In a dark place where no ordinary sorcerer dared to enter was the lair of the wretched Vildrin. It was an enormous palace that was slowly melting away as its walls were being consumed into time. This place used to be Remnoth, the City of Valor, as it was called there. Tothris was held prisoner there as Vildrin’s slave along with Elder Anrhys. The great citadel was now renamed, Vuldurius.  Vildrin sat in his black throne with spikes jutting out of the sides and back with dark engravings carved that read the names of dark demons of the Everworld. His throne room towered over all that it could view. Black walls surrounded the dark Vildrin in an enormous rectangle. Vast windows alined the large walls that used to let in bright sunshine, but are now shadowed over by the gloomy clouds that hang over the castle.

Vildrin was frightening enough to be feared by nightmares. He had a dark, sinister face, his nose was pointy and long, and his eyes were not blue, green, brown, or any other human eye color, for his eyes glowed with red hatred of piercing fire. His white, dreadful hair hung down to his shoulders which were plated with spiked armor from the darkest worlds. A black, sorrowful tabard covered his chest plate. Black, leather boots covered his feet and his calves. A withered cloak trailed behind his back like a black ghost, and topping his head was a crown of silver that spiraled from his head. Vildrin sat in his dark throne, staring into nothingness, wishing to slay every living sorcerer. Barrowm appeared in the center of the large room in a black tornado. Barrowm came rushing towards Vildrin, and, still looking into space, he said in the most terrible and chilling voice, “Stop!”

Barrowm ceased in his tracks, standing about five yards away from Vildrin, and then he stooped his head low until it touched the cold floor.

“Lord Vildrin,” Barrowm bellowed, “I have sadly brought grave news from the prison of Thunder Hold.”

“Barrowm Enderfoe.” said Vildrin in a calm, but at the same time, hating voice, “Of what news do you bring me on this time of day?”

“My lord, Thunder Hold is gone.”

“What do you mean by “gone”?”

“You see, one of those stupid warlocks of yours bashed me in the head, knocking me straight out. One of them sorcerers must’ve carried me outside, ah, what was his name…Xeleoth, that’s it. Apparently he was from Remnoth like me, so he thought of me as family you see. So then, I woke up, and all of Thunder Hold was ashes, I swear on the name of me old aunty. Then, I stabbed that wretched prince and his equally wretched lady friend. But then I saw something beautiful in the prince’s hands, something red and bright. I had no idea what it was but I had to have it. Then Xeleoth came and scared me away with his crummy sorcery ways.”

“Anrhys’ heir.” muttered Vildrin, more to himself.

“Come again.” said Barrowm.

This time, Vildrin stared right into the soul of Barrowm. Barrowm felt it and began to trample to the floor in pain. Vildrin stood up with black fire surrounding him, or in other words, pure hatred striking terror into Barrowm’s heart and soul.

“Athrin was the last Stone-Carrier!” bellowed Vildrin, “That red glow was the great Gem of Deishma, the holder of invincibility, I needed that stone! You dare to fail me?!”

“Please master!” screamed Barrowm, “Spare me, please spare me! I will get the gem for you my lord, please, just don’t send me into the depths of fire and torture!”

Vildrin sat back down in his throne, cooling down.

“Very well.” cooed Vildrin, “You will bring me the gem from the dead hands of Prince Athrin, and you will retrieve it by tomorrow before the sun reaches its highest peak. Otherwise, you will feel the almighty power of Vildrin.”

“I promise you my lord, you will have it.” said Barrowm, and he reached inside a raggedy pouch and pulled out another handful of black powder. He cast it upon the ground and the same tornado erupted in the throne room and the cowering servant was gone yet again.