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Jeldor of the Tower

Enkindling a coup is neither simple nor easy. Jeldor Hatebraker (AKA, Jeldor of the Tower, Keeper of the Tower, Count Hatebraker, ect.) has become something of a pro at it. Whether he is conjuring elemental golems into existence or if he is concocking a sleeping agent to lull a pair of kings guards to cognitive listlessness so an would-be assassin may commence with their… assassining, Jeldor does it with fervor and deep purposes. Everything is calm but there is a commotion in The White Tower, however. A vibration of murmur. Jeldor feels the charge in the air. He knows change

is coming.

“The Keep stands tall, built on the iron of a world at peace. The Tower sees all, its lenses formed by ancient hands. The realms soothes, whisked away continuingly away to sleep. The Golden Serpent bides its time, stalking the

land.”

Thunder claps and a storm cloud crashes down onto moist earth below in the valley. Time lapse, the bellowing stormcloud ushers itself across the landscape as if to cleanse the soil, plants and wildlife. The valley fades and then resolves into a locked prison cell. “How do you know it’s locked?”

Panic. Sheer fear of the enclosure. Biting down on the lip to draw blood. Blood to satiate the shadowed one. Must move. Panic, blissful panic. The terrors come out to taste flesh. Fat bellied spiders. Maggots equipped with inverted drills for mouths. Whirlwind of fear and obligation. One’s duty is subservient to one's desire. “He’s on his way. His scales glisten.”

A roar across the realm. From all ends they hear it. The roar originates in the ski over the valley, but it’s destined to fill all the spaces where lives dwell. “He beckons… He beckons you, Jeldor.” Jeldor woke up with a start. Sweat was running down his brow and back. His shortened breath causes Jeldor to close his eyes and collect himself. Quickly, he whipped his hands in the air and a piece of parchment and quill appeared in the air in front of his face. He hastily wrote down his dream so he wouldn’t lose the entirety of it. The vividness and clarity of this dream was beyond the typical fair he has. There was a severity to it. A punctuation to a time and era. He needed to seek guidance. He needed the help of The Tower. “You say this phantasm was prophetic in nature? How can you be certain?” Hulmberg the Wise asked Jeldor. Hulmberg was an Arch-Scholar

of The Tower and the perfect Wizard to discuss this matter with, Jeldor knew. “Yes, there is no doubt,” Jeldor replied. “The darkness was tangible! I do not wish to assume my role within our order, but what if the Dawn of Darkness fell to me within the line of Dor? If we do confer on that, then what are the implications?” “It is not wise to assume this dream is anything more than a dream. But there are ways to confirm your suspicions,” there was distance in Hulmberg’s eyes. His concern was growing just by the sheer conviction of his long time friend’s tellings. This was not lost on Jeldor. “What must I do?” Jeldor asked. “First, what was the valley? Do you recognize it?” Hulmberg paced behind his desk. “Yes, it was Penlaconal Valley. East of Overmore,” he recalled. Jeldor was familiar with the area since he grew up in Overmore. “Then we must go there,” Hulmberg paused. “I'm not going to understate this, if this does concern the Dawn of Darkness, it may be sooner than we could have anticipated.” “‘He’s on his way. His scales glisten.’ That’s what I heard. Could it mean Dormanth?” Jeldor asked. “Well, I have to ask you this, did you simply hear that or did you say it to yourself?” Hulmberg stopped pacing. Jeldor froze. The question raderated in his soul. “I… I spoke it to myself,” Jeldor felt his very foundation rock. In all the howtodo, he didn’t realize this until now. With the tangibleness and severity of the premonition,

because that’s exactly what it was, he didn’t recognize his voice in speaking those words. “You were given a premonition.’ Hulmberg placed his right hand on Jeldor’s shoulder. ‘As long as we can confirm the accuracy of the dream when we arrive at Penlaconal Valley, you will have to be ushered into a new school of magic, my friend. You are to become a Soothsayer. When you yourself speak prophetic words within your own living dreams, that is a sure fire way to identify those dreams as prophecies. Also, you might notice you remember the dream in its entirety. That doesn't happen with typical dreams.” Jeldor realized, yet again with frozen shock, that he could indeed recall every moment of the dream to perfect detail. A wave of trepidation swept over him like a tsunami. A tidal wave of regret and remorse and terror. He couldn’t help but mourn for his for literally yesterday. He thought about his unannounced new talent and the message he received. The events it described could be only one thing, and with one being at the helm of it. “Hulmberg…” Jeldor paused. “I keep going over it in my head. There is absolutely no way this prophecy is about anything else other than the final arrival of Dormanth. The Golden Dragon will blanket the entire world in fire, blood and ash.” Hulmberg stared at Jeldor for a moment. “Jel, of course he is. That has always been an inevitability. It now falls unto us, and more pointedly, you, to divert as much of the destruction and carnage away from the people and places we love. To call to rally all the armed forces and Magi and Houses of The Realm.” Hulmberg moved to the book shelf behind him, pulled down an apparent ancient text bounded by a yarned spine and dropped it on to his desk. “We both must transcribe all we know about Dormanth and what is needed by all on parchments with the towers seal. We then must travel to Penlaconal Valley and confirm as much as we can. Then send out these notices as quickly as possible.”

Hulberg turned to a page and rotated the book so Jeldor could see what he was looking at. Jeldor noticed the paragraph of the page, “The Golden Dragon, o’mighty is he! Dormanth, destroyer of the lesser and burner of the unclean. His followers have been waiting and will wait more. Cover the world in baptismal flame.” He glanced to the bottom middle of the page. There was an illustration labeled as “The Sigil of Dormanth.” Pictured there was a white tower with a golden dragon wrapping itself around it. Mouth open crimson flame shutting out.

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