The Construction of WhiteWall
It is whispered that on this day the very roots of the mountains themselves began to awaken from a deep slumber and fight their way to the surface of the world. The hillsides shuck wildly erupting in cascades of rock and earth which with glorious liberation sped rebelliously down the slopes. Great tree trunks were unceremoniously plucked from their beds as though barely grown saplings and catapulted down the mountain stripped of bark and needle. Birds desperately took flight like tiny black arrows they shot into the skies, whilst creatures not possessing of wings tried with all their luck to maintain their footing long enough to locate shelter from the devastation.
High atop the stone spiked peaks of Gax, the wizard Drenches Tint fought with all his will to maintain his meditative concentration. A single phrase uttered incorrectly or out of sequence could render this powerful incantation void, a gift he had attained not without peril. Sweat collected heavily on his brow and his body quivered with the strain of channelling this much energy. The palm of his right hand lay pressed against the bare rock in front of him. The exposed flesh cold against the stones surface prickled as though tiny needles were being forced into its surface but the mage barely cared to notice. With a cry to the skies the white wizard began to raise his palm from the ground, it trembled as though under immense pressure and as the two surfaces separated an incredulous transformation began to occur. Along numerous transecting lines, scribed into the earth with multihued chalks, great blocks of hewn rock began to rise up towards the skies. At first the formation ascended steadily, forcing its way through the body of the mountains, but as the structure gained momentum it began to reach high into the peak’s cloudline. Stepping back Drenches now began to intricately weave his hands in and out of one another. The stone edges began to emanate an immense heat transforming their natural grey pallor to a fiery crimson colour and then to a pure white light. As if emulating the movements of the wizard, the molten rock began to thrust out tendrils of white heat which delicately weaved themselves between one another creating a diaphanous, radiant lattice of stone. Swiftly the now conjoined walls, arches, pillars, parapets and doorways began to cool and in so reverting back to their natural solidity and hue.
Drenches Tint relinquished his grasp of the magical energies buzzing about him and fell to one knee before the ambitious construction before him. It took him several moments before he eventually caught his breath and with the aid of his staff wrestled himself back to his feet. The spectacle before him was truly astonishing but also incredibly humbling. The magic that he had grown up with and that had been responsible for so much pain and fear in his life had given rise to something magnificent and exquisitely beautiful. Tears fell from his cheeks as he placed his trembling hands upon the structure before him, his legacy and his sanctuary. Looking up he inspected the intricately carved depictions of various creatures and woodlands, he admired the scrolling stonework that adorned the many arches and ledges, and forcing his sight further he noted the glistening spires and parapets that pierced the skies above. But as he let his eyes fall he realised his work was not fully completed.
Reaching into a pocket within the folds of his robes he removed an impossibly large brown sack and let it fall to the floor. Untying the draw strings of the bags he plunged his hands within and drew forth its contents. Grains of coloured sand slipped between his fingers to be swept away in the breeze. The remaining sand he launched into the air. Enveloping himself in his magical mantle once again he manipulated the cloud of sand, heating it until the individual grains began to merge together to become a dense liquefied rainbow. Whilst the molten sand hung suspended in the air, the wizard spoke a word of magic and blew forth a gust of cool air, immediately condensing the swirling mass of colour into a large circular pane of glass. This he manoeuvred into position within a large rounded arch of melded stone in the heart of the tower’s southern face.
With the majority of his magical energy diminished he replaced the sack into the folds of his robes and took his first historical steps towards the structure that would be so named The Eye of Gax by the mountain folk, Vigilantir by Elvenkind and White-Wall by the East-folk.