The road from the High Plain down through the Hills of Jarrin is long, twisting, hot and dangerous in the extreme. Spined erbs hide in the tumbled yellow rocks, ready to pounce on the unwary and drag them back to their dens, there to be consumed at leisure. Where the road descends onto the arid salt flats sand flies swarm at night. Their eggs, laid in the nostrils and ears swiftly hatch into tiny burrowing grubs which chew way deep into the mucous membranes of their victims. High overhead the dark shapes of monstrous vulpine circle effortlessly on the thermals rising from the rocky outcrops, endlessly searching for their next meal. Emerging from the twisting gulleys and ravines onto the Desert of The Lost the traveller will finally see across the shimmering heat haze the ancient city of Quadesh, its multifaceted spires and domes catching the harsh light of the sun as it beats down with a relentless intensity from morn until dusk. In its midst rises the gigantic bulk of the Oblate Tower like an enormous flattened egg, squatting in the ungainly sprawl of the surrounding buildings. As the traveller draws closer he will realise that the city is in sad need of repair, its buildings eyeless shells amidst tumbled ruins, overgrown with ivy and scabbed golden and green with lichens. As he makes his way through the debris encumbered streets dark shapes may be glimpsed at the edge of his vision, secreted amongst the shadows. When finally he has reached the tower he will search in vain for a way in, no doors, entrances or other means of access are to be found. In times passed many came seeking to enter the tower, fabled to contain vast riches of both treasure and of arcane knowledge but now few bother as an evil reputation and the knowledge of its impregnable nature have become widely known. Visitors are advised to make sure that they have quit the city before night for ugly rumours report that those who linger are never seen again, prey to the grey wraiths that haunt the ruins.
A Wayfarer's Guide To The Northern Provinces Of Old Dhurch: 3rd Edition.
………oo………..
Zozimos the Mage emerged faint and weary from the foothills his eyes smarting and his throat parched and sore. Somewhere in the twisting path through the mountains he had lost his way, blundering into a blind canyon and wasted many hours in retracing his steps. Now it was dusk, too late to try to reach the city and he cast about for a place of refuge for the night. The crunch of disturbed gravel gave him little warning and more by instinct than anything else he sprang sideways just in time to evade the grasping tendrils of a large grelch, its slavering mandibles gnashing in annoyance as it lunged past him. Zozimos raised his staff and shouted the short spell of Immediate Quiescence, the best he could think of in the heat of the moment. The grelch collapsed into a pile of twitching limbs its three eyes glazing over as it rolled onto its back. Zozimos nervously scanned his surroundings for sanctuary. He wasn’t sure whether grelch hunted by smell and he didn’t want to be anywhere nearby when the spell wore off. Far along the rocky escarpment a light briefly flickered. Heaving a sigh of relief he set off as quickly as he could across the loose scree, keeping an anxious eye open for any other nocturnal prowlers. After what seemed an age he finally reached a fairly substantial wooden shack, its walls weather-beaten but apparently in good repair. Cautiously he knocked on the door. There came the muffled sound of approaching footsteps and a small panel slid aside. The greeting he had hoped for was not forthcoming.
"Be off, there is no welcome here for vagabonds and tramps.”
“On the contrary “Zozimos replied, somewhat agitatedly.“ I am a genuine traveller simply seeking refuge for the night. I have only a few coins but I am prepared to make some contribution towards a simple repast and perhaps a bed.”
The hut’s inhabitant laughed. “You would claim honesty whether you be rogue or no, what is your business here in the desolation, what your destination?”
“I am Zozimos the Mage; I merely seek to enter Quadesh to look for antiquities and relics. I asked you civilly for succour but I warn you if you are not adequately responsive I may find it necessary to inflict some unpleasantness” and he raised his staff threateningly.
There was a muffled snigger from the other side of the door and then the noise of bolts being withdrawn. The door opened just sufficiently for Zozimos to enter and was then slammed shut behind him. A scrawny hand clutched at his shoulder and propelled him into the middle of a large ill-lit room littered with an accumulation of mismatched furniture, piles of dusty books and the stuffed carcases of a number of unrecognisable animals and birds. A musty smell testified to a lack of enthusiasm for housekeeping on the part of the owner. Zozimos turned and faced his host. His first impression was of a tall, thin figure, slightly stooped, dressed in a well-worn tunic and hose, drab in brown and grey worsted. Closer inspection revealed a sardonic face, with a craggy nose surmounted by two piercing blue eyes. He smiled ingratiatingly.
“Your offer of shelter is much appreciated,” he said.
“You made threats against me,” his host rejoined.
“Please accept my apologies,” Zozimos said “I feared for my life. I was attacked by a grelch and only managed to escape by incapacitating it with magic.”
“So, you are a mighty sorcerer are you? Why could you not then provide yourself with a refuge by some suitable arcane spell?”
Zozimos smiled depreciatingly. “I regret my repertoire is possibly not so extensive as I would hope, hence my intention to visit Quadesh and perhaps unearth some occult treasures from the ruins.”
The figure laughed scornfully. “What makes you think you will succeed where so many have tried and failed? The secrets of that accursed city are far too well protected.”
Zozimos shrugged. “None-the-less I shall make an attempt. All I ask is that you allow me to stay here tonight and in the morning I will be on my way.”
His host sighed. “So be it. Sit at the table. You may share my supper and in payment tell me something of what is happening in the world out there for in truth I have little contact with events beyond these mountains.”
Zozimos discarded his cloak, seated himself as he was bid and placed his satchel beside him while the other busied himself in a small cubicle which served as a kitchen, emerging presently with a roast of sand eels garnished with a few onions and root vegetables. He swallowed it down gratefully and for his part offered a small cheese from his dwindling food supply. Their meal ended, Zozimos sensed a degree of relaxation in the other’s attitude.
“You have me at a disadvantage, “he said. “Will you give me your name?”
The hermit (for so Zozimos guessed him to be) considered the request and then shrugged. “It has been so long that I am unused to the niceties of normal intercourse. You may address me as Khal, for that is how I was called in my youth.”
“And how long have you been here in this dwelling?” asked Zozimos. “Why do you shun civilisation?”
From the reaction he realised he had overstepped the bounds of politeness. “Forgive me he said, it was not my intention to pry, merely an attempt at conversation.”
Khal waved a hand in dismissal. “I am here because I am here,” he said. “It is my role in life. However the bargain was that you would tell me some news.”
“An invasion of steppe nomads from the Wastes of Saransovia into the realm of the Seven Plutarchs has been repulsed by the Iron Guard under the command of Mangelt Steel Fist; Pestilence and murrain in the northern domains of King Achad has wreaked havoc with the population who have been reduced to starvation and cannibalism and the shadow of malignancy hangs over the Forest of Delth where the great sorcerer Mortam the Morbid does battle with an army of greels, mercovaks and halflings s
ent by the Scoratic Empress which is threatening to break through and sack the cities of the Helioptic League.” Zozimos told him. “All is not gloom and doom however, in Perlatch the Grand Duke Lorenz the Magnificent has proclaimed a seven week festival of rejoicing to celebrate his nuptials during which food and wine will be freely given to all participants and throughout the Windlass Islands the death of Derrimond the Destroyer has been greeted with an outpouring of ecstatic joy. Elsewhere the world is much as it has always been. The rich attend to increasing their wealth and the poor groan beneath their burden. The ambitious seek advancement and the powerful strive to deny it to them. Those with authority in matters of religion tighten their grip on the gullible with threats of damnation and promises of redemption.”
Khal laughed briefly. “So it has always been, and I suppose it will always be," he replied. “And what of you? Where do you fit in life?”
“I wish to understand the workings of nature,” Zozimos told him. I study magic so that I might unlock the secrets of reality; that is my quest. I apprenticed myself to Hagwood the Wise in the City of Shadows and then enrolled at the Scholam to gain access to its collection of