As the edge of the forest fell away, a dramatic scene unfolded before the party. Ahead, a vast congregation of bodies gathered, a mix of living and something less than living, all facing a towering structure that loomed ominously in the distance. Bronson, recognizing his cohort among the crowd, immediately stepped forward, signaling to his 'puppets' as they quickened their pace and blended into the mass of bodies, leaving Basic and Alistair behind.
Catching up to Alistair, who staggered toward the congregation with an unsettling lack of coordination, Basic tried to engage him. “Hey, did you hear that chanting back there?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern. Alistair offered no response, his silence deep and impenetrable. Misinterpreting this as a sign of trauma, Basic decided to offer some comfort. “You’re okay now, we made it out. You’re safe,” he reassured, though it was clear how much comfort his words provided.
Alistair mechanically found a spot at the back of the crowd, standing somewhat apart as if his connection to the moment was as frayed as his physical state. Basic, meanwhile, turned his attention forward and finally noticed the structure that commanded everyone's gaze—a gigantic leaning tower that seemed to defy the laws of architecture and gravity alike.
The crowd was a curious mix; alongside Bronson's puppets, there were recruiters who seemed to buzz with a kind of dark anticipation, as if waiting for a signal or manifestation from the tower. Basic observed them all with a mix of awe and unease, unsure of the proceedings but captivated by the spectacle.
Each individual in the crowd seemed drawn to the tower for reasons of their own, their expressions ranging from fervent zeal to hollow emptiness. As Basic stood there among them, he felt an unsettling combination of being part of something monumental and yet profoundly out of place, as if he had stumbled upon a secret meeting that was both more dangerous and more significant than anything he had encountered before.
In the eerie silence that hung over the congregation, Basic turned to a nearby figure, a zombie-like man whose face was devoid of any expression. “Excuse me my good man, do you know what the line is for?” Basic asked, trying to make sense of the gathering. The man offered no response, his stare blank and unseeing, as if Basic hadn't spoken at all.
Frustrated but undeterred, Basic scanned the surroundings once more. His eyes were drawn to the serpent flags that draped along the sides of the leaning tower, their sinister symbols fluttering ominously in the breeze. He furrowed his brow, trying to recall why the serpent imagery felt familiar. “Hmm, a serpent, and what looks like a sorcerer’s tower— could it be? Yes, just what the knight mentioned. It’s the lair of the fireless dragon that Elabor fought. That golden liar, twas but a snake himself,” Basic muttered to himself, piecing together memories and stories in his mind, comfortable in his conclusions, however far from reality they might be.
The danger of the situation seemed lost on him as he settled into his misremembered version of events, ignoring the real and present threat that the serpent flags represented. Around him, the crowd was massive, numbering in the hundreds. It was a formidable assembly, enough people to sack a city, each individual drawn here under the sinister influence of the flags they stood beneath.
Unaware of the gravity of the congregation, Basic remained absorbed in his own thoughts, detached from the brewing storm around him. The multitude waited, their anticipation palpable, a collective breath held before the inevitable unfurling of events tied to the mysterious and imposing tower.
Basic's attempts to blend in and connect with those around him remained fruitless, and he was unprepared for the sudden, deafening roar that erupted from the crowd. Startled, he looked around, trying to identify the source of the commotion. High above on the balcony of the imposing tower, a figure appeared—a mere speck from such a distance, yet every movement it made seemed to command attention and stir the crowd into a frenzy.
As the figure shifted, the crowd's cheers reached a crescendo, then fell into a hushed silence, hanging on the words that would soon echo through the air.
“I sent out the message, and you answered the call,” the voice boomed, authoritative and chilling. The crowd roared in response, feeding off the energy of the declaration.
“Your souls apart mean nothing, but combined, I can harness you into everything!” The crowd erupted again, more passionate than before. Basic, caught up in the moment and not wanting to feel left out, joined in the cheering, though he didn't fully grasp the meaning behind the words.
“Despite our vision, there are those who wish to blind you,” the voice continued, the crowd falling silent to absorb every word. Predicting another round of cheers, Basic shouted out his approval—too soon. The sudden silence that followed his lone voice was palpable, and Basic felt the heat of embarrassment as he quickly scanned around to see if anyone had noticed his mistimed enthusiasm.
The voice from the tower resumed, unfazed. “I see all. I know all. I simply am. You are my children who do as I command. In return, I give you purpose.” At each pause, the crowd responded with fervent cheers, further solidifying the figure’s hold over them. “I give you mercy,” the voice declared, and again the crowd cheered wildly.
Basic applauding along with his peers, acknowledges to those around him, “Seems like a good guy.“
As the voice's words hung ominously in the air, a figure could be seen falling from the tower, plunging toward the ground—a stark and dreadful demonstration of the voice's power. The crowd silenced as a recruiter fell through the air, erupting as he crashed into the ground.
Basic questions his mute comrades as to the identity of the object. “Was that a person? They should invest in bigger railings.” Basic asks in earnest.
The voice continues: “Yet one who is graced with my hand, defies me. Disparages me… You are to know my power.” The crowd was now a sea of frenzied devotion, every shout affirming their allegiance. Suddenly, the figure's tone grew dark, “Send me the one they call Basic.“
Basic eager to keep up the charade fidgets around angrily, “Where is this fool Basic? I’ll thrash ‘em—eat him if I must!“
His zombie-like cohorts slowly turned toward him as if to signal the ruse is up. All the while Basic was turning, searching for himself. He was in the midst of something far larger and more sinister than he could have imagined, and now, it seemed, he was being called out by the very force that controlled this dark gathering.
As the tension around Basic intensified, Alistair pointed toward him, and like a wave, the crowd's attention shifted until Basic stood isolated, the focal point of hundreds of pointed fingers. Now spotted, Basic sheepishly pointed at another bald man amongst the crowd. Speaking out of the corner of his mouth Basic murmurs, “That’s the true fiend” and speaking regularly again, Basic confirms his own truth. “Yes, that Basic is a master of deception, there he stands in full view.“
The voice, sensing treason, boomed from the tower, “Seize him!” The mob of puppets surged forward as if their lives depended on it.
Basic, always quick with a retort, grinned widely. “Oh, so you want to play catch, do you? Fine! Not if I catch you first!” With a laugh, he grabbed the first few puppets, effortlessly throwing them ten feet into the air. “Look at that! How high can you fly?” he mocked, delighting in their helpless flailing.
But as more puppets swarmed him, Alistair stepped in, grabbing the arm of his former friend. Basic's eyes met Alistair's, noting his friend's dark, lifeless eyes.
“Excuse me, Alistair, you're getting in the way of my fun!” Basic said, lifting him into the air with ease, his hands gripping tightly around Alistair's chest. Alistair’s grip creates a stalemate between the two. Amid evil, Basic saw nothing but emptiness.
Alistair groaned, a low, haunting sound as if he were a wounded beast. Basic, disregarding the obvious lifelessness of his friend, started to speak to him as if he were a dog. “What is it, boy?” he asked, his tone mocking, as he shook his lifeless friend.
Alistair groaned again; his body went limp in Basic's grip.
“You want me to get captured? Is that it?” Basic asked, shaking Alistair slightly. Alistair's tongue lolled out, waving in the air as his head rocked back and forth in an agreeing motion.
“Fine, fine, if you think best, my strategist,” Basic said, setting Alistair down. “Guess it's time to play along, huh?” He raised his hands in mock surrender as the puppets closed in. “Alright, no need to get rough. I'll come quietly. Was only trying to have a bit of fun.“
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The crowd of puppets seized him, dragging him toward the tower. The crowd cheered as if they’d won a great battle. Basic couldn't shake the feeling of unease as they moved closer to the massive wooden doors. As he slithered across the ground, he sees the image of Bronson's mutilated corpse along the base of the tower. “Is nobody going to help the man?” Basic declares as the tower doors open. His last image of the outside world comforting him as he misinterprets the subsequent cannibalism of Bronson as having received such aid.
As the doors swung open, revealing the shadowy interior of the voice’s lair, Basic took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever awaited inside. The cheers of the crowd faded behind him, leaving only the ominous silence of the tower.
Basic lay discombobulated on the cold stone floor, the echoes of the crowd's previous roars still ringing in his ears. Suddenly, he heard a loud clearing of someone's throat. Groaning, he looked to his left but saw nothing. The throat cleared again, yet louder this time. Basic looked to his right and still saw nothing.
“Where are you!?” Basic called out, terror tinging his voice.
“I'm right in front of you, fool” shouted the voice, revealed to be Serpen Serpantine. Basic sheepishly looked ahead and saw Serpen standing on an inside balcony, flanked by stairs on either side.
“Ah, there you are,” Basic said, trying to downplay his stupidity.
Serpen was an imposing figure, tall with sallow, yellowish skin. His nose was short but pronounced, wearing priest-like robes and a striking headpiece of blood and dark green. Basic, despite the gravity of the situation, couldn't help but be amazed by his display of power.
“Welcome, honorable fool, to my humble abode,” Serpen said with a mocking grin.
“Pleasure's all mine,” Basic replied, rising to his feet.
“You've defeated quite a few of my minions,” Serpen continued, his voice filled with pride.
“Pleasure's… all mine…” Basic replied awkwardly, realizing his repeated words.
Serpen's pride swelled further. “Challenging me comes with punishment, of course, but I am curious about your innate abilities. How have you resisted my shadow?“
“Yes, my abilities are quite… innate,” said Basic once again, trying to remain confident.
Serpen went on, his tone darkening. “Would you rather me torture you for such information?“
Basic, out of touch with the severity of the situation, blurted out, “Fine, I'll join you… Together we can rule all of Gilgamar.“
Serpen responded dismissively, “What?“
Basic, with defeat in his voice, continues; “Yes, together we can rule the lands, side by side, forever.“
Serpen's expression turned cold. “Guards! Lead him to the dungeon!“
With a sudden surge of strength, Basic hurled the puppets away, their lifeless bodies bouncing off the stone walls. Serpen's eyes widened in astonishment. “Better start using that magic, fairy man,” Basic declared, his voice echoing with pride.
Serpen, enraged by Basic's defiance, conjured a fireball and launched it at him. The fireball exploded upon impact, engulfing Basic and the corridors in flames. Serpen snickered, but his laughter faded as the smoke cleared to reveal Basic unscathed.
“Ow,” Basic taunted, wiping his chest with a smirk playing on his lips.
Fear began to creep into Serpen's eyes as he realized the danger he was in. He quivered atop the staircase, watching Basic slowly ascend. “Fe, fi, fo, fum,” Basic chanted mockingly, his footsteps echoing ominously against the stone steps.
Serpen, frozen in fear, could only watch as Basic approached.
“Does the magician wish to reveal any of his last tricks?” Basic asked, his voice dripping with mockery, as he reached out to grapple with the dark lord.
Desperate, Serpen drew attention to his right hand, holding a golden ring. Basic pulled back his attack and watched cautiously. Serpen pretended to place the ring in his other hand, then opened it to reveal his bare palm. Basic, perplexed, leaned in closer. “Where’d it go?” he murmured.
Serpen, now regaining some of his composure, stood up and dramatically pulled the ring from behind Basic's own head. Basic slapped the back of his head, searching for more hidden rings. “How did you…?” he stammered; confusion etched on his face.
With a sly grin, Serpen clasped his hands together and mimicked pulling off one of his fingers in a cheap magic trick. Basic stumbled back, his eyes wide with disbelief. “It isn't possible. What kind of sorcery is this?” he demanded.
Serpen held up his “removed” finger like a cross, pushing Basic back down the steps. Basic, shaken by the ghastly sight, lost his footing and tumbled down. Before he could recover, the puppets seized him once more, their grip now felt like iron.
The room fell silent as Serpen descended the staircase with a sinister grin. “Do you doubt my power now?” Serpen asked.
Basic, still restrained by the puppets, looked up in despair. His face winced at the power of Serpen’s ‘magic’. “What godly power is this?“
Serpen's eyes gleamed with pleasure at Basic's words. Somehow the fool was convinced of his peril. He turned away from Basic, releasing his false composure. “Viktor!” he called hastily.
A recruiter, Viktor, appeared before his master, bowing low. “Yes, m’lord?“
“What is he?” Serpen whispered, pointing at Basic.
“I don't know, m’lord,” Viktor replied, his voice trembling.
“How can he resist my power? What dark magic is this? No one can resist my power!” Serpen's voice was laced with frustration.
Viktor stammered, “I don’t know m’lord.“
Serpen's eyes narrowed, speaking in a hushed tone. “What shall we do with him? He threatens our very existence.“
Viktor hesitated before suggesting, “We could try to use weapons on him, m’lord.“
“Weapons?” Serpen asked, raising an eyebrow.
“We stab him, chop him, wound him,” Viktor explained, though his voice lacked conviction.
“No,” Serpen said, shaking his head. “It wouldn't work. He's too powerful. My fireball left nothing but ash on his chest.“
Viktor thought for a moment and then suggested, “What about poison, m’lord?“
“Poison,” Serpen repeated, a sinister smile spreading across his face. “Yes, yes, that could work. I'll poison this godly fool. Prepare it at once.“
“Yes, m’lord,” Viktor replied, bowing before hurrying off to prepare the poison.
Serpen turned back to Basic, who was enjoying the scenery of the Crooked Towers interior. “I invite you to a feast,” Serpen said, his voice dripping with false hospitality.
Basic raised an eyebrow, his cheeky demeanor never fading. “A feast? I shall accept.“
Serpen's eyes glinted with malice. “Yes, a feast. You will die with me… Ehrem.. dine with me.“
The puppets released Basic, and he stood up, dusting himself off. “Well, I'm always up for a good meal,” he said with a grin, not aware of the danger that lay ahead.
As they walked through the grand halls of the Crooked Tower, Basic couldn't help but notice the grandeur of the place. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries depicting Serpen's conquests and the subjugation of various lands. The air was thick with the scent of incense and something more sinister that he couldn't quite place.
They entered a vast dining hall, where a long table was laden with sumptuous dishes. In the middle of the table, a throne-like chair awaited Serpen, and a less grand but still elaborate chair was set across it for Basic.
“Basic, my boy, this is how Gods feast!” Serpen declared with a theatrical flourish of his hands, snapping his fingers to magically conjure an extravagant feast from thin air. Plates piled high with sumptuous dishes appeared on the long dining table, causing Basic's eyes to widen with amazement and his stomach to rumble audibly.
He rushed toward the table, eager to dig in, but Serpen cleared his throat loudly, halting him in his tracks. Basic turned around, confused, only to see Serpen delicately lifting the hem of his robes, prancing elegantly toward his grand chair at the center of the table. Mimicking Serpen, Basic lifted his shirt like a skirt and sashayed toward his seat, drawing a barely suppressed chuckle from some of the onlookers.
As Basic reached for a fork, Serpen coughed again, prompting Basic to pause and watch as Serpen stylishly tucked a cloth napkin into his collar. Basic, never one to feel left out, grabbed the table-linen and stuffed it into his neck in a makeshift fashion, then once again reached for his fork.
This time, Serpen slapped his hand away, and Basic retracted it in an embarrassed manner, a sheepish grin on his face. Serpen then dipped his fingers into a bowl of water, ceremoniously cleansing his hands. Basic, ever the mimic, plunged his hands into his water bowl, splashing water across the table and some of the nearby guests.
“Okay, now we shall eat,” Serpen declared, signaling the official start of the meal.
Basic sighed in relief and attacked the chicken and peas with gusto, his earlier bravado giving way to the simple pleasure of a good meal.
As Basic indulged, Viktor approached Serpen quietly and whispered, “We should attack him now while he's preoccupied.“
Serpen, observing Basic's robust appetite, shook his head. “You would risk my life?,” he murmured back. “The boy is solid as stone. If he can resist my magic, then he can resist mortal blades…“
Basic sat across the table, half-consumed by the oversized chair, his shiny head barely peeking above the bowls he was already stealing from. He and Serpen traded a smile that belonged more at a family supper than a villain’s feast.
“This feast is the only thing stopping this blood thirsty monster from ripping us to shreds.” He gestured subtly at the seemingly innocuous dishes that lined the table, hinting at a more sinister plan. “Let him enjoy the moment and wait for the ceremonial drink.“
Viktor nodded, understanding, and signaled to the assembled assassins—a group of ripped, murderous lunatics armed to the teeth and barely holding back their eagerness to attack. With a discreet wave of his hand, he ordered them to stand down, “Not now,” he mouthed, turning his attention back to Basic, who was blissfully unaware of the danger he was skirting.
As Basic continued to feast, Serpen watched with a mix of fascination and calculation, the wheels turning in his head as he planned his next move. The meal, though lavish, was merely a prelude to the darker designs Serpen had in store for his unwitting guest.
