Eye of the Storm: Prologue
By Nightsong
Nightsong pulled himself up and wiped sweat from his brow. He had been working on his ship, the Epoch, for several hours while he waited on the other members of the newly-formed Storm Knights’ Guild to come to Storm Citadel.
‘They’re going to be impressed by what they see, too, I’d wager.’ The young mage thought, smiling even as he cast a small spell to remove the oil stains from his white robes.
Storm Citadel was a 300-story castle floating in the eye of an unending hurricane. Nightsong himself was currently in the hangar on the 299th floor, as his room was just a floor above. Five towers spread out from the base of the citadel, one for each of the members of the Guild.
Sighing contentedly, Nightsong walked out of the hangar, his steps echoing almost ominously in the mostly-empty castle. Getting onto an elevator, he opted to wait for his friends in the Grand Hall, a massive audience chamber of sorts located on the 100th floor.
As he stepped off into the grand room, he noticed someone had already made themselves comfortable in one of the many chairs in front of the fireplace. He upped his pace, expecting to see one of the Guild members who had arrived early.
He was disappointed on that account.
The man who sat in the chair wasn’t even human, at least not fully. He wore black robes in stark contrast to Nightsong’s own, with a hood obscuring all of his face except for two glowing white eyes. The man stood up as Night neared him.
“Hello, Night.” The voice was vaguely familiar to the leader of the Storm Knights, though he couldn’t quite place it. He put one hand on the hilt of his Blade of Black, fearing an oncoming attack.
“Who are you, and more importantly, how did you get in here?” The cloaked cyborg – for that’s what Nightsong had decided he was – simply laughed.
“I am the Technoprophet. As for how I got in, the defenses you’ve placed upon this… hovel are pathetic. But don’t worry.” Added the Technoprophet, as Nightsong began to draw his blade. “I’ve simply come to give you a message. My master… believes it would be unwise for your little Guild to form. He says that you should rescind your invitation to them, as soon as possible.” Nightsong snorted.
“And you can tell your ‘master’ that I did this in response.” With that, the young mage swung his blade around with incredible speed, bringing it down on the Technoprophet’s head… or he thought he had. He was amazed to see the cyborg vanish right before his eyes, laughing. The Blade of Black passed through thin air, striking the stone floor with an audible clang.
After a few minutes, Nightsong sheathed his blade again, and sank into an armchair near the fire. Resting his chin in a gauntleted hand, he stared into the flames.
‘Who could want to do this? And… why did that cyborg seem so familiar?’ He knew that his questions would likely be answered all too quickly, for he’d put too much work into the construction of Storm Citadel to abandon it now.