Anthyon gazed into the sunset from the top of the western heights of the Fortress Rims, as the locals called it. Even his troubled soul could not deflect the beauties of the orange and crimson hues of the sky. His cloak fluttered gently in the cool evening breeze ascending from the valley below behind him, where the majestic city of Highcrest lay cradled by the protective embrace of the surrounding hills.
Turning around, he paused for a long moment, taking a deep breath from the crisp air. This was the first time he got this near this place, though he’d been trying to access it for longer than he could remember. As he looked down from the top to the breathtaking view of the capital city of Highcrest, it was impossible to miss Silvervein, the river that cut through the valley from north to south, dividing the city in two. Its waters, shimmering with the last golden rays of the sun, looked almost like flowing molten silver, mirroring the sky’s fiery hues. The riverbanks were lined with ancient cobblestone pathways and dotted with weeping willows whose drooping branches kissed the water’s surface, creating ripples that danced like joyful spirits in the fading light.
The city itself stretched out on either side of the Silvervein, its spires and rooftops a mosaic of varying shades of grey and earthen tones. The architecture blended necessity and artistry—a fortress designed with elegance. The tallest structure is the grand tower of the city’s keep, located centrally and rising above all. Its top catches the last of the sun’s rays, standing as a beacon of the enduring strength and vigilance of Highcrest.
From he was standing, Anthyon could hear the distant hum of the city’s life: merchants closing their stalls for the day, the laughter of children as they played their last games before nightfall, and the steady beat of the blacksmith’s hammer giving way to the softer sounds of the evening serenade. The air was filled with the mixed scents of roasting meats, fresh earth, and the tangy coolness of the river.
As darkness began to infringe upon the valley, the city lights of Highcrest ignited one by one, twinkling like terrestrial stars mirrored in the smooth, darkening surface of Silvervein. The river reflected the soft glow of lanterns and torches, casting a gentle light that ebbs and flows with the current, illuminating the city in a quiet, pulsating radiance.
This moment of peace belied Anthyon’s turbulent spirit. As a necromancer, he dwelled on the fringes of society and engaged in practices that drew not only power but suspicion. But he had already heard many tales about this view, which could make him forget why he was here for a second.
As the last light of day faded, he turned around, his gaze piercing through the twilight to ensure absolute solitude. He had arrived astride Vraesyr, his favoured mount, a black dragon, and was keen to keep it hidden from sight.
He spotted an alcove among the cliffs while approaching the mountains, shielded from the elements and invisible from below. Ancient, gnarled trees twisted around the space, their trunks bent by the relentless winds, their leaves whispering secrets to the night, providing a natural camouflage of shadow and stone for Vraesyr.
Casting a series of subtle enchantments, Anthyon reinforced their concealment with layers of illusions and wards designed to deter the curious. These magical barriers melded into the natural fog that clings to the Rims, making the dragon’s refuge appear as nothing more than an extension of the rocky landscape. To the untrained eye, it would seem like the cliff continues its harsh, uninviting face, offering no foothold or shelter.
Looking down at the city again, Anthyon felt a stirring of anticipation mixed with the familiar tug of caution. His mission in Highcrest was clear, yet the path was fraught with dangers seen and unseen. For a moment longer, he allowed himself the solitude of the Rims, the company of the stars, and the loyalty of the dragon behind him.
Then, with a final glance at Vraesyr, Anthyon turned from the cliffs and descended an old, forgotten path leading into the heart of Highcrest.
Anthyon navigated the narrow, overgrown path, his boots finding sure footing on the time-worn stones that many had forgotten. The path wound steeply down the side of the Fortress Rims, cloaked in shadows that deepened with night’s total arrival. His mind, usually a bastion of calm and calculation, was clouded with concern for his friend. The witch, a rare ally in his solitary existence, had ventured into Highcrest under the pretence of trading exotic herbs. But her recent messages, which had shifted from her typical buoyant tone to something more fatigued and troubled, hinted at personal struggles that even she hadn’t anticipated.
As he descended, the city’s sounds grew louder, a stark contrast to the silence of his vigil on the cliffs. He reflected on the irony of Highcrest’s facade—a city that, beneath its serene surface, thrummed with the complexities and shadows typical of any great metropolis. Here, where ancient magic and modern challenges intertwined, a necromancer and a witch could find valuable allies or formidable adversaries.
The possibility that his friend might be grappling with unseen pressures quickened his steps despite the necessity for stealth. Anthyon was well aware that Highcrest, for all its architectural grandeur and vibrant life, harboured a darker undercurrent. His friend’s expertise in rare and potent botanicals might not be the only reason for her distress; the city itself, with its relentless pace and myriad demands, could sap even the most powerful spirit.
Reaching the base of the cliffs, Anthyon merged into the evening crowds, disguising his distinctive aura with a subtle spell to appear unremarkable to the casual observer. His tall figure, cloaked in dark garments, moved through the streets with a purposeful stride towards the last known location of his friend—the Looming Leaf, a tavern known as much for its dealings in magical goods as for its role as a hub of whispers and secrets.
His friend had mentioned the Looming Leaf in her last, more sombre message, describing it as a place where secrets were as shared as the wares on display. As Anthyon approached the dimly lit facade of the tavern, nestled in a quieter quarter of Highcrest, he prepared for the nuances of what he might encounter inside. The air inside was heavy with the scent of spiced ale and an undercurrent of magic, while the murmur of clandestine conversations hinted at the deeper tensions within the city.
Upon entering the Looming Leaf, Anthyon paused to let his senses meld with the charged atmosphere, where magic was subtly woven into every whispered conversation. His eyes moved carefully across the dimly lit room, searching for any trace of his friend or at least a hint that might point him in her direction. His journey to Highcrest had transcended the mere urgency of rescue; it had plunged him into a labyrinth of personal and arcane enigmas that could just as easily entangle him as it had her. As he stood there, enveloped in the tavern’s shadowy embrace, Anthyon was acutely aware that each concealed corner could hold a potential threat—or an indispensable ally.