It took almost an hour to cross the softly swaying grass and into the eaves of the forest once more. These trees lacked the corruption rampant around Pinwood, and instead bore an almost equally oppressive weight of years. Twisted and gnarled branches stretched high overhead, and the thick canopy, untouched by the hand of man for many a year, cast a perpetual twilight on the soft, spongy ground beneath. Thick, corded roots wound their way here and there, snaking from trunks so thick it would take two or three grown men to circle them with their arms, only to plunge into the earth. The brisk wind which had picked up earlier showed no signs of slowing, and whispered amongst the foliage with a cooling caress and a soft rustling.
The walk was rather pleasant, and would have been enjoyable if not for the circumstances. The forest was deceptively peaceful, and even as they approached the sinister spire which they knew lay before them, birds still fluttered overhead, and Alan could see the occasional flash of a deer darting away through the trees.
In time, they finally did arrive at the tower, where its obsidian facade rose abruptly from amongst ancient trees that hardly looked to have been disturbed in decades. Alan remembered the entire place laying in ruins, with blackened stumps and stripped logs strewn about like many toothpicks. None of that remained, and the trees appeared to have never been touched. It was undoubtedly some manner of sorcery which repaired both forest and structure.
The ground immediately about the base of the Startower was more gravel than earth, though this occurred only in a narrow band, a few feet across at most. There was no break in the trees, they came right up to the outer reach of that narrow band, and above, the branches came right up to press against the tower's obsidian shod walls, maintaining that shield from the morning's brightness all the way to the tower proper.
Great double doors of polished bronze stood fast before the four adventurers, surrounded by a frame of carved white stone that stood out starkly from the surrounding obsidian. The frame was carved to resemble great tentacles reaching up from the earth, only to wrap about an odd black orb where the keystone should be. However, rather than individual blocks of masonry, the whole of the door frame seemed carved of a single continuous stone. The doors themselves were forged with a bas-relief depicting many men and women writhing together, beneath an elevated, empty throne.
Alan didn't recognize any of the imagery, it was all new to him. He had only been to the tower a few times when it originally stood, and he was fairly certain that he would remember anything that distinct. The glittering black orb atop the door especially resembled the Nightmare Orb. It certainly did not bode well for Miena's mental state.
As they stood there, the orb above the door began to shine, and Miena's voice drifted down from above, projected by some unseen magic, "Well it seems as though my visitors have arrived. Alan, bringing Windhawk and Vick to visit me? You shouldn't have." There was a pause, before she spoke in a sterner tone, "I mean that. You shouldn't have. I suppose I'll have to eliminate them as well. And what's that, a gnome? I thought you found them annoying."
The last statement caused Alan to wince. It was completely correct, and he realized that this entire expedition, Faringalia had been making a painfully conscious effort to tone back the very chatterbox nature that made her kind grate on his nerves so. She'd done a more than admirable job of it, and he'd found her company almost pleasant as a result. Still, he couldn't miss the hurt look which lingered on her little face after hearing that announcement.
"Faringalia is different. She's one of us now," He quickly addressed the door, "She's your replacement, and has been true to our cause. I wish I could say the same of you, Miena."
While his quick defense seemed to cheer the illusionist, it was met merely by a scoffing exhalation from that projected voice. "Please, don't make me laugh. She's an illusionist. She can no more replace me than a crippled beggar could replace Vick. And what cause do you speak of, Alan? Since when did the Reavers of Aethwin have a cause other than their own profit?"
Alan scowled at that. His retort was immediate, "You know damn well they have another cause. Each other. The Reavers stick together. If you injure one of us, you shall feel the wrath of all of us. And you, you've crossed a line. Miena, we are going to come in there and take Lizzy back. And then we're going to end you, once and for all!" He sounded more eager than he felt.
"Oh dear, how valiant. You almost sounded like a real hero there, Alan. Have you been taking notes from the dwarf? Please. The Reavers of Aethwin, charging into battle with a dark wizard yet again. You and I both know how this story usually ends, and this time you don't have me to counter the spells that inevitably claim you. You don't have Garthur to patch you back together."
The mocking tone of that disembodied voice grated on Alan's nerves, and he pointed up to the orb shimmering over the doorway. "Break that."
"With pleasure," Vick and Windhawk spoke together, then stepped forward. Windhawk selected a particular, blunted arrow from her quiver, while Vick lifted the Black Blade in both hands. Windhawk's bow sang, and her arrow zipped forth. The tip impacted the orb with a sharp sound, and a narrow little crack began to spread over the orb's surface. Vick's blade then swung up. It was an awkward, overhanded swing, but there was quite a bit of power in it. The edge of his sword found that new crack, and with an echoing crash, cleaved deep into it.
The orb shattered and exploded outward, scattering broken shards of smoldering stone over the group. Slowly, the doors beneath it began to sag in their frames. Whatever magic had kept them bound had fled with the destruction of the orb. Alan stepped forth and dug his fingers into the edge of one of the doors, and slowly, he pried it outward. He only opened the door wide enough to allow Vick to squeeze through. One by one, they slipped through and into the wizard's lair.
The chamber beyond, the grand foyer of the Startower, was well lit by a white glow that seemed to emit from the very stones of the ceiling above. The floor was polished granite, the walls were white marble. Hanging about the hall were five tapestries, depicting each of the original Reavers of Aethwin in some feat of daring from their past. A set of stairs spiraled up from the right, and up along the inner wall of the circular tower. In the middle, a grand statue of a woman stood some eight feet high, arms outstretched. It took a moment for Alan to realize the statue was supposed to be Miena, so idealized was that representation.
The tower itself was roughly circular, and fairly modest from the outside, despite the grandeur of its obsidian facade. On the inside, however, it was immediately clear that considerations of basic geometry were thrown out the window. That interior room had three archways leading off to wings that were not actually present from the outside, and interspersed amongst the tapestries hanging from the high, arching ceiling were windows that should rightly have been well below the only ones visible from the outside. Even if they were merely unseen, they should have been below the canopy of the woods, in the shade of the forest. Instead, they allowed sunlight to flow in unhindered, to join the luminous shine of the enchanted masonry.
Vick whistled as he turned his eyes around the interior. "Damn, I kind of feel like the palace back in Aethwin is inadequate now. Maybe I should have some workers remodel it."
"Madame Pryce is probably already doing so," Alan's comment brought a scowl from the Count, then a chuckle.
