Chapter 1- The Whispering Shadow and The Tower

Chapter 1: The Whispering Shadow

The wind danced through the night, orchestrating a symphony of snowflakes that pirouetted through the woods. Trees, giants in their own right, played sentinels, casting shadows that wove tales of darkness and mystery. Jakob, on the cusp of manhood at fifteen, moved with an innate grace along a narrow game trail, his breath crystallising in the cold air.

Veiled by the night, Jakob's bright blue eyes peered from beneath his hood. His form was swathed in an old rabbit skin cloak, a faded red scarf guarding against the biting cold. Every step he took echoed with the crunch of snow, a rhythm in harmony with the whispering wind.

This journey was a familiar one for Jakob—a well-worn trail through the Maurere's, a mountain range guarding the northern expanse of Makanor. The land, blanketed in snow, bore the unique customs and festivals of a people separated by the Roawa strait. And tonight, Jakob ran towards one such festival, guided by the moon's elusive glow.

Entering a snow-filled clearing, Jakob paused, his senses heightened. His eyes, attuned to the darkness, scanned the surroundings with an ease born of familiarity. Alone in the Maurere's at night, Jakob felt a tranquil solitude, a certainty that amplified his comfort. His keen eyes discerned the faint markings he had left—a small arrow cut into a tree, a trail of rocks, a strategically broken branch, all were guides only he could follow. 

Slowing to a walk, Jakob traced the path, the moonlight revealing a steep ascent up a cliff face. At his side hung peculiar objects—hupoks, crafted with a precision that whispered of tradition and mastery. From the base of each hupok extended a curved pommel, crafted to cradle the fingers and prevent the wielder's grip from faltering. In the heart of this pommel, a small, thin steel spike protruded, crowned by a tiny hole. Through this hole, a steel ring was affixed—a link to Jakob's belt, secured by a thumb-flicked clip. Coiled like an iron serpent around a thin hook on his belt, a chain, about a metre and a half long, added an additional layer to the hupoks' design.

The head of the hupok, a unique blend of knife and ice axe, bore a toothed, serrated pick perpendicular to the shaft, aiding in climbing. Like a continuation of the shaft, converging into a thin point, a blade reminiscent of a dagger completed the ensemble. A tradition among Makanor hunters, the hupok was more than a tool; it was a silent testament to a lineage of expertise. Each hunter, passing their hupok to the next like a torch, understood that its value surpassed that of any material wealth. 

The hupok, due to its form, functioned as an aid in climbing and this is precisely what Jakob used his hupok for. Climbing slowly, he used the hupoks to give him handholds, testing each handhold before applying his full weight. Slipping on the ice or falling from a misplaced grip could easily injure him. With how far away he was from Hukapa even a twisted ankle could prove fatal, the cold could kill him hours before he was found by anyone. 

With a flick of his wrist, he secured one hupok to his belt, the chain tethered to his hip. Gloved hands dug through snow, revealing an old but sturdy rope. A swift motion secured the second hupok, the chain a dance around his waist. With the rope in hand, Jakob heaved, pulling himself up.

Reaching the summit, Jakob's destination sprawled before him. 

At the pinnacle of the cliff, what once was a towering watchtower now stood weathered and diminished by the elements. The peak of the tower, once reaching 110 feet, now exposed itself to the open sky, worn by years of wind and snow. The base of the watchtower was cylindrical, each side stretching into the sky. This circle then rose off the ground forming, what Jakob had found, was a massive room. From the middle of this roof sprouted, at its base, a cylindrical tower that tapered slightly. The entrance to the tower formed a massive arch where once a door twice the height of Jakob would have stood. In its place Jakob had lashed an old discoloured sack creating a makeshift door. Pushing aside the cloth, Jakob walked into the tower. The inside of the tower was split into two circular rooms. The outer room completely encircled a smaller, inner room that only contained stairs to the peak of the tower.

Years ago, before Jakob had rediscovered the tower, the outer room had been stripped bare of almost everything of use. The only things inside were a small nest of crows and a ruined stone table that would have been almost twice as long as he was tall except for the fact that it had been broken in half. 

That table had puzzled Jakob. Multiple times he had tried figuring out what had happened to the table, except there was nothing in the room that could have broken it. The table was thick enough that he had figured it would have been too strong for even a hammer wielding orc warrior to put much more than a dent in. After many visits he had relented and finally figured that the only logical reason behind it was magic.

Jakob found himself captivated by the many tales of magic that whispered through the air. These stories added a touch of enchantment to the world, making it shimmer with a desire that beckoned his imagination.

However, his uncle loathed magic with a passion. Once when he was much, much younger, he along with many of the other village kids, had been playing sorcerers and criminals, pretending to be mages shooting fireballs at each other. When his uncle had found out about the game, he burst into a rage so strong that it made Jakob terrified to even think about magic around his uncle.

Turning from the table, Jakob climbed up some stone stairs at the back of the room. He followed the curve of the wall as the stairs curled upwards around the tower. The stone stairs beneath Jakob's boots echoed with a hollow sound as he ascended, each step resonating against the ancient walls. The thin layer of ice covering the higher steps crunched beneath his weight, the sound punctuating the quiet ascent.

As Jakob climbed, the snow, clinging to the stone steps, melted under his boots, leaving a trail of small, glistening droplets. His gloved hands gripped the cold railing, the rough texture providing a tactile reassurance against the biting wind. 

Finally reaching the top, Jakob's breath hung in the crisp air as he stood on the top of the tower. About half of the wall remained standing. The other side had crumbled inwards as if it was pushed into the tower by a massive fist. Wooden remnants littered the floor, remnants of a roof that once sheltered the occupants. Yet, Jakob, determined to revive the tower's spirit, had arranged the debris into small piles and erected a stone circle. 

Taking off his pack Jakob reached into it and pulled a drawstring bag that was the colour of the most vibrant orange. The vivid orange, like the flames he was about to ignite, spoke of warmth and resilience in the face of the frigid Maurere's nights. It was a beacon in the dark, a signal that marked his presence, a safety beacon amid the vast, silent expanse. In the hushed solitude of the ancient tower, the bag was a testament to the hunter's connection with his surroundings.

Placing this bag on the ground, using both hands, Jakob undid the belt that held his hupoks in place. Careful not to entangle the chains or the belt, Jakob placed the hupoks and belt inside the orange bag. A quick sharp pull of the drawstring was all it took to close the bag.

Carefully, setting the orange bag to the side Jakob reached into his pack and pulled out a small wooden bowl. Using the bowl, Jakob scraped as much of the snow out of the circle as he could. When he was satisfied that the surface was clear he pulled out a small tinderbox. Using this, and some wooden shingles, Jakob soon managed to get a fire going.

With bated breath, Jakob sat back to the fire, feet dangling into space, eyes fixed on the vast darkness beyond the crumbling wall. Anticipation tingled in the air as he waited. Then, like a distant spark defying the storm, a radiant light materialised in the snowy expanse.

A smile played on Jakob's lips as the light danced and grew brighter, culminating in a spectacular explosion of a thousand shards. A red sphere expanded, releasing ripples of magical energy that painted the sky with crimson waves of power.