The Woeful Tower

‘Impure and wretched are the cursed who walk amongst us. Pity not their fate for it has been decreed by Altyr when he spoke to his vanguard Daryan that they bear an unforgivable taint. May the pure and dawning light of the One God wash over them in death for the blight of magick, a wicked conception cast upon us by false gods, dwells deep within them. May He have mercy on them, for we cannot.

Let it be known, now and forever, that they who carry the taint, they who harbour this sin and they who forgive this curse – there is no sanctuary for you. You will be sought, you will be found and you will be Judged.’  – the teachings of Godrik Gatekeeper, Grand Minister of High Kairon.

It is well known throughout the lands of Ayl’gard that to be mageborn in Hammarkand is almost like living with a death sentence. Those born Aeon blessed within the borders of the Altyran Empire are shunned, exiled, hunted and slain not only for what they are but also for what they may become. History tells of countless tales of mages driven mad with grief, vengeance or a lust for power that have gone on to wreak excruciating havoc upon the lives of those afflicted by their will. One particularly dark account involving a uniquely gifted mage tells of the destruction of an ancient city, that of Duskholm, after an unsuccessful attempt to control his shadow magicks failed in the most devastating way. The ruins of that once glorious testament of the prowess of the Mithylfar lie buried deep underneath the city of Amberfall and its legacy is now almost entirely forgotten.

To wield magicks within the borders of the Empire is forbidden. To offer safety and give harbour to a magick user within the borders of the Empire is forbidden. To express any sentiment or pursue any action that doesn’t follow the laws written and passed down by the first Emperor Daryan, the Vanguard of the One God, to the very letter is, without a shadow of a doubt, completely forbidden.

For a mother to look upon her child and see that faint wisp of fire flicker from nothing or to feel the sudden shudder of an unnatural breeze, it can stir incomparable emotions of despair and sorrow. Should they hide away and flee for the safety of another shore so that she can see her child blossom into what they were intended to become? Or does she rid herself of such an unnatural abomination? That of a cursed child born with an unforgivable impurity whose only true fate by law is to be ridden from society. In the eyes of many dutiful citizens of the Empire, it is considered to be a worthy sacrifice in the eyes of the One god to rid the world of magicks in all forms for magick is a curse, the dark blight of a civilisation striving for purity. Even if the end result is the death of an innocent.

But what of those who live? What becomes of one born with the ability to wield magick who has escaped the watchful eyes of a nation led to believe that their mere existence is an affront to their beliefs?

As previously mentioned, some lucky few might escape north across the sea and flee to Sollistar or Ayrlaston. To have the opportunity to study and practice their craft in the gardens of the Aetherian Academy or the halls of the Aeon Citadel, it is a chance to lead a life free of persecution and fearing for simple being alive. A chance to bring some value and distinction to a life once thought damned.

Others, even fewer in number, will attempt to suppress their power in the hopes of living a ‘normal’ life. Though what sense of normality can be gained from constantly looking over their shoulder as they try to have an almost statuesque reaction to all they come into contact with is a debate best left to the unfortunate few who have had to deal with such things. For a hidden magick wielder to give into the whims of potent emotion, it could unintentionally reveal what they have strived to hide their whole life.

There are those however, who have managed to cling to life and yet have not had the chance to keep hold of their free will. They see only dark walls and iron chains and hear only the screams of the damned or the words of their captors. To the east of the city fortress of High Kairon, a hundred hours away by foot and shrouded in the mists of a vast lake at the centre of bleak, empty moorlands stretching for miles is a solitary tower built upon a foundation of blood and stone. It is known as the Woeful Tower to the few who are aware of it. There are no roads that lead to its doors and Imperial law forbids its location to be noted on any map. Even the Minister of its closest town has been heavily bribed with women, wine and gold to be completely ignorant of its existence. It also helps that he is the second cousin to a high seated Council member of the Imperial Circle. A fact he never shuts up about either, to the annoyance of his subjects.

Its original name, along with its purpose, has been long forgotten. There are some who say that it predates the arrival of Daryan and his followers onto the shores of Valleden and the complex stonework, that no mason of the Empire can replicate, certainly seems to indicate such a perspective. An Emperor who lived over a century ago, known as Uthor the Boastful, once proclaimed it to be the stronghold of the First Mage, a wicked and corrupt man who conjured the very demons from the Hollow Plane to reap his will upon the ancient inhabitants of a civilisation long dead. Though he also once tried to have the wine imported from Solharbour decreed as ‘red piss water tainted by the hands of the unfaithful’ so there are many who have dismissed this claim, amongst others, as the fiction of a thoughtless leader.

Whatever the original intent of the tower though, now it has a darker purpose. It has, over the ages, held countless individuals condemned as cursed by the Ministers of Altyr and the Imperial Circle where only those considered to have very little magickal aptitude are permitted to reside. The Judges of the Sworn Order are sent to scour the Empire in search of any impurity, those deemed unworthy in the eyes of the One god, such as mages in particular. Most who are encountered and are then actually powerful enough to have put up a fight are put to death right there and then. Some however are considered so inept and pitiful as to be considered worthy of redemption. They are sent to the Woeful Tower to live out their days in darkness and silence, to be cleansed of their corruption until the day they are deemed fit to re-join their fellow man in the service of Altyr.

For the outside observer, to be cleansed in this place is thought to be a cruel and unjust fate. A mage who dwells here is starved, beaten, tortured and their skin is routinely burnt until it resembles the ashen grey colour of a Dothylfar. Once the Wardens have decreed someone to have been salvaged, which is a rare circumstance as most who suffer the misfortune of dwelling in this place have a high chance of succumbing to their cleansing, they have their tongues cut out and their fingers removed. Once the prospect of their magicks returning has been utterly eliminated, they are sent to serve in one of the many Cathedrals dotted around Hammarkand where they shall live out the remainder of their days to live and to serve the Empire and their god, Altyr.

If they are finally able to leave such a torrid existence, they are given a name befitting the status of what remains of their life. They become known as one of the Cleansed. To see someone such as this serving in the midst of a sermon to the people, it rarely elicits any sentiment of pity or remorse to the countless followers of Altyr. They see it as an example of the power of an Empire driven to rid their lands of the scourge of magick and also a testament to the will of their god. A deity who has seen fit to bestow upon his chosen the responsibility of such acts to ensure a pure and just society, all according the will and the words set down by the Emperor and the Imperial Circle leading all the way back to the foundations of the Altyran Empire under the rule of Daryan.

So, you may be wondering, what becomes of those who do not survive the ordeal? What happens if, after years of suffering at the hands of the Woeful Wardens, the only way to escape such a life is to simply give up and perish? Underneath the tower is a vast network of caverns and tunnels where the remains of thousands who have died here have been discarded over the centuries. Nigh countless broken bodies and the decrepit remnants of lives extinguished remain scattered and piled in what is considered to be the largest mass grave ever formed in the history of Ayl’gard. So few are those who know of it yet so many are they who lie dead and buried, entombed in darkness and forgotten by history. All to rid an Empire of magick.