A radiant sun bathed the city of Aethoria, capital of the kingdom of Eldoria. The cobblestone streets bustled with activity: merchants hawking their wares, "The finest spices from the East!", children chasing and playing amongst the stalls, "Bet you can't catch me!", carriages drawn by sturdy griffins transporting nobles and commoners alike. The aroma of freshly baked bread mingled with the incense emanating from the temples and the musk of the beasts of burden, creating a vibrant and unique atmosphere. At the heart of the city, the imposing castle of Eldoria stood majestically, its white towers gleaming under the sunlight, as if defying the clouds that dared to overshadow its splendor. Adventurers of all races, with gleaming armor and exotic weapons, walked with a determined gait through the streets, mingling with the citizens and adding a touch of adventure to everyday life.
Inside the castle, in the throne room, King Alaric was meeting with the dukes of the realm. His presence commanded respect. Tall and burly, with piercing eyes and a firm jaw, Alaric was the very image of a warrior king. His armor, forged with mithril and adorned with runes of power, glowed with a faint light, a constant reminder of his lineage and strength. Even the most seasoned warriors felt intimidated by his aura of power, a palpable energy that emanated from him like the heat of a forge.
"This year's harvest has been exceptional," said Duke Darius, a stout man with a reddish beard that reached his chest. "Our reserves are full, and trade with neighboring kingdoms is flourishing as never before."
"I am glad to hear that, Darius," replied King Alaric, with a slight smile that softened his features. "The prosperity of Eldoria is my main goal. A strong and prosperous kingdom is a kingdom that can defend itself from any threat."
"Indeed, Your Majesty," added Duchess Seraphina, an elegant old woman with a graceful bow of her head. "The artisan guilds report an increase in production, and the royal coffers are filling at an unprecedented rate."
"However, Your Majesty," interjected Duke Gareth, a man with a stern face and calculating eyes, "we must not forget the threat of the orcs of the north. Their incursions have become more frequent in recent months. If we do not act decisively, we will soon have a war on our borders."
"I share your concern, Gareth," said the king, frowning. His voice, though calm, resonated with unwavering authority. "I have ordered the defenses of the northern border to be reinforced. I will not allow the orcs to disturb the peace of Eldoria. If they dare to attack us, we will make them pay a price they will never forget."
"Perhaps it would be prudent to send an emissary to the orc leaders, Your Majesty," suggested Duke Brener, an elderly man with wise eyes. "A peace treaty could prevent unnecessary bloodshed."
"I will consider it, Brener," replied the king, "but we must not show weakness before the orcs. They must understand that Eldoria will not be intimidated."
Suddenly, a tremor shook the castle. The crystal goblets clinked on the table, and the tapestries adorning the walls swayed as if a gust of wind had whipped them. The dukes looked at each other in alarm, while the king rose to his feet, his aura of power intensifying. A golden energy emanated from him, running through the throne room and stabilizing the foundations of the castle.
"What was that?" asked Duke Darius, his voice worried, as he clung to the arms of his chair.
Before the king could answer, a second tremor, even stronger than the first, shook the castle with brutal violence. This time, some stones fell from the ceiling with a crash, and the stained glass windows cracked, letting out a mournful groan. The dukes stood up, their hands on the hilts of their swords, while the king, unperturbed, raised a hand.
"Calm!" he ordered in a resonant voice that prevailed over the chaos. "There is no need to be alarmed! Maintain formation!"
A wave of golden energy emanated from his hand, traveling through the castle and its surroundings. The tremors ceased, the cracks sealed, and a sense of calm spread through the city. The citizens, who had taken to the streets in panic, felt the king's energy calm them, instilling in them a sense of security.
But the calm did not last long. A deafening roar, like the bellow of a thousand beasts, resounded outside, shaking the foundations of the castle. The ground rippled beneath their feet, and the castle shook as if a giant had struck it. The dukes clung to the table to avoid falling, while the king, his eyes filled with concern, headed for the window.
What he saw left him frozen. The sky, which moments before had been an impeccable blue, had turned a deep blood red, as if an open wound had spread across the firmament. The stars twinkled with a frantic intensity, as if they were about to be extinguished, devoured by the darkness that threatened to engulf the world. The earth opened into deep cracks that spread like snakes through the city, swallowing houses and entire buildings. The mountains surrounding Aethoria crumbled as if they were made of sand, their peaks crumbling into avalanches of rock and dust.
And in the midst of all the chaos, a laugh... "AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA" ... echoed in the air, cutting through the roar of the earth and the moan of the wind. It was a cold and cruel laugh, filled with an ancestral evil that chilled the blood and made even the bones tremble. A laugh that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time, that seeped into their minds like a poison, sowing terror and despair. King Alaric, his heart pounding in his chest, felt a tightness in his soul, as if an immense and unfathomable being were watching them from above, judging them with a cold and indifferent gaze. He felt small and insignificant, like an insect before the vastness of the cosmos.
The dukes, paralyzed by horror, watched the scene in disbelief. They had never witnessed anything like it. It was as if the whole world were falling apart around them.
"What... what is happening?" stammered Duke Darius, his face pale and his voice trembling.
"I don't know," replied the king, his voice grave, but his tone did not hide the fear that gripped him. "But I fear we are facing something that is beyond our comprehension. Something we have never seen before."
"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA" ... The laughter echoed again, louder than before, filling the throne room with a sense of helplessness and despair. The king and his dukes looked at each other in horror, aware that they were facing an unknown threat.
King Alaric, despite the terror that gripped him, knew he had to act quickly. Eldoria needed a leader, and he would not fail them. He took a deep breath, channeling his inner energy, and his aura of power intensified, pushing back the shadows of fear that threatened to consume them.
"We cannot stand idly by!" exclaimed Duke Gareth, his face full of anguish. "What should we do, Your Majesty?"
"Elmont," he exclaimed in a firm voice that resonated throughout the hall, prevailing over the roar of the world crumbling around them. "Send an emissary to the Ivory Tower. Let Archmage Elian and the Council of Sages appear before me at once."
Lord Elmont, pale but determined, nodded. "At once, Your Majesty." And without a moment's hesitation, he ran out of the throne room, pushing his way through the royal guards who crowded the hallway, their eyes wide with terror.
The king turned to his dukes, who were watching him with a mixture of fear and hope. "We must not give in to panic," he said in a firm voice. "Eldoria has overcome many adversities throughout its history, and this will be no exception. Together, we will find a way to overcome this crisis."
His words, filled with determination and courage, instilled some calm in the hearts of the dukes. They nodded, regaining some of their composure.
After a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, Lord Elmont returned to the throne room, followed by a group of mages with robes embroidered with silver and gold threads. Archmage Elian, an elderly man with a long white beard and eyes that shone with ancestral wisdom, stepped forward and bowed deeply to the king. An aura of power flowed around him, a mixture of the arcane energy that enveloped him and the arrogance of one who knows he possesses great knowledge.
"Your Majesty," said the Archmage in a deep and resonant voice, "we have heeded your call. How may we serve Eldoria?"
"Archmage," said the king, "an unknown force is ravaging our world. The earth trembles, the sky is stained with blood, and a chilling laugh echoes in the air. We need answers. Can your arts of divination reveal the origin of this calamity?"
"Of course, Your Majesty," replied the Archmage confidently, even with a touch of arrogance. "The arts of the Ivory Tower are capable of unraveling the deepest mysteries of the universe. I have no doubt that we will soon have an answer for you."
The mages of the Ivory Tower set about performing their divination rituals. They spread out on the table an ancient star map woven with threads of light, and placed in the center a prismatic crystal that shone with the colors of the rainbow. They murmured incantations in an ancestral language, and the map and crystal began to vibrate with arcane energy.
The dukes watched attentively, hoping that magic would reveal some answer. But magic, which had always been a source of knowledge and power for Eldoria, now proved capricious and unstable. The star map began to show distorted and chaotic images: exploding stars, deforming constellations, a dark void that threatened to engulf everything...
The prismatic crystal, meanwhile, began to spin uncontrollably, emitting flashes of blinding light that hurt the eyes. A high-pitched hum filled the throne room, and the dukes covered their ears with their hands.
Suddenly, with a deafening bang, the prismatic crystal shattered, and the fragments flew off in all directions. The mages, pale and shocked, recoiled in fear. Archmage Elian, his eyes filled with disbelief, watched the remains of the prismatic crystal. His aura of power fluctuated, and the arrogance that moments before had characterized him had been transformed into a mixture of confusion and fear.
"The magic... the magic is going out of control!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with anguish.
King Alaric felt a chill run down his spine. If magic was turning against them, and the most powerful mages in the kingdom were unable to control it, what hope was left for them?