Not a single slither of sunlight could seek to penetrate the stone walls of the ancient citadel that jutted out of the mountain like a blade attempting to pierce the sky. Long since abandoned by those who had built it all those year ago, now it stood derelict upon the crag which it had been built upon, a testament to a bygone era. Once proud statues of mighty warriors had been erroded by rain and snow, crumbling into naught but dust on the wind. The gardens that had once adorned the place were all but upon which the garrison had stood upon as they withstood barrage after barrage of attacks had now long since crumbled to pieces.
Not that the figure that dwelt within cared for such trivial matters. In truth, he had not sought out the citadel for its wealth in tarnished gold or rusted weapons. Any would be treasure hunter with half of his wit intact from the perilous climb could see that all such material titbits had long since been picked clean off this corpse by other such vultures.
No that had not been the reason. Indeed the figure had chosen this desolate ruin for that very reason. Very few maps still showed the citadel upon them. Even those that did were in excess of being over five hundred years old at the very least and much had changed since those cartographers recorded their data. Years of rain had caused the surrounding villages that had dwelt within the shadow of the tower to be gradually buried under landslides, which would become further overgrown until one would have no clue that a settlement had ever existed in the first place. Even the climb was dangerous. Wolf packs stalked the lowlands preying on anything they could catch. Bandits also patrolled the lower slopes, lying in wait at the edge of the treeline where the road gradually meandered upwards further into the mountain ranges. Those few travellers wanting to make their way to the trade rich lands of the Far East made sure to pass through with heavily armoured transports and a well paid band of mercenaries or, better still, mages by their side.
In the past, some traders and hunters attempted to use the lesser travelled routes that led higher still into the mountains in an attempt to save time. Many subcame to altitude sickness or simply froze to death, not having packed for the radical changes in temperature. Fewer still made it the upper slopes, far above the treeline. Some sought to seek shelter from the lashing winds and driving rain in the caves that blemished the landscape. Seeing that the caves led deep into the heart of the mountain, the more intrepid or otherwise foolish would venture into the darkness. None were seen again.
As a party ventured closer to the peaks, the air became thin and barely breathable. Worse still was the conditions, so cold that even an ice mage would freeze within moments if not protected by thick layers of clothing and incantations of warmth. Even so, only about one in one hundred and fifty people that made the climb actually survived. The frozen bodies of those who had failed littering the unforgiven landscape, perfectly preserved, their still faces crearting the illusion of sleep. Tales told by survivors made mention of sightings of large shapes moving like shadows against the blizzard. Such sightings also record the temperature dropping far colder even when in a blizzard. Often these stories were dismissed as the rantings of madmen whose sansity had been chipped away during the climb or otherwise seen as at most exaggerated sightings of bears.
All of this ensured that no one disturbed the mage, allowing him to work on his somewhat sensitive projects in peace. Listening to the howling wind outside, the figure sat by the flickering light of a candle. Growling in frustration, he slammed his fist down upon the oak of the table. The resounding bang echoed throughout the abandoned halls but were heeded by no ears, save those of the mice who cowered within their holes from the storm.
"Dammit," The wizard growled, "I'm so close. If only I had a little more time."
Glancing at his hand, the man trailed his hand over the ever more prominent wrinkles. Sighing he reached for the drawer. Inside were several vials containing a florescent red liquid. Trembling slightly, he reached for the nearest and uncorked the lid. Sniffing it furtively, he pushed it to his lips and sipped at the elixir within. Within seconds, the wrinkles on his hands faded into nothing. Smiling slightly, the man praised the youth the potion had brought him. It was a recipe that like the ruins, had long since been forgotten but was potent nonetheless.
It was but one of the ways in which he would soon have mastery over the forces of life and death.