Pristine white stone bricked into a tall peaked tower, broken by wooden binding in the middle of the tower holding it all together. Above the binding the tower gives way to a jagged yawning mouth where the stone has given way, collapsing and down as a glaring stain against the otherwise perfect tower. Surrounding the marred tower are broken and fire scarred walls, weathered but not old as blood stains are still visible and haven’t been washed away yet. Scattered mounds of stone randomly litter the inside of the walls, faint traces of red on and around them. Faint traces of limbs and faces are outlined and traced on the rocks. Scattered arrows, their shafts snapped are pressed deep into the dirt as if they had been trodden on by many people entering or exiting the tower walls.

Standing lonely before the tower door, a tall bronze metallic construct rests on its knuckles, knees refusing to touch the ground. Its sculpted metallic muscles marred but still show a sublime level of craftsmanship in the curving lines and faint runic etchings. The chest rent open, arms scarred by scraps and dents both large and small, and its legs scarred by blade and magic, yet it has nary a mark on its back. It’s smooth face carrying a peaceful expression as its mouth seems curved into a small smile despite its fracture crystalline eyes.

Faint echoes of screams and shouts overwhelm the mind as soft footsteps carry you closer and closer, the grass has grown and started to take over the rubble and construct but now it is only a faint foot hold. The closer to the tower the more the screams and cries echo within, but the steps close to the construct the incoherent screams become clearly.

“Overwhelm him! Aim for the chest, his core lies there,”

“Traitor you leave your liege for what, a friend?”

And ever so softly under the shouts and screaming “I am sorry my friend, this could not be stopped.”

Stepping away from the construct the screaming and shouting fades, only to be replaced by a dull thumping, faint barely noticeable under the screams. Gradually getting louder and louder as the cries of men fade, looking up, directly in front is the tower door. Dull silver metal, untouched, unblemished, smooth and mar less there is not even a handle or knocker. A blank dull silver metal sheet of a door that bars all unworthy from entering its premise.

With a soft touch, all sound disappears, the door grows smaller and smaller as darkness overwhelms the edges of vision until all is gone.