Chapter 10: Nothing Stays Simple | Dunmoor’s Definitely Doomed

The group gathered in the center of the room, surrounded by shelves of dusty tomes, trinkets covered in cobwebs, and artifacts that had long since lost their shine. Above them, the light from the tower’s singular window cast long shadows across the floor. The tower was old, ancient even, and each of them could feel the weight of years pressing down on their shoulders.

The voice in the chest had gone quiet since their first encounter with it. It was an ornate chest—its wood darkened by age and its lock gleaming with unnatural polish. Zerai, ever the curious one, knelt in front of the box, her head cocked to one side as she considered the lock’s intricate design. Her fingers itched with excitement. Magic was involved here, and that meant a puzzle to solve.

She tapped the chest lightly with her staff. “Still with us, mystery man?”

There was a soft shuffling sound from within the chest, and then the voice returned, muffled but desperate. “I… I am. Please, let me out of this prison. I beg you.”

Lira, standing a few paces back, frowned deeply, her arms folded across her chest. The elf was watching the exchange with thinly veiled distrust. “We don’t know what’s inside, Zerai. This could be something far worse than it sounds.”

“Something worse?” Thane, the dwarf, chuckled from where he was rifling through the bookshelves. “Sounds like a poor sod trapped in a box. Can’t get much worse than that.”

Zerai shot Lira a look. “Come on, he’s begging for help. What’s the harm in at least hearing him out?” She leaned closer to the chest. “You said your name was… what again?”

There was a pause, then the voice replied hesitantly. “My name is… Ederan. I’ve been trapped in this accursed box for… I can’t even recall how long. Please, release me.”

Elora, her holy symbol dangling from her neck, approached with caution. “A voice in a box? Sounds like the beginning of every story where something goes horribly wrong.”

“Ugh, no one asked for a sermon, Elora,” Zerai muttered, waving her hand dismissively. “Hey, Ederan—what got you in there in the first place?”

The voice hesitated again. “I… I was imprisoned unjustly. The wizard who owns this tower… he’s cruel. He locked me away for reasons I don’t understand.”

Lira’s frown deepened. “A wizard? Imprisoning someone in a chest like this? That doesn’t bode well. If we let him out, we could be releasing something we can’t control.”

Zerai sighed, clearly growing impatient with the caution. “Or we could be helping someone who’s been unjustly trapped for who knows how long. This is why you lot are always stuck in the woods or chasing gnolls. You don’t take enough risks.”

Thane, uninterested in the debate, had pulled a large, musty book from the shelf. “Bah, you’re all too focused on that chest. Look at this place. It’s like a damned library for the insane.” He held up a heavy tome and squinted at the title: “Seven Secrets of Stalking Shadows.” He chuckled. “Sounds like bedtime reading for Zerai.”

Zerai wasn’t paying attention. She had already shifted her focus to the lock on the chest. “You know what? I’m just going to try something. We’ve wasted enough time here. Everyone, cover your ears.”

Lira’s eyes widened. “What exactly are you about to—”

“Just trust me!” Zerai interjected quickly, not waiting for objections. “Voice-in-the-box, can you cover your ears?”

“I… I cannot,” the voice answered, confusion creeping into its tone.

“Then think happy thoughts.” Zerai grinned as she began muttering an incantation under her breath, tracing her hands in the air. Sparks of blue light danced between her fingertips as the magical symbols took shape. The air seemed to ripple as her magic grew, gathering energy like a storm preparing to break.

With a final flick of her wrist, Zerai unleashed the spell, sending a sharp pulse of energy directly toward the chest’s lock. The crack of magic hitting the ancient wood reverberated through the room like thunder, making the ground beneath them tremble.

But the chest remained firmly shut.

Zerai blinked in disbelief, then let out an exasperated groan. “Really? That was one of my best tricks!”

While Zerai muttered curses under her breath, Thane continued his casual exploration of the wizard’s book collection. His thick fingers plucked another volume from the shelf, one bound in worn green leather. He dusted it off and read aloud: “The Art of Illusory Allies: Creating Companions You’ll Never Lose.” He chuckled softly. “Someone’s got trust issues.”

He pushed the book back into its place and reached for another, a slender red tome with silver embossing. This one seemed almost to hum with its own energy. The title sent a shiver down his spine: “How to Make Friends with Necromancy.” Thane scowled. “Necromancy. Always with the dark magic.”

He held the book up to the others. “Look at this one. A wizard with a damned necromancy manual? Not exactly the kind of bloke you’d want for a neighbor.”

Elora’s eyes narrowed. “Necromancy? That explains a lot.”

“It does more than explain,” Zerai added, eyeing the chest warily. “I think it raises a lot more questions.”

But Zerai wasn’t finished yet. Determination—and a hint of irritation—flashed across her face as she readied another spell. “Alright, let’s see if I can untangle this mess. This might feel… strange. Everyone, just… brace yourselves.”

She began casting again, but this time the magic she summoned was more subtle, more intricate. The symbols she traced in the air glowed faintly at first, then pulsed with a steady rhythm. As she chanted, the energy coalesced, filling the room with a soft hum.

Suddenly, the room changed.

The colors drained from everything—like paint being sucked from a canvas. It wasn’t immediate, but rather a slow, deliberate siphoning of hues. The reds, the blues, the golds all swirled upward, pooling at the center of the ceiling like water swirling in a tub, until there was nothing left but stark shades of gray.

Everything inside the tower was now black and white. The adventurers, the furniture, the books—even the fire in the hearth was rendered in cold, ashen hues. It felt as though they had been pulled into some strange dream where reality itself had been muted.

Zerai’s face paled as she looked around. “Okay… that’s… that’s not normal.”

Outside the window, the world carried on in full color. Townsfolk moved through the square below, their brightly colored cloaks and dresses standing in stark contrast to the monochrome world inside the tower. Birds chirped in the golden light of day, utterly unaware of the bizarre shift that had taken place within.

“What just happened?” Elora asked, her voice trembling as her eyes scanned the now colorless room.

“Well, uh…” Zerai bit her lip, clearly stalling. “Magic’s… tricky.”

“Tricky?” Lira’s voice was sharp, her brows knitting together. “Tricky is when you accidentally trip a trap. This is… something else.”

Elora’s hands tightened around her holy symbol. “This is alarming.”

Zerai offered a nervous grin. “It’s not that alarming—”

The words were barely out of her mouth when a piercing alarm echoed through the tower, accompanied by a flashing red light. The sound was shrill, a painful screech that bounced off the stone walls, making everyone flinch.

Zerai winced. “Okay. Maybe it’s a little alarming.”

“We need to get out of here.” Thane’s voice was gruff as he motioned toward the door. His instinct, as always, was to retreat from whatever was causing the problem, especially if it involved too much magic.

The group moved quickly toward the exit, but as they approached the open archway that led out of the room, they collided with something unexpected. Instead of stepping through the doorway, they pressed against an invisible wall—a smooth, almost jelly-like barrier that rippled slightly under their touch.

Lira pressed her hand firmly against the barrier. “What is this?” she murmured, her brow furrowed in confusion.

The surface of the barrier was slick and yielding, almost like a membrane stretched too thin. It gave beneath their fingers but did not break, like the skin of an old pudding left out far too long. A faint shimmer ran across its surface as it vibrated under their touch.

“It’s… sticky,” Zerai noted, poking it experimentally. “Kind of gross, actually.”

Thane grunted, his fists pounding against the barrier. “This is just great. Trapped in a wizard’s tower with no way out. Bloody magic.”

Elora shook her head, her eyes darting around the room as she tried to make sense of their situation. “This isn’t natural magic. Something’s keeping us in here.”

Zerai’s frustration was growing by the second. The alarm continued to blare in the background, each flash of red light grating on her nerves. “Alright, fine! If we can’t leave through the door, we’ll deal with this another way.”

Her eyes fell on the alarm’s light source—the flashing red orb in the corner of the ceiling. Without a second thought, she began casting again, her hands moving in a flurry of arcane symbols, faster and more erratic than before.

The energy arced between her fingers, crackling and popping with intensity. The air around her shimmered as though the very fabric of reality was bending under the force of her spell.

Thane’s voice cut through the tension. “We gonna need to cover our ears for this one?”

Zerai shot him a sideways glance, her expression strained but full of determination. “Wouldn’t do you any good.”

With a final, forceful gesture, she released the spell.

A loud, crashing sound filled the room, as if the very stones of the tower had split in two. The spell ricocheted off the walls, sending shockwaves through the air. The invisible membrane keeping them trapped bulged outward, expanding like a balloon under pressure. Each window, each door frame, stretched with the force of the magic, the surface of the barrier trembling as it absorbed the impact.

Outside, a faint metallic pow could be heard, a strange reverberation that seemed to echo far beyond the confines of the tower.

For a moment, the room fell silent. But the damage had been done.

The spell’s aftershock hit Elora hard. She gasped, her eyes rolling back as she collapsed to the floor, her hands clutching her head. Blood trickled from her ears, staining her white robes as her body went limp.

“Elora!” Lira was by her side in an instant, her heart pounding in her chest. She knelt beside her friend, pressing her hands to Elora’s temples, trying to channel any healing energy she could muster. “Come on, Elora, wake up!”

But there was no response.

Zerai’s face paled as she watched, guilt and panic written across her features. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean for this to happen!”

Tako, caught up in the chaos, let out a feral roar and shifted into his bear form. His massive paws slammed against the invisible barrier, each strike sending ripples through the gelatinous surface, but it held firm. His roars of frustration filled the room, his fury only growing as he continued to batter the unyielding walls.

Lira’s hands trembled as she pressed her fingers to Elora’s chest, whispering prayers and applying a healing salve to no avail. “Come on, Elora. Please.”

Thane stood by, his jaw clenched. His eyes flicked between Zerai and Elora, frustration and anger bubbling just beneath the surface. “This is a damned mess.”

Suddenly, the alarm cut off, and the room fell into a thick, oppressive silence. The only sound left was the ragged breathing of the party.

Then, from above, there was a sound—the soft creak of a door opening. Light spilled down the stone stairwell, and from the shadows, a figure emerged.

A tall, slender man began his descent down the steps, his robes flowing elegantly behind him. His face was sharp, almost aristocratic, and his dark eyes gleamed with quiet amusement as they scanned the room.

The wizard moved with an unsettling calm, his footsteps deliberate, controlled. He seemed to glide rather than walk, each movement a testament to his mastery of magic.

“Why,” he began, his voice like silk, cutting through the tension, “are you attempting to rob my home?”

His words were calm, almost conversational, as though they were discussing nothing more serious than the weather. But there was a dangerous edge to his tone.

Lira stood first, her posture defensive. “We weren’t—”

The wizard raised a hand, silencing her. “You entered my tower uninvited. You rifled through my belongings…” His eyes flicked toward Thane, who still clutched the necromancy book in his hands. “…and you attempted to break into my chest. Should I not assume the worst?”

Thane, still holding the book, scowled. “We thought you were keeping someone prisoner in there!” He pointed toward the chest.

The wizard arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “And what if I am? Perhaps I am protecting this city from a great danger, one that would consume the souls of everyone you hold dear.”

Zerai, her curiosity piqued, stepped forward. “And are you? Protecting the city, I mean.”

A slow smile crept across the wizard’s face. “Whether I am or not is of no concern to you. But I must wonder…” His gaze swept across the group. “What business do you have in my tower?”

Thane’s grip tightened on the necromancy book, his knuckles whitening with tension. He took a step forward, his stout frame brimming with indignation. “So, you’re just keeping someone in that tiny box? Some prisoner you’ve had locked away for centuries?” His voice was gruff, but beneath it was a protective anger. “That’s a wee confined space for any living creature. What kind of monster does that?”

The wizard’s eyes gleamed in the low light, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “And what if I am?” His tone was calm, almost bemused, as if Thane’s accusation were little more than a childish tantrum. “What is it to you, dwarf? Do you even know the circumstances behind the voice in that chest? Or have you simply assumed that because something begs for freedom, it deserves it?”

Thane scowled, his grip tightening on the book. “Doesn’t sound like any prisoner’s been treated fairly, trapped in there for centuries, does it?”

The wizard’s expression didn’t falter. He moved slowly, his movements deliberate and composed. “How can you be certain,” he continued, his voice still smooth and confident, “that I do not protect this city from a great demon who would have their souls if released?”

A hush fell over the room as his words sank in. Zerai’s eyes widened slightly, the spark of curiosity flaring once again. She couldn’t help herself. “Do you?” she asked, taking a step closer to the wizard. “Do you protect the city from some great evil trapped in that chest?”

The wizard turned his gaze to her, and for a moment, his face was unreadable. Then, he gave a small, humorless laugh. “Whether I do or do not is of no concern to you.” He took a step forward, his voice growing sharper. “But what should concern you is your continued presence in my tower. If you do not explain yourselves, I’ll make sure you find out exactly what it feels like to be stuffed into a chest, waiting for some foolish thieves to release you.”

He moved past them all with eerie grace, coming to stand over Elora. Without a word, he nudged her lightly with his boot, and her body jerked. The blood that had dripped from her ears was gone, and her eyes fluttered open in confusion.

“Elora!” Lira gasped, rushing to her side.

Elora blinked, her vision slowly clearing. She sat up, gingerly touching her head as if expecting to feel the lingering pain. “What… happened?” she asked weakly, her voice hoarse.

Before anyone could answer, the wizard casually waved his hand in Tako’s direction. The massive bear who had been battering against the walls suddenly shimmered, shrinking back into his human form. Tako stood, blinking in surprise as if he’d just woken from a deep sleep, his wild aggression dissipating.

Lira was the first to speak, her voice steady though her hands still shook from the intensity of the situation. “We weren’t trying to steal from you,” she began, keeping her eyes on the wizard. “We came here because we’re searching for answers. There’s something happening, and we’ve been pulled into it.”

The wizard arched an eyebrow but said nothing, allowing her to continue.

“It all started with gnolls,” Lira explained, her voice growing stronger. “We were hired to track them down after they raided a village. They’d taken a man’s children, and when we found them, we discovered they were carrying something strange—an object, a focus, used for controlling them.”

Zerai chimed in, her eyes flickering with interest. “It was magical. We took it to someone we knew—an apothecary named Gilderoy. He’s the one who told us it was a focus for controlling creatures, but there’s more.”

Elora, still pale but recovering, nodded. “Gilderoy said there was a ritual—a way to trace the magic back to its source. But…” She hesitated, casting a glance at Zerai.

Zerai continued the explanation. “The ritual requires the heart of a sylphid, a magical creature. That’s what brought us here, to Kaethar. Along the way, we ran into a grathok, and…” She trailed off, unsure of how much to reveal.

Lira took over. “And we were pointed in the direction of a shopkeeper, Varna. She told us this tower was a place of power, where we might find more answers. We were looking for help, not trouble.”

The wizard listened, his face impassive. When Lira finished, his eyes narrowed slightly. “And do you know who I am?”

“Are you Malakar Revaine?” Zerai asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her curiosity clearly piqued.

The wizard inclined his head slightly. “Indeed I am.”

The party exchanged glances, the name finally matching the figure standing before them. This was the man they had hoped to find, but his reputation was far darker than they had anticipated.

“We thought Gilderoy might have sent us in the right direction,” Lira said, her voice tentative.

Malakar gave a low chuckle. “Gilderoy? You’ve put your trust in that man?” He paused, letting the tension settle. “You’re more foolish than I thought.”

“What do you mean?” Elora asked, her tone urgent. “He’s been guiding us. He told us about the ritual—how it can trace the magic, stop the threat.”

“Oh, it can do that,” Malakar admitted, his eyes gleaming with dangerous amusement. “The heart of a sylphid can indeed be used in such a ritual. But did he tell you what else it can do?”

The party exchanged uneasy glances. “What else can it do?” Thane asked, his voice suspicious.

“A sylphid’s heart is a rare and powerful ingredient,” Malakar explained, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, as if sharing a secret too dark for the light. “It can be used for rituals of immense power—rituals that can create, or destroy, in ways most mages can only dream of. Trusting anyone who asks for such a component is dangerous, especially someone like Gilderoy.”

Zerai frowned, her brow furrowing. “You’re saying we shouldn’t trust him?”

Malakar waved his hand dismissively, a fluid gesture that seemed to dismiss the very idea of Gilderoy as a threat. “I wouldn’t trust that man to brew a proper potion, let alone guide you through something as dangerous as this. If you’ve come here looking for answers, you’ll find none in his company.”

And with that, he performed an intricate flourish with his hands, his fingers dancing through the air as if tracing invisible threads of magic. The room seemed to shift again, the color that had drained from their surroundings returning with a sudden rush. Hues of red, blue, and green flowed back into the world, bringing the room to life once more.

Thane, ever the skeptic, wasn’t so easily convinced. He took a step forward, glaring at Malakar with narrowed eyes. “And what about this?” he demanded, thrusting the necromancy book toward the wizard. “You’ve got a book on necromancy sitting right here on your shelf!”

Malakar’s eyebrows rose in mild surprise, his gaze settling on the book in Thane’s hands. He tilted his head slightly, squinting at the title on the green cover. “Necromancy?” he repeated, his tone questioning. “What makes you think I’m a purveyor of such dark arts?”

Thane thrust the book closer, jabbing his finger at it. “This! A book on necromancy!”

The wizard’s eyes shifted to the book, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then, he tilted his head slightly to one side, squinting at the cover. “Goblin?”

Thane blinked, his bluster momentarily derailed. “What?”

Malakar pointed calmly to the cover. “The book. It says ‘Goblin.’ Not ‘Necromancy.’ It appears you’ve been mistaken.”

“GOBLIN?!” Thane’s voice cracked with indignation. “It said something about necromancy! And it was red!”

Thane yanked open the book, his eyes widening in shock as it flipped through its pages with unnatural speed. The book seemed to twitch in his hands, and with a sudden, explosive movement, it flung itself from his grasp, landing open on the floor in the center of the room.

Before anyone could react, a tiny figure leapt from the pages—a goblin, naked as the day it was born, scampered across the stone floor, shrieking with delight. “I’m free! I’m free!”

The party stood, frozen in shock, as the goblin bolted for the door, giggling madly as it skittered out of the room and down the stairwell.

Thane stared after it, his mouth agape. “What the bloody hell was that?!”

Malakar sighed, clearly unimpressed. “Do you have any idea how long it took to catch him?” His voice was weary, as though dealing with escaped goblins was a common occurrence. “Would you mind putting him back?”

Without another word, Thane grumbled and ran after the goblin, muttering curses under his breath. His heavy footsteps echoed down the stairs as he chased the gleeful creature, brandishing the book as a weapon.

Malakar watched Thane disappear with a bemused expression, then turned back to the others. The silence stretched thin, the only sound the soft crackling of a newly relit hearth fire. The wizard’s fingers drummed rhythmically against the side of his robes, an idle gesture that only heightened the tension in the room.

“I would advise caution,” he said softly, his tone returning to its previous calm. “Gilderoy cannot be trusted. He may be leading you down a path of ruin. You would do well to keep your distance.”

Zerai cleared her throat, trying to mask her unease with forced bravado. “So… you want us to trust you over Gilderoy, but you’re not exactly painting yourself as trustworthy.”

Malakar’s smile widened, though it didn’t touch his eyes. “Ah, trust. Such a fragile thing, isn’t it? I cannot force you to place your faith in me, nor would I try. But you must understand—magic is a tool, and those who wield it often have goals that do not align with your own.”

“And your goals are?” Lira asked, keeping her voice level.

Malakar took a step closer to the chest, his long fingers grazing the intricately carved wood. “Simple. I seek to maintain the balance of power within Kaethar. There are forces at play here—forces far older than you know. A ritual involving the heart of a sylphid… it has the potential to do great harm as well as good. If you are looking to trace the source of the magic behind your gnolls, it must be done carefully. Properly. And that is not something I would entrust to Gilderoy.”

“And you would… help us do that? Properly?” Elora asked, struggling to keep her tone polite even as her skepticism showed.

“Yes,” Malakar replied, tilting his head slightly. “Bring me the carcass of the grathok, and I shall perform the ritual myself. You need not risk your hands or your souls by hunting down a sylphid or dealing with those who would misuse such a creature’s heart. The grathok is already slain, yes? A creature of darkness. It would serve its final purpose in a way that maintains balance.”

“And you would do this… for free?” Zerai asked, eyes narrowing.

Malakar laughed softly, the sound low and rich. “For free? I’m afraid not entirely. I would pay you for your trouble—ten thousand gold pieces for the carcass of the grathok, and I will perform the ritual as a favor. Consider it an investment in your quest, one that benefits both you and the city of Kaethar.”

The weight of his offer hung heavy in the air, the promise of gold and aid gleaming like a coin freshly minted. For a moment, no one spoke.

“And what’s in it for you?” Thane asked gruffly, his eyes narrowing as he studied the wizard’s calm demeanor.

Malakar’s smile didn’t falter. “Let’s simply say… I value the safety and stability of this city. Should your ritual reveal threats to that stability, I would prefer to be involved from the start.” He gestured to the chest. “And, of course, I would not be forced to waste further energy on dealing with… intrusions.”

His eyes locked onto each of them, and it felt as if he were looking through them rather than at them. A silence, heavy and expectant, filled the room, and the wizard’s gaze seemed to pin them in place, waiting for their reply.

Finally, he took a step back, clasping his hands behind him. “Consider my offer. When you are ready, bring the grathok to me. I will know when you are near, and we shall proceed from there.”

The adventurers exchanged glances, each face a mask of conflicting thoughts. The promise of a clean ritual, the gold, the grathok—everything Malakar offered was appealing. But something about the wizard’s ease, the way he spoke of power and balance, left a chill in the air, and questions gnawed at their minds.

For now, all they could do was think. And wonder.

“Think carefully,” Malakar said softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he turned away, the folds of his robe swirling around him like a shadow. “Not every path is as clear as it seems.”

---

If this pulled you in, a rating or review on Royal Road helps the story get in front of more readers:

Once you’re caught up, head over to Patreon
to vote for the direction of the next installment.

Always free to read. Always free to vote.