He then turned his attention to the assemblage of wires, gears, and levers that he had cobbled together over the last three days. He walked over the tamed raccoon and gave it an affectionate scratch behind the ears who nuzzled his hand in response. “Hello, Ruddiger.” he said softly, his voice still sounding rough to his ears due to its lack of use. Varian gave his pet a warm but weary smile. Sitting back on his hind legs on top of the desk was a rotund raccoon who looked expectantly at him. Distracted, he looked towards the creature that made it. His reminiscing was broken by a second sound, a small chittering noise coming from his work desk in the corner of the room. Those proved to be less than sufficient in the end and he hoped his newest discovery would be more successful. Varian had studied Demanitus work before, reverse engineering the ancient scientist’s deadly and near indestructible automatons for his own nefarious purposes. Most importantly the notes of the famed alchemist Demanitus. The precious treasure that it once held was no longer there, having been stolen by Varian himself, but the room still stored vast amounts of books and scrolls containing knowledge of sages past. Painful memories the day of the accident, fighting his way through a snowstorm, the castle door slamming in his face, the endless weeks of isolation and failed experiments, the rage he felt while battling both his inner demons and the uncaring kingdom that abandoned him, the cold emptiness while lying on the dungeon floor, and most recently, the prison break that brought him back to where he began.įor upon acquiring his freedom, and being appointed the new Royal Adviser by the leader of the Saporians, the architects of his escape, Varian hit upon the idea of raiding the castle’s innermost vault. Varian blinked back tears as he gazed up at his father, memories flooding his mind. He stretched out his own hand to touch that face, but as so many times before, it only came to rest on the cold, unyielding, translucent stone. Enclosed within the golden resin was the figure of a man standing tall, right arm reaching upwards, clasping what looked to be a note, and his face frozen eyes closed in, what Varian thought was, pain. A towering stalagmite made from amber stood before him. A grim reminder of what had lead to such desolation.įinally his gaze settled back to the object that he had first spoken to. He could see through a hole in one wall out to the abandoned farmland and deserted huts that made up the village he had once called home, and no matter where he turned black pointy rocks of all sizes punctured the ground. The young boy glanced around the ruins of where he stood, shivering from more than just the morning chill as his eyes swept past broken timbers, rubble, and cobwebs. It was the first time he had spoken out loud in days and his own voice sounded weird and unnatural to him, caked with emotion. The hoarse, raspy voice broke the eerie silence that permeated the dark chamber, and Varian startled to hear himself speak.