smiles. His staff rests against the chair beside him.
Everyone goes quiet. Nicholas glances uncertainly between the two men. Rohzgan pauses with his wine glass held to his lips.
Granite mutters under his breath while tearing a piece of bread, “Straight to the heart of the vein, eh? No point chipping rock when you can swing the pick.”
Agnes remains calm and continues to hold Arthur’s hand from across the table.
Across the table, Rohzgan finally speaks. “Your journey north,” he says evenly. “You mentioned the coast.”
Arthur nods slightly but keeps his eyes on him. “Yes.”
“To the Cape of Nordmaar?”
Arthur gives a small nod.
Rohzgan’s expression betrays nothing, but the otter’s claws tighten slightly on his shoulder.
Zalthex casually lifts his goblet. “The roads of Khur are dangerous,” he says. “Bandits, tribes, and worse things in the desert. You have already encountered some of them, I believe.”
His eyes flick briefly to Rohzgan.
The wizard does not react.
Zalthex then looks back to Agnes, his tone softer again. “It would be a shame if such… interesting travelers rushed away too quickly.”
Granite clears his throat. "Yes, quite the shame but the possibility of trade was mentioned."
Nicholas shifts slightly, clearly relieved to move the conversation toward safer territory.
“Yes,” the young acolyte says. “The tower does occasionally engage in such exchanges.”
Zalthex sighs theatrically and sets his goblet down.
Arthur does not smile. His hand remains clasped around Agnes’s.
Across the table, Granite clears his throat loudly. The dwarf wipes his fingers on a cloth and leans forward slightly, beard bristling with polite determination.
“Yes, quite the shame,” Granite says, nodding gravely. “But the possibility of trade was mentioned.” He gestures toward the table with a thick finger.
"Must we descend into mercantile matters during dinner?” he says dryly.
“With respect, Magister,” the dwarf replies, “A good deal is like a hot forge—best worked while the iron’s warm.”
For a moment, Zalthex studies the dwarf.
Then a small smile spreads across his face.
“Very well,” he says. “You make a compelling argument, Master…?”
"Granite,” the dwarf replies. “Merchant Prince.”
Zalthex inclines his head slightly.
“Very well, Master Granite. After dinner we shall review your… merchandise.”
After everyone has eaten, Rohzgan finally speaks, his voice smooth and controlled. “What items do you propose to trade?”
Arthur glances briefly at Phineas.
"Well!” Phineas says excitedly. “We have several enchanted pieces obtained during recent adventures!”
He begins laying them out on the edge of the table one by one: a suit of full armor, a large shield, a ring, a heavy mace and a light crossbow.
Magister Zalthex does not even glance at the armor or shield.
“Take those away,” he says mildly, waving a hand. “We are not a supply depot for knights. The ring, the crossbow, even the mace, although it is a bit brutish for my taste—these hold practical value.”
“In exchange, we can offer items more suited to your… journey.”
He gestures, and Nicholas steps forward with a small black-lacquered case. Inside, nestled in dark velvet, are several items.
The first item is a slender wand, made of obsidian and etched with silver runes. Nicholas clears his throat, "This will protect those touched from environmental extremes - useful for desert crossings or sea voyages."
The second artifact is a simple iron ring, "The person who bears this ring will be able to survive for up to a week at a time without food, water, or rest."
A small silk packet with sand inside is the next thing offered. "This powder, when sprinkled on a person or object, confers a brief period of invisibility, useful for those times when discretion outweighs valor."
Granite nods slowly, calculating market prices in his head and nods at Arthur.
Arthur nods. "I think we have a deal, my good sirs." He watches as the goods are traded. "Well now that that is over, it's getting fairly late. Once you all are ready shall we retire for the evening?" He looks around and takes in all he can.
Davaa, Agnes, and Altan all nod in agreement. Granite rises, reluctant to leave the table while there's still trading to be done. “A shame,” he mutters. “Feels like walking out of a rich tunnel with ore still in the walls.”
Phineas does not reply immediately as he is busy doodling on a scrap of paper. He has drawn what looks more-or-less like a speaking trumpet.
Agnes gently touches his shoulder, "Professor?"
The gnome looks up, "Oh, yes. Um... what you said."
Nicholas steps forward again. “I will show you to your quarters,” he says politely.
Zalthex rises from his seat, his staff tapping softly against the stone floor. “A pleasure hosting you,” he says, his gaze once again settling briefly on Agnes. “Rest well. The Sands of Time are… quieter at night. But no less watchful.”
Nicholas leads them down a quieter corridor toward the guest quarters. The hustle and bustle of the tower fades away, replaced by the low hum of magic running through the walls.
Their room is as promised - clean, with comfortable beds and more importantly, a heavy stone door. A narrow window looks out over the shifting sands. A violet flame burns inside of a simple lantern.
Arthur steps inside last, pausing just long enough to scan the hallway behind them before closing the door. Davaa begins checking the room’s corners. Altan moves to the door. Agnes stands near Arthur.
Granite wipes the back of his neck with one hand, "Well, we managed to make a deal and keep all of our fingers. That's something at least."
Arthur joins Davaa. Once they have cleared the room, Arthur leans against the wall. "I say we leave right away in the morning and put as much distance between us and here as possible. As for the equipment we traded for, divide it up amongst yourselves as you see fit. I have everything I should need. I'll take first watch. You five should try and get some rest."
A moment later, there is a knock at the door. Zalthex's voice can be heard, "Agnes, Your Grace, a moment of your time if I may."
Agnes sighs and makes her way to the door. She opens it, "Master Zalthex, how may I assist you?"
He smiles, "Actually, Your Grace, it is I who would like to assist you. I would like to offer you a tour of the observatory - access to knowledge few ever get the chance to see."
"I think not, sir. My companions and I have an early morning planned and I must take my rest," she replies.
"Ah, of course, I shan't keep you." Zalthex turns to leave and pauses," Perhaps on your return trip, then?"
Arthur looks over, "Agnes, my love, the bed ready for you, my dear."
Zalthex turns with measured grace, staff tapping lightly once against the floor as he begins to walk away. Then he pauses, just slightly and continues on his way.
Agnes closes the door. "He wants me to stay,” she says. “Not directly. But everything he says bends that way.”
Once the wizard is gone and out of earshot, Arthur speaks, "He really wants you."
Granite snorts from his bedroll.
“Aye,” the dwarf mutters. “That’s a miner who’s found a gem he doesn’t want anyone else digging up.”
Davaa, standing near the wall, folds his arms. “He’s dangerous.”
Altan nods once. “More than the one with the otter,” he adds.
Arthur sighs. "Do you think we should leave tonight? Or wait till the morning? At this rate I feel like the sooner the better." He rubs his neck, "I feel uneasy here."
Granite shifts on his bed. “Aye,” the dwarf murmurs. “That’s your instincts tapping the stone, lad. And I’ll tell you true—when the rock starts sounding hollow, you don’t wait around to see what’s living inside it.”
Davaa, still near the wall, shakes his head.
“Night travel in the desert is dangerous,” he says plainly. “Even more so in strange lands like this. If they wanted us dead, they had their chance.”
Altan nods. “But they don’t want us dead,” he adds. “That’s the problem.”
Phineas looks up from his sketch, "Statistically speaking, staying would be safer, my boy."
Agnes’s gaze drifts to the door. "He wants time,” she says softly. “Both of them do. Zalthex wants to draw us in… and Rohzgan wants to make sure we never speak about what we saw.”
In the hall outside, something moves, its shadow shifting across the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor.
Arthur puts himself between them and the door his hand on his silver dagger and he places an ear to it. He signals them to be ready just in case. He jesters to the bottom of the door and mouths "shadow".
Davaa draws his sword, gripping it with both hands. Altan sets an arrow to his bowstring while Granite readies his warhammer. Phineas crosses the room and grabs the knob.
Arthur whispers to Phineas, "Slowly."
Phineas pulls on the door, opening it a crack to reveal...
... an empty hallway.
Arthur pushes the door shut with a soft click. "It's going to be a long night, try and get some sleep. I'll watch first." He leans against the wall by the door, watching and listening for anything.
One by one, the others settle in but none of them truly relax. Davaa sleeps with his greatsword in easy reach. Altan lays down with his bow across his chest.
Granite lowers himself onto his bed with a grunt. He looks over at Arthur. "Wake me for the next shift...or if the walls start talking."
Phineas pulls his goggles down over his eyes and carefully stuffs his sketch into one of his pockets.
Agnes remains awake a moment longer, watching Arthur. “Be careful,” she says softly.
Arthur nods once. “Always.”
She finally lies down and closes her eyes but her body remains tense and the knight knows that she doesn't actually fall asleep.
Hours pass slowly. The violet light of the lamp flickers but no breeze disturbs it. The paladin listens, half-holding his breath. At times, he thinks he hears movement on the other side of the wall (or possibly inside of the stone). What could be a whisper or simply his imagination reaches his ears, tugging at the edges of his awareness.
More time passes. The shadow beneath the door shifts, slowly... deliberately. Then it stops. Arthur's hand drifts to Lawbringer.
The moment stretches out. Then - a soft tap - not a knock, comes from the far side. Just a single... touch against the door.
Granite’s voice comes out of the violet haze, a rumble barely above a whisper. "That's not a wandering shadow."
No further sound follows. Arthur begins to wonder if there was ever a sound to begin with. He reaches for the door. The shadow moves on.
Granite shifts again, pulling on his boots. "I got next, lad. Get some sleep if ye can."
Arthur nods and in a quiet voice tells the dwarf, "Don't hesitate to wake me. No matter what." Arthur lays beside Agnes, wrapping his arms around her waist, trying to sleep but not fully resting.
Granite takes up a position by the door. He listens. Arthur's breathing, and Agnes’s becomes more steady and the pair finally sleep. His gaze sweeps the floor, the walls, the ceiling, and the gap at the bottom of the door. The violet lantern continues to glow, casting the room in lavender shadow. He moves to the wall, placing a hand upon it and closes his eyes, feeling the weight of the Tower through the stone.
A low hum runs through the stone. He can feel the movement of sand rushing through the structure. A gasp. "The tower doesn't just look like an hourglass. It is an hourglass!" He tilts his head, listening to every creak, every shift, every breath. "The tower...it's not built on the stone, it's grown out of it!"
He shifts his hand, feeling deeper.
There...
He jerks his hand away, takes a step back from the wall. "By the forge..." he whispers. "This mine's not just occupied, it gots a mind." He adjusts his grip on his hammer., glances toward the door, the ceiling, and then back to his friends. "And we be sleeping right in its heart."
Comments
Post a Comment