A tale of Larisnar
The tower was no higher than any other, the walls no more smooth. With a rope and a cunning blade, the least experienced thief can scale a wall. With a little luck, he can pass through entryways unguarded, and windows left open for the wind.
He slipped down the hallways of the tower with cat-like feet, making no more sound than the breeze. No one moved within the nearby rooms, though echoes of voices drifted from far-away chambers within the tower. Jigoral smiled to himself. Only a master thief would dare to enter such a place; with the help of stolen magic to lay bare the wards upon the road and the glyphs that guarded the entrances, Jigoral was about to prove himself the greatest thief of all.
Somewhere within the tower lay treasures so vast that dragons were said to have carried them to the mountaintop. Magical items, lost for centuries, hoarded by a mage that some said to be older than the Empire, were hidden within these walls. Jigoral intended to free them - or at least, to free one. The Sword of Ackum, created by Ablung the Maker. It was said to grant the power of true invisibility upon any thief that wielded it, though its use demanded a price.
He would have it for his own, and damn the price.
It had taken him hours to enter the tower, and long minutes to move from room to room, unseen and unknown. Each chamber that he searched led him a bit deeper into the tower, toward treasure-rooms that he imagined to be filled with glittering gold.
He opened a large oak door, and peered into a long stone chamber. It was empty, and echoes whispered arcanely as he moved toward the far end. Perhaps the next one would hold the treasures that he sought...
"Enough." A cold, hard voice cut through the silent room, and Jigoral paused in shock.
Then, as mist dissolves before a strong wind, the far end of the room shifted and fell to ash, revealing a thin man with narrow features reclining on a throne of gold and silver. To either side of the throne stood a Deverenian in the robes of an apprentice, and before the man rested a massive crystal scrying ball on a stand of iron. The orb gleamed and glowed, and Jigoral's sharp eyes could see through its surface... to the image it contained.
The image of himself, standing in this room, staring at the mage with a face as white as bone.
"Usavius, thou mayst kill the little thief. He no longer amuses me," Slayer said idly.
"By your will." One of the lesser mages moved forward, drawing a sharp knife from the folds of his robe.
Chanting quietly, the knife-wielding mage threw a small silver coin, and Jigoral had just enough time to dodge as it spun into a whirling cloud of silvered blades. He spun three daggers toward the other man, and they tore into the mage's robes. With a curse, Usavius spread his fingers and shouted magical words. A great cloud of mist swelled out, enveloping Jigoral and obscuring his view.
The canny thief held his breath, closed his eyes to shut out the fumes, and tore two more daggers out of their sheaths. Fighting blindly, he remembered techniques designed to counter the darkness of Myreth's deepest groves, and struck true. One of his blades sank into Usavius' leg, tearing through flesh and gouging bone.
Usavius screamed in pain. Chanting madly, his hand began to drip greenish acid, but Jigoral danced backward before the mage's poison touch could strike him.
"I weary of this amusement, my apprentice. You are obviously inferior, or you would have bested him by now. Let us see if you even have the strength to remain alive." Slayer lifted his hand. "Usavius, are you strong enough to withstand the forces you attempt to wield?" he asked calmly. "It is time I should use them to end this petty play."
"My lord... no...!" As the fireball burst forth from Slayer's upraised palm, Jigoral leapt behind the apprentice and pulled the screaming man down over himself. The fire, when it hit them, roared in fury and scalded Jigoral's flesh. Screams echoed through the courtroom - his own, or those of the mage above him, Jigoral no longer knew. He only knew that when it was over, he lay huddled and terribly burned beneath the corpse of Slayer's apprentice.
Choking from the fumes of the magical fireball, Jigoral slowly pushed the body away from him and tried to crawl to his feet. It was no use - he had been burned too badly. He stared from coal-black eyes at the golden throne, and with his last ounce of strength, he spat upon the floor between them.
"He lives?" Slayer said, more amused than annoyed. "He lives, and dares to cast his breath before me in defiance. Well, well." Rising from the throne, the terrible mage crossed the distance between them, his scarlet robes making soft noises against the cold stone floor. "Now, then, this - this is strength. We shall see, Theoloc," Slayer instructed the second apprentice, who sat as still as a mouse before his master's abandoned throne, "if his mind bears the same strength as his spirit."
Slayer reached for him, but Jigoral raised his daggers. Slayer laughed, plucking them out of the elf's hands as if he were taking a toy from a kitten. "No, no, thief. Not today."
Before Jigoral could move again, Slayer had pressed his palms to the elf's charred skull, chanting words of power that echoed through the thief's mind like echoes of his own soul. He heard a scream - and then another. They were followed by more - hopeless shrieks of mindless agony, followed by gibbering howls and shattered cries.
Days would pass before Jigoral recognized the voice as his own...
Now, Jigoral sits in the Elven lands, holding his daggers as a shield before the madness in his mind. He sees visions within clouds, and speaks tongues that have not been heard for a thousand years. Some say that he is a toy, still, to the Mage Unkind - that his sanity rests within Slayer's Black Tower.
Whatever the case, when the sun falls in the sky and the darkness of night spreads from the east, Jigoral turns toward the Black Tower - no matter where he may stand - and screams once, long and terribly. It is the scream of a soul, torn from its coffers, imprisoned in blood and domination.
And somewhere, we can only imagine that Slayer smiles.