If the first chapter was to poorly done for any of you to read, don't worry. I'm posting a revision of it soon to replace the one below. With any hope, I'll be able to keep pumping out these chapters until I have a small novelisation complete.And again, remember that some details may be different than in the game.

Enjoy.

*
Chapter 2

Optomkiptum found himself humming a tune he didn’t recognise.
‘Hrm, hrm. Don’t recognise that do you?’ he asked a nearby guard. The Special guard simply shrugged, his helmet unable to hide the grumpy look on his face. The weather had turned sour recently and long sunny days were giving way to shrouded, gloomier ones. Far from dampening Optom’s mood, the clouds actually improved it. He had a need to protect his over-sensitive eyes with magical alterations and there was nothing like seeing the world ‘au natural’ for a change. The ocular enhancement spell had the habit of making his vision sharper while draining the colour from his surroundings. His race were not much accustomed to having environments rich in colour but they did have a keen eye for gems and had evolved a sort of higher perception when it came to spotting particularly colourful objects amongst the grey. Right now, the grey sky was only making the rest of the world appear brighter - as if the overcast city was one vast gem itself.

Optom took in a deep breath, and sighed out of the open window before closing it once more. Floating down, he set his feet on the floor and began the long, arduous walk out of the Galadon map room and up to the Spire’s top. Situated on the second floor, he’d have many flights of steps to walk before he reached the place where he could sign off with the head Executioner. He could have easily floated himself up but it was his belief that for a body to maintain its suppleness it had to be stretched now and again. More than anyone, a Transmuter should know you only get one body and you have to take care of it. Well, assuming a priest hadn’t resurrected you recently. Which did seem to be very popular these days.

Within the centre of the Spire was the long, triangular shaft that led directly to the roof. Coloured light was filtered down through the stain-glass roof that sat 30 feet above even the highest floor. On each floor, the triangular tower had two triangular rooms that took up different corners. At the fourth floor, Optom peeked out of a small window next to the Libraries archway to see he’d already risen above all but the tallest Temple steeples. From where he was, the Temple of the Sun sat glumly as rain began to patter off its roof. The next floor, he could see right out along the western expanse, to where the Feawynn Weald stretched out to the logging camps up river. In the distance, a mist was rising up as if the forest was steaming under the rain. Finally, he found himself near the top where the stair well opened out at last to a grand chamber. This was the Blood Tribunal altar room, where the Scales of Justice themselves were kept.

In times past, the Altar had also been used to hold the fabled young tree Sapling that gave the Sylvan Warders, the Tribunal’s greatest enemy, their mysterious powers over nature. Towards the end of the War there had been raids back and forth to keep such items of power out of the possession of the other side. Sometimes, the Warders would find holes in the cities defences and whisk away the Scales in well-organised raids. With the winds at their heels, they could easily outrun the City Guard. At better times, the Tribunal war parties would return triumphant and have the Altar bless them as it closed its marble folds around the Warder’s Sapling. All this continued until at last the Tribunal found victory over their foes by burning their sacred grove and all it contained in a fiery storm cast down from the Heavens. Kelrizza herself had overseen the final spell that sealed the doom of the Warders. Using Arcane magic and a pair of blessed holy Symbols, meteor-sized fireballs had been called down to pound the forest for days. It was historically known as the Ritual of Fire. The bright display that filled the sky had signalled the end to the Sylvan Warders, and the war, as their home was reduced to ash.

To Optomkiptum, all of that seemed so far away now that the cities were peaceful again. He himself had served as a supporting mage in the war, and had earned himself a comfortable seat in the city as one of Galadon’s Magistrates.
‘Yes, yes… so much to be proud of, yet so much more to do.’ He thought to himself as he approached the Altar. The evening ritual that signified the changing of shifts also broke a Magistrates mental link to the Altar. Those on night-duty would be linked instead, to allow citywide communication through its power. Off to one side, amongst a huddle, he spotted an old friend.

‘Delrami!’ he shouted ‘I demand its good to see you.’

Two priest-knights dressed in Tribunal armour marched over to him, smiling warmly in greeting.

‘And Daemer! My, my. What a pleasure.’

‘Aye, blessin’s upon ye, Optom.’ Uttered Delrami, as she gentle touched his forehead. A warm tingle spread over his body and down to his toes. A priests blessings were a quiet reminder that the Gods were always nearer than you thought.

Delrami and Daemer were two priests of opposing faiths that held similar goals. Warrior-priests were not uncommon in Galadon and these two belonged to the Paladins guild that lay just opposite the Spire’s base, on High road. Daemer had earned a Provincial’s badge during the Sylvan War, making him a Magistrate of all four cities, while Delrami had served with Optomkiptum behind the front lines. It was there he’d seen her doll out fearsome prayers of both retribution and protection in the name of Lord Vynmylak, patron of War and Honour. It was rumoured that herself and two dwarven kin had been asked to scout ahead of a raiding party one eve, only to be found standing over the corpses of a dozen Sylvan rangers holding up the Sapling with such casual indifference that the Vindicator leading the main force scolded them for impatience and snatched it from the priests hands jealously. However, dwarven rumours were hard to substantiate. They’d often vary; depending on how much ale was in the Spire’s stock.

Daemer, on the other hand, was a Paladin of peace. Following the tenets of the Kara Chal, he believed the Law was a tool for exercising peace and serenity amongst Thera’s citizens. He often refused to raise his blade against his foes but would guide his allies with healing prayers and raise his shield to stoutly defend the fallen. Many a person had been retrieved by Daemer for resurrection and he’d earned the respect of the whole Spire.

‘I hear you had a disturbance, I’m saddened to hear another citizen has fallen out of line.’ Said Daemer. To him, it likely wasn’t a surprise it was a dark necromancer.
‘Aye, laddie. Ye alright now? No curses on ye?’ asked Delrami, offering forward her calloused dwarven hands with a helpful gesture.

‘Fine, fine. Not even a scratch upon my person!’ Optom replied cheerfully.

The old friends soon entered a friendly conversation of how quiet it had become of late. Crime was at an all-time low as bandits and thieves were heading north to where rumours of War were drawing in all the mercenaries. It had reached Optom’s ears that Udgaard, a mighty city led by a cruel Baron, was trying to extend its control further north. The Baron was notoriously cruel and had an army of trollish beings called Jaette’s at his control.

‘Feh, like we’d be wantin’ more o’ his kind in them Lands. If he be marchin’ on the Giants, I dinna doubt the Guild’ll take their side and give the Baron somethin’ tae remember.’ Said Delrami, her thoughts lying on the banishment of all Paladins from Udgaard’s walls.

Daemer raised his hand, in his famous gesture of Peace.

‘We can only hope he feels sated by his new trade negotiations with the Gnomes. Perhaps rumours are not as bad as they seem.’

Optom himself wasn’t sure, it was little over a century ago that the Baron had tried to extend his control south. Reinforcements from the Tribunal cities had quietly entered Tir-talath and supported its rebellion. It was all they could do to stop such a power-monger expanding over all of Thera without open aggression. All this, had been before Kelrizza’s own reign and at present she seemed disturbingly unconcerned with Udgaard at all.

‘Well, ye kin bet I’ll be in there if they’re movin’ even just a wee bit out o’ line. Dishonourable dogs! I’ll give some o’ them Jaette scum a good smashin’ wi’ ol’ Titus ‘ere.’ said Delrami, tapping the hammer that was tethered to her portly waist. Her fellow Magistrates just lowered their gazes, neither ready to think another war might be on the horizon. The silence was broken only when Kelrizza herself came marching in. The High Priest of Order moved swiftly from behind the Altar to greet her and even the Head Executioner inclined his head in a gesture of respect. Her powerful, charismatic voice boomed out over the small crowd.

‘Gather! Magistrates! There are new recruits to announce!’

Eager to see whom the Provost had recruited, everyone moved forward until a semi-circle had been formed in front of the Altar’s steps. Kelrizza rolled up the sleeves of her arcane robes and motioned for two figures to move to the front.

‘I have ordained both as Magistrates, they’ve earned my blessing and sworn themselves to the service of the Spire, the One-law and protection of Order in Thera. Here, we have Baendra, of the Hamsah Necromancers guild. She will be patrolling her home under your supervision, Magistrate Grurk.’

A young lady, dressed in plain black robes moved forward and bowed to the crowd. A cloud giant, towering a few feet above the crowd at the back, grunted in recognition and motioned for her to join him. Somewhere high above them, thunder rolled across the skies and the rain intensified.

‘And to you, Provincial Daemer, I’m giving trust of… this one.’

Kelrizza’s face rarely gave signs of emotion in public but her reluctance to introduce the priest was a clear sign she didn’t approve of his ideals. Despite such conflicts, the Provost was oath-bound to do the best they could by the Spire and the One-law.

‘Greetin’s ta ye’ said a young dwarf, as he moved forward and turned to face Optomkiptum and his friends. He was short and portly, much like Delrami but his face lacked any wrinkles and his beard was much shorter than hers. Instead of the normal Tribunal garb given to initiates, he was dressed in light, silver armour. Across his breastplate, a blazing figure that looked like a winged-horse was painted in vivid colours. Those who had served in the last war recognised it as Lord Velkurah, the Spire’s new ally - and patron to Order and Law itself. Little was known of him or his god-like race but he had gifted the Spire with one of the two holy symbols used in the Ritual of Fire at the end of the war.

‘I’m bein’ Odrirg, of Gorimm clan. Nice ta meet ye… all.’ He said, addressing the crowd in general. There was a general murmur of greeting as Daemer stepped forward and stooped to shake the dwarf’s hand.

‘Welcome, Odrirg Gorimm. You are, indeed, welcome here. What city are you to watch over?’

Odrirg took the time to puff up his chest proudly. ‘Ah, the Provost bein’ kind enough ter give me the Ruined city. It’s me home, closer ta the Dwarves than any, an’ it be needin’ me help.’

Demonic forces had torn apart the city Odrirg had spoken of. Optomkiptum had not been around to witness it himself but it was said when the two towers, the White tower of Magic and the Warlock stronghold, had exploded it had taken the city with it. Despite this, the pride of the people that lived there would not be shaken and they’d been toiling ever since to rebuild it. So far the effort had been unsuccessfully lead by a dwarven architect called Kurden. The support he’d received so far had changed little in the city and rumour had it he’d in fact caused more damage over the past month. It’s a well-known proverb that you can give a dwarf a stone and he’ll build a tower. However, give him gold and you’ll only ensure the local pubs front you the repair bill. If you’re really lucky, you’ll get the dwarf back too.

‘Speakin’ o’ which, I be havin’ me own announcement ta be makin’.’

As Kelrizza moved quietly aside, the new Magistrate ascended a few steps to the Altar and turned once again to the crowd.

‘As me patron be guidin’ ye all in this time o’ peace, he sent word fer me ta begin a fund. The Ruined city fund, so that we might be enjoyin’ a restored city. In his vision, he’s set out a greater city than we’d ever had and with everyone’s charity we’ll be getting’ done!’

The crowd broke out into general murmurs and rumblings of conversation. Up until now, it wasn’t known if they Spire would withdraw from the city or not. Only now it was clear they were to stay.

‘The city that once stood there were one of great power, an’ history. Ter be losin’ that would be detrimental ta our cause, aye? So in the name o’ Velkurah, I’ll be takin’ any gold, silver or coppa ye kin spare fer it. Thankin’ ye fer yer time, lads.’
It was clear he was nervous and it was a big step for someone so young. Optomkiptum couldn’t help but admire the young priest for his work. Maybe he’d make something one day.

There was some brief shuffling as the Priest began the ritual – breaking the Altar’s link to those that had been on-duty. Once it was done, Kelrizza stepped up once more to offer some words of encouragement to her flock.

‘We’ve all had hard times but let us see this less as just another chance to rebuild and more as a time to expand . Extend your welcome to all outsiders, Magistrates, for this is a time we shall be looking to our neighbours, and their cities. Already they accept our death warrants as their own. Perhaps soon, they shall invite us to guard their cities as we do our homes now. Magistrates of Galadon, of Hamsah, of the Ruined city and of Seantryn Modan… I urge you to do whatever you can to ‘earn’ our allies trust. Good eve.’

*

Rain was still pattering off the window when Optomkiptum woke in the night. The dormitory halls were built in the shadow of the Spire, giving Magistrates who worked the nightshift a dark place to sleep during the morning. It was also there that many higher-ranking Magistrates had private chambers and that the mess hall dished out its meals. Optom had once been offered his own bedchamber but upon finding it was made to ‘gnome-sized standards’ had refused it. Being just half the height of human’s such as Daemer, he seemed to continually find himself on the receiving end of ‘special treatment’ that he did not enjoy. The fact he was stronger and more Magically adept than most of his human peers was a source of great pride to the little Svirf. The charity only served to belittled him. Besides, the public dorm was closer to the Spire itself and the seemingly endless grey of the wall made him feel more at home. It served to remind him of his own faith in the ancient Stones that guided the Svirfnebli.

On the surface world, Gods were the most common focus of churches and cults. Their presence was well felt and they would even visit the High priests of such religions personally. Such appearances kept mortals from being unfaithful or insulting towards the Gods but there was still cause for many to suspect such Churches and Cults. Most had secret agendas that were being carried out under their God’s instructions. All of this made Optom feel immensely uncomfortable about such beings and the appearance of Lord Velkurah during the Tribunal’s war had nearly put him in the Infirmary. No, for him the Stones were all he needed to praise. Singular in their ways, they represented structure, dependence and above all solidity in their values. Right now however, something about them felt distinctly wrong.

The Spire’s design had been not been the whim of some great architect. It was created by the founders of the Blood Tribunal themselves and was made with protection in mind. Its shape, its very structure, was made to protect the city from vast magical rituals such as the Ritual of Fire, or the curse that sundered the famous Tower of Five Magic’s. In times of need, it would absorb and flare off any magic that was directed at the city in general. It was said that the Altar at its peak, where the sacred Scales were held, funnelled the energies into the Skies. What effect this had, no one knew, as its mere presence had deterred any attempts to strike the city. From where Optom was lying he could vaguely see what was a magical aura building around its base. More than anyone, the Svirfnebli were in tune to magic itself. Without any aid, they could see through magical barriers and even vaguely detect its presence and quantity in one place.

Rolling off his over-sized bunk, Optom quietly floated towards the window on a spell. The storm had not ceased since it had started in the early evening, the rain coming in like thick sheets of water from the sky. Through it all, he could see whirls and eddies about its base. They were like leaves in the wind and moved in and out of the space around the Spire. Little movements, like flickering lights in the corner of his eye, could be seen gathering and separating all about it. The already crinkled skin on Optom’s forehead furrowed in worry. Throwing his red robes about himself and pausing to check his wiry hair in a mirror, he headed out into the well-lit hallway that lead back outside. The wind was battering the door and it was surprising the noise hadn’t woken anyone else. Poking his head into the guardroom, he saw several people playing a game of Heroes in the firelight. A quiet cheer, followed by a short scuffling erupted behind Optom as walked by.

‘Lets see’ he thought ‘It’s late… I should slow myself. Got to be fresh in the morning.’

With the words ‘Kunesarol tranozq’ and felt his heart beat slow in his chest. It was a good trick and was used often when people were needed to take long watches in quiet areas. By slowing themselves, they could go entire days without sleep or half the amount of food and water they consumed. The greatest advantage of the spell was that the mind wasn’t slowed almost as much, meaning anyone under its influence could remain alert even if his or her movements were sluggish. Just encase, Optom threw up a bone-calcifying spell and pulled an armouring wand from inside his robes. The added weight should stop him blowing off and the ‘armour’ spell, though weak, would shield him from the rain. Being soaked to the bone would only make him irritable the next day.

The wind buffeted him about gently as the rain dribbled down over his protective shield in a wobbling sheet, distorting all he saw in front of him. Despite this, he could see the base of the Spire was still in serious magical turmoil. The currents were getting stronger and beginning to pull in Magic from other parts of the city in flowing, drifting streams. What could be drawing in such power at this time of night? Optom knocked on the door and heard a bolt reluctantly forced back. A guard ushered him in before forcing the door shut once more against the wind. The Spire inside was the same as it ever was – quiet and grey. Only the sounds of the storm echoed about inside its hollow stairwell as Optom began floating towards the top. ‘No need for stairs this time’ he thought. Half way up he paused in his ascent to observe another figure climbing the stairs.

‘Kaplanov! What’s going on up there?’

A young Felar, a member of a cat-like race once enslaved to the Wizards of Thera, turned to look at Optom. His angular, feline face was soaked. In fact, his entire body looked drenched despite the poncho of water-resistant leather draped about his shoulders. The Felar were not a very tall people and were about the height of a dwarf. Their wiry limbs lacked strength but within their fragile looking bodies there was an amazing resilience few understood. They were crafted from large cats and exposed to great amounts of Magic under their sorcerous masters. Whether it was the Magic or their ancestry, no one knows, but they found they could take three times the beating of a human and still bounce back. He growled a greeting reluctantly through his teeth.

‘I was smell magic in air, like of old time.’ He said, in his low, guttural voice. ‘Something big is happen, that is all know.’

Optom nodded and offered to join Kaplanov on his ascent. While not the smartest of Magistrates, right now Optom would have take even an abrasive Giant for company.

‘Come, come. We’ll see if its serious.’

Kaplanov tapped his furry skull, between his ears. ‘I no hear alarm from Altar. But is feel… odd.’

Again, Optom simply nodded. Perhaps it was just some priestly ritual, or the storm reacting with the Altar but he had to admit that there was a familiar feeling to it all.

As a pair, the pair rounded the final turn into the grand Altar hall. A dozy looking priest perked at their approached and narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

‘Yes?’

‘I demand we’ve noticed something odd happening, about the tower. Seems to be drawing in great amounts of Magic.’

The priest groaned slightly as he stood, turning to the Altar and closing his eyes. He began humming to himself in a low, constant tone – a common technique for communing with the Gods. As if his prayer was answered, the priest looked back at them both and shrugged.

‘I can divine no abnormalities. What did you see, Magistrate?’

‘Hrm, hrm.’ Said Optom, reluctant to describe the Magic flowing from the cities Temples. Many didn’t believe that Svirfnebli sensed as much as they do. This was because on the grand scale of things they didn’t make very good Mages - they were, in fact, some of the slowest learners amongst Mage classes. What few understood is that this didn’t stop them sensing more than the average Theran. The Stones had blessed them with a great ability for understanding Magic’s flow like no other. Kaplanov stepped forward, his whiskers twitching in irritation.

‘I smell Magic, it thick in air.’ He said, growling to himself. ‘It smell like Mage’s hut, something strong - much, much strong - brew here.’

The Priest paused, measuring up the two Magistrates with his eyes. His face spoke what his lips did not but he could hardly pass off their testimony as jittery. Not only were they sworn-in Magistrates but both the Svirfnebli and the Felar had a history of being sensitive to Magic.

‘Very well, leave it with me. I shall summon the High priest.’ And with that, waved the Magistrates away.

‘I should think you’ll be doing more than that, Priest’ said a figure from behind them all. Turning, they saw Provost Kelrizza was coming towards them. She strode sharply out of the Vindicator hall’s archway; a quiet light spilling out from behind her, as her silk robes billowed about her slender figure. Her timeless features were as cold and unemotional as ever.

‘I’ll need you to summon some of the Magistrates. And have the Executioner woken from his bed. Now!’

The Priest turned to the Altar and began invoking its power. It was at this point that the Provost’s brow furrowed worryingly and she turned to Optomkiptum.

‘Things are… on the move. We must meet tonight.’