After Giloarfand found himself alone on the battlefield where his tower once stood an eon ago, He had decided to travel towards the mountains for no particular reason but to hopefully find a place in this new world.
Having given up hope of ever finding anything of the world he came from, he had become a very gloomy traveler, seeming to just be a hunched old man with his walking stick heading nowhere. Giloarfand had passed many other travelers who eyed him with mixed emotions, let it be fear, pity, disgust, or just plain curiousity. He had picked up on a little of the Common language by who he passed, but not enough to blend in with the people and he knew it would be noticed.
The trek soon became a steady uphill and he cme across fewer travelers. the weather became colder and he found himself clutching his robes tighter from an old habit. The cold didn't actually affect him as it once did, back before he had died. But it felt different to him after being in the Abyss for so long.
After a time of wandering through the mountains, Giloarfand suddenly stopped. He stood still for a change and came to a realization. He has lost everything that he has held dear to him. Nothing else mattered to him anymore except his magic. He lost all direction in helping this new world escape it's end. While he stood there, perfectly still, his beard finally frozen and stiff, his wiry hair now feeling like whips when the wind blew. Giloarfand thought back to his tower in the old world.
It was time for a new home. And this one wasn't going to have any laws to uphold, any regulation on just how far Giloarfand could search for new energies. the very thought began to turn new gears inside his mind and his mind wandered, his eyes would have darted from side to side from the mystery behind them, if he still had them. and that's when he remembered his eyes again. staring into them in the mirror just before he gauged them out for his final ritual in the old world.
Shaking his head, shattering some of the ice in his beard, Giloarfand clasped his staff in both hands, the wind ripping at his cloak, almost to pull him off the mountain top. he reached up high with his staff. and for fleeting moment he paused.
the staff came whistling down and with a crash as terrible as a comet, the staff cracked the mountain top open. avalanches occured all around as the mountain shrugged the snow off. the thunder could be heard for miles and miles and then echoed back, deafening all. The crevass ran deep into the mountain, but it didn't run along the surface. It just ran straight down.
Thunder still rolling and rumbling, Giloarfand waited for a minute with his staff by his side. the mountain shuddered as more avalanches ran down it's side and out of the heart of the mountain rose a structure. out of the ages past a memory returned to Giloarfand and almost brought a crooked smile to his weary face.
The structure rose and climbed and finally etched itself into the sky and ripped the clouds above. it continued to grow until finally, with a crunch, it halted. There, before him, stood the tower. The tower that Giloarfand was able to bring. Not from the old world. No, that tower was gone for eternity. but a tower that simmered with heat. The very touch of the stone itself would kill even a fire elemental. But the heat did not go farther than the stone itself in this world. The snow began to pile up around the tower, but never touched it, steam came off the tower constantly, hiding it's features from any traveler unless they came to it. the tower was gigantic, it was the tallest but most secluded of all the towers that were built in that Hell called the Abyss.
