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In the western part of Waterdeep, the City of Splendours, there was a tower.
It was tall, reaching above the houses that stood alongside it: all of them in a neat row; facing the sea from the west and keeping silent watch as the boats came and went into and from the city harbours.
The tower was tall and proud, but there was no one who would call it a home.
“One day, Tara. We will have a tower just like this one.”
There was a young man standing on the street. He was clothed in the robes of the students of the Blackstaff academy: its sleeves shortened through a neat needlework as they were usually worn by students much older than him. He had only recently started shaving.
There was a creature resting on his shoulders – a tressym. Her grey and brown fur was neatly clean and she wore a purple collar matching the shade of the student’s shirt beneath the black robes.
“What would we do with it, Mr. Dekarios?” she said.
“Anything we can imagine and more. Can you picture it? In a year or two, there will be nothing left for me to learn in the Academy, and we can study magic here when I am the archmage.”
“I suppose a private study and a library sounds like perfectly good reasons why to own a tower. Especially if there are not any librarians making fuss about holding the scrolls for me so I can read them.”
“See? I would never tire of holding a scroll for you.”
“Very well, Mr. Dekarios,” the tressym purred. “Should we have a tower, you should pick the librarian duties among your responsibilities towards me. Speaking of which, should we not head back home? You know that if I don’t get my morning snack on time, I might get a tad miffed.”
“Mystra forbid,” the student smiled. “We should hurry then.”
***
The day the hand pushed the door, the tower had been enjoying a quiet early afternoon, with the seagulls resting on its roof and the colonies of mice happily browsing through the cellar.
The animals quieted as the man who intruded upon their shelter proclaimed victoriously: “Here, Tara! Isn’t she a sight?”
There was a young wizard standing in the doorframe with a wide smile on his face as he looked upon the half-broken staircase in the entrance hall. The window behind it had long lost its glamour and the curtain that was supposed to cover it laid half on the dusty wooden floor, half-eaten by moths.
“If by sight you mean an absolute ruin, then I agree.” The tressym flew from the street to the wizard’s shoulders, refusing to step on the ruined floor. “I usually appreciate your sense of humour, but this time I cannot partake in it at all. Look at this place!”
She had more room to land on then those years before: the wizard’s shoulders were wider. There was more confidence in his step and a silver earring of an eight-pointed star hung from his ear.
“Exactly, Tara – look at this place!” he said. He moved his hand in a simple gesture and muttered an incantation. Suddenly, there were lights gently flowing around the hall, in the purple and silver hues. The collected filth of the place had suddenly become all the more apparent, but so did its size. Just the entrance hall itself could easily house them both.
“Imagine this fixed,” he nearly flew to the staircase and tapped it. “We can build on it: create more floors. We can have the library we talked about, rivalling that in the Academy. Rooms for both of us to study and rest. You could have the softest bed to lie in, even here, if you want to take a nap in the hall! We can have all that we can imagine here and more!”
His fingers touched the wall and a spell unfurled from them to the stone. It remembered something deep and nearly forgotten: the touch of magic. An image of a lantern appeared in its place, and then in another as the wizard’s hands weaved one illusion after the other into creation: lanterns, artwork, a new carpet on the floor, brand new curtains of heavy velvet – all of it manifesting itself and disappearing again as he spoke.
“What do you say?” he turned to Tara as the light of the illusions died around them.
The tressym licked her paw in deep thought.
“I suppose we can try to make it presentable here,” she said, finally. “But be assured that my paws are not touching the ground until it is rid of all of this soot.”
“I would not take you for someone so squeamish,” the wizard laughed.
“And I wouldn’t take you for someone who would thrive in such conditions!” The tressym shook her head. “Why would you even want to live here of all places?”
“Oh, Tara: have you not heard?” the wizard smiled and the light of magic flickered behind his eyes. “Every wizard needs a tower.”
***
The tower was full of magic, crackling with the Weave and layers and layers of enchantments and artefacts that its wizard placed there.
It was a jewel of the city, as brilliant and famous as its owner. But the name Dekarios didn’t pass people’s lips when they were talking about him.
Gale of Waterdeep, the archmage and the Chosen of Mystra made sure his tower was as splendid as the city: even more so than that.
The entrance hall matched the vision he had shown Tara once upon a time. The staircase was whole again, spiralling up to the floors that had not existed before they moved there.
Tara was no longer disappointed in the tower’s appearance – there was no trace of the ruin she moved into.
No longer was the tower stained by cobwebs, cracked stones and dust. Instead, long velvet carpets decorated the halls, along with paintings and statues – collected or gifted – all illuminated by the light of magical lanterns on the walls.
There was the library, fantastical in its contents and size, as well as the magic and spells that brewed behind its doors from Tara’s paws and the wizard’s penmanship.
There was the salon with two armchairs and a fireplace, where Mrs Dekarios, the wizard’s mother often sat and told her son all he needed and did not need to know – a cup of tea in her hand served scorching hot with a droplet of milk. There the wizard greeted his guests – if he had any – and discussed arcane matters with them, but they were few and scarce, as Gale of Waterdeep was often sought outside of his tower’s walls for his social standing and prowess.
The tower was nothing but grandiose: there was the excellently designed dining room; the cellar full of alchemical ingredients and a selection of wines, with a shelf of pickled vegetables and Hundur sauce, as well as jams and marmalades from the wizard’s mother; the observatory on the extended roof and many many more.
…There was also the kitchen, by far the humblest of them all, and no one, not even Gale of Waterdeep could tell you why: why the quiet hours spent there, preparing dinner with his hands and Tara’s meddlesome help were the most peaceful in his daily schedule.
He also felt peaceful at his balcony in his study, next to his bedroom that had books scattered around the canopy bed, and there was a statue of the wizard’s goddess.
And sometimes, the wizard would stay there for hours or days, and the room half-disappeared from the tower, and an immense amount of magic and power pulled through in and out.
And then it was over and the door to the bedroom opened and Tara returned from her visit to Gale’s mother.
They sat together at the balcony while the setting sun illuminated Tara’s fur to copper hues and Gale read a book or two, feeling happy.
And the tower felt warm.
***
Quiet.
The tower’s shadow was looming over the surrounding houses. Its empty windows looked down the street – sometimes there were people who wanted to peek through, or others that leaned to their companions and in hushed voices mumbled the latest gossip of the former Chosen of Mystra.
Inside of the tower, the rooms were draped in shadows and the dark, curtains touching the once shining floors – some of them haven’t been pulled out in weeks, or perhaps months.
Some of the spiders moved back, making their home in the corners and in the nooks of the once warm rooms. But even they never stayed for long.
The magic lanterns ceased their shining there shining, and the time, if it flowed there at all, stretched like molasses – covering the tower’s heart in thick, dark mass. The rooms above, not visited in weeks, gathered dust, and the top of the staircase disappeared into the shadows gathered above.
And there was the bedroom.
A scratch on the door. “Mr. Dekarios?”
There was no answer.
“Mr. Dekarios, it is time to rise!”
A paw slipped between the doorframe and Tara opened the door for herself. When she did so, there was a muffled sound from the bed and the wizard stirred.
He had grown a beard. His hair had grown out, too, messy and unkept, and there were dark circles underneath his eyes that never disappeared, no matter how much he rested.
Tara flew to the curtains and let a sliver of light in: no longer the warm yellow of the sunrise, but the white light of noon. It revealed the floor, stacked with books and used up scrolls, clothes thrown over the legs of the bed and the working chair, a table covered in pieces of writing, and a reminder of last night’s another unsuccessful attempt to stabilize the gnawing force kept behind the wizard’s sternum.
A ring, shining with transmutation magic in its gem the day before, now split into two, with no trace of the arcane inside.
“Tara.” The wizard’s voice was weary. “What time is it?”
“Just the time for breakfast,” Tara flew to the bed and landed on the wizard’s chest. As she did so, she immediately started to purr. “Come now, Mr. Dekarios, your mother had sent her biscuits this morning.”
“I don’t think I am hungry, Tara.”
“You may not be, but I am.” Tara paces on his chest. “And you know how I loathe to eat alone.”
A sound escaped the wizard’s lips. Maybe a sigh, maybe a short-lived laugh.
“How could I forget?” he reached between Tara’s ears and scratched the fur there: her purring got louder. “Forgive me. I suppose I should eat something with you then. There is no need to keep you hungry.”
Tara leaned into the wizard’s palm. “That is good to hear. Shall we go then?”
“Go ahead, Tara.” The wizard said. “I will join you in a bit.”
Tara reluctantly got herself from underneath the wizard’s palm, examining him carefully.
“Very well, then,” she said at last. “But do not keep me waiting.”
“I would not dream of it,” he said and watched as Tara left the room. The door remained open. His eyes glanced at it before he fell back into the cushions.
The canopy of the bed – the dark purple velvet with silver stars – stared back at him. His hand rose up from his side in a vain attempt to reach it.
His hand fell on his chest, his fingers tracing the scar reaching to the side of his face.
He rolled on his side and closed his eyes again.
***
The tower was empty.
The wizard left and so did the tressym. There was no one to dust the shelves, no one to sort through the few alchemical ingredients in the wizard’s study – some of them were near to rot – and no one who would chase away the rats making a home inside the cellar.
It had been so long. Its empty windows looked down on the streets and towards the horizon beyond the harbour, but its wizard was not coming back.
The trees went from green to red and some of them clogged the water drain. The water started to gather underneath the roof.
And the tower waited and waited and –
There came a night and with it a movement. There was a dream, or rather an illusion walking in the wizard’s study. Or perhaps, the room and the tower were the illusion, and the dream of their wizard was real. Because it was his steps that echoed through the study, somewhere far away from there.
A memory of the wizard’s voice resonated through, describing the beauty of the Lliirian Suites from the grand piano, and there had been a second pair of steps following him, new to the tower.
But the tower they were walking through was not the tower as it was now, not how it had been during the last days before the wizard left, not even as it was at its most splendid. All the images merged into one: how its wizard remembered it.
They – the wizard and his companion – were on the balcony now, sitting in his favourite spot.
“Up all night reading?” An echo of a new voice said: a woman speaking with a spark of amusement and adoration in her voice. “I do love that rebellious streak of yours…”
“Oh, allow me to live dangerously while I still can,” the wizard said and his smile matched hers.
And soon thereafter, there was a book presented. Their hands were touching its pages, and the tower lost its roof and walls and there was an endless starry sky and two figures rising among them, and it was vast and beautiful and while it might have not been real, the effort behind it and the emotions were.
And then, there was a see-through hand laid on the wizard’s cheek and a gentle request, soft and tender, and then –
The vision disappeared.
The tower was back in Waterdeep, empty and alone.
But something lingered in the study.
A sense of magic, purple swirls of unmatched possibilities woven with care and a glimpse of golden moonlight shining through, wrapping around them, gentle and warm.
And somewhere, far, far away from the bedroom, a bed of tall canopy, and soft pillows and sheets is remembered into being.
***
The tower waited and waited.
Some days, people with tall hats and long beards came near it and inspected it from all possible angles down on the cold cobblestone, and talked of gold and value, and good foundation and an excellent location, but they never talked for long, as a woman with brown greying hair had always appeared and protected her son’s property either with words or her handbag.
The tower’s doorframe crackled. Winter was approaching. The dampness was slowly crawling in, and the roof, despite being near the seacoast, was slowly covered by lichen and then –
Two pairs of feet walked down the street to the entrance door of the tower, followed by the four paws of a large dog.
“Are you sure you would not rather stay in the inn while I make the place ready?”
The wizard’s voice. Real and material, walking in the light of the late afternoon sun.
And there was a woman beside him, in a simple shirt and trousers, a golden pendant of the moon goddess hanging around her neck, with a large white dog by her side.
“Oh, absolutely,” she said. “Unless you’d found a way to hide a Bhaal temple in there, I don’t think I would be that appalled by your taste in decorating.”
“There is certainly less blood-related decor.”
“But the skulls are on the table? Outrageous. I thought you were a gentleman, Gale Dekarios.”
“As if you do not own a bird skull or two for potion-brewing.”
“Yeah. So?”
There was a smile on the wizard’s face now.
The dog and the woman stopped before the door and she caught his hand.
“If you really don’t want me there,” she said. “I can stay in the Gate before you’re ready.”
“No,” the wizard said. “No. I would prefer you stayed.”
“I want to stay, too,” she said, squeezing his hand gently. “So, may I see?”
“Be my guest.”
“Oh, I plan to stick around a bit longer, if you don’t mind,” she said as the door opened before them.
A streak of daylight fell on the dusty carpet and a swirl of dust rose from it as they stepped in.
“As I said,” the wizard said. “I haven’t been here for quite some time. And nor had Tara, from my understanding.”
Her eyes followed the dead magic lanterns, the abandoned wine glass on one of the stairs, and she walked to the window on the other side of the hall.
“It’s a lot bigger than I imagined,” she said, glancing up to the spiralling staircase.
“I feel like apologies are in place here. I invited you to… this. It might take some time before it’s up to reasonable standards, again. If you give me a day or two, I should be able to –“
The curtains flew apart as she pulled the rope on the side of the window. A layer of cobwebs broke through, and the room was suddenly bathing in the golden sunlight, with her standing right in front of it.
“Thought we might let some light in. So,” she put her hands on her hips. “Where do we start? Kitchen? Bathroom? Bedroom?”
“Glad to see you have your priorities in order,” Gale smiled.
“And you don’t?” she said. “Between the two of us, and Tara’s paws, we should have cleaned it a bit in no time. Yes, you can help too, Scratch,” she knelt down to the dog and petted him on his head.
The wizard touched the stone on the wall. A flicker of magic passes between them, and it was like recognizing an old friend.
“Gale?” Tav said. “Is something the matter?”
"Nothing," Gale Dekarios shook his head. "It’s good to be home.”