The air is thick with the sage-scented smoke that wafts over you from the censers of the Tower's priests. You seven are the day's entrants to the Tower, and before your entrance, you have been treated to a brief ceremony: a morose banquet, a prayer to Makhios, and a draught of honey wine constitute the customary send-off of all tower-delvers. You have had little time to introduce yourselves to your fellow tower-delvers on this day, but at the very least, you were able to provide them all with a brief introduction, and perhaps a name by which you wish to be referred.
"Proceed, now, and prove yourselves as warriors!" the frail head priest exclaims, stretching his withered hands out to the sky. The Tower's doors are pulled open, and the entrance sits before you, a yawning maw leading into complete darkness. The sensation of crossing the Tower's threshold is strange and ethereal; your movement is sluggish and uncoordinated, as if wading through water, and your head spins. The sensation passes quickly, but the disorientation lasts more than long enough for the priests to shut the doors behind you, enveloping you wholly in the Tower's darkness.
This, too, passes. As the darkness recedes, you find yourselves standing in a long, high-ceilinged hall. It is anything but empty, with people of all sorts scattered about. Some stand guard at the fore of a large pile of assorted chests and barrels, stashed away in one of the hall's corners. Others have various objects laid out in front of them on ornate carpets, and a few are haggling over the price of their wares with potential customers. The vast majority, however, are doing nothing at all, either wandering aimlessly or sitting complacently against the gray, barren wall. A few take notice as you enter, casting unfriendly glances your way.
"Fresh meat!" one cries out, undiscernible amid the sullen crowd, "You won't make it a day!"
At the far end of the hall, opposite of where you find yourselves now, an ornate spiral staircase leads upwards.
"Welcome!" a higher-pitched voice calls out, as a brown-haired and one-armed young human woman pushes her way through the throng of loiterers.
"Don't mind the rabble. This sullen lot is happy to put down anyone they can. You're on the first floor, after all - this is where the wheat is separated from the chaff. I'm Ekaterina Phokaina, long-time prisoner of the Tower, potentially at your service. See, there's much to learn of the Tower, and as a long-time prisoner here, I have that knowledge. I'm happy to avail it to any one of you... for a mere 20% share of anything you find, I'll accompany you. Anyone interested?"
Judging by the intrigued glances of the others on the floor, and how some of them are starting to carefully approach, it seems like this isn't the only person taking an interest to you. Before anyone can begin to answer Ekaterina, one of you, crimson-eyed and cat-like, collapses to the ground.
Isolde
You have barely regained your bearings from entering the Tower before you are once again accosted by dizziness and weakness. This time, however, the feeling is familiar: the warmth of the light you see as your eyes squeeze shut is familiar to you, a common precursor to your visions. They come in a flurry of shapes and colors, yet most prominent among them is the sanguine red of spilled blood, and the darkness that you entered only a moment ago. The only lasting image in this visual bombardment is the silhouette of a figure; a kneeling, broad-shouldered man, wearing a winged helmet and carrying a short spear.
When the visions fade and you come to, you are on the ground. It takes a moment longer for the strength to return to your limbs.
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Topic: Tower of Makhios - I Lost Count of the Turns (8/8, waitlist open) (Read 11064 times)