Fief Name: Tower of the Dead

Fief Purpose: Watchtower, Library, Transit Hall

Fief Layout:




Floor One: Entrance Auditorium - The entrance level of the Tower is a large chamber, shaped as an auditorium in design. Those entering find themselves in a large place with but three paths: the way they entered, a large door in the back and the stairs up. Contrary to the outer appearance of the Tower, the interior is brightly lit and warm. Multitudes of chairs and benches carved out of the rock are available to sit. Beyond this, though, there are also a multitude of ledges and alcoves for those entering to be watched - or attacked.

Floor Two: Judgement Hall - The second floor arriving from the stairs brings one to a singular room, smaller than below, with a risen platform. Here, it seems, the dead may be judged and their ultimate fate determined. Or perhaps the living are judged here to determine if they may join the ranks of the dead? Two doors (one to either side) lead further into the floor. What lies behind them is unclear, but perhaps this is the entrance to a heaven or hell.

Floor Three: Halls of the Dead - Here the restless dead who have gathered and convened to the Tower reside, housed within its walls for safety and refuge. Each has its own place within the Halls, but while it provides a place of safe haven for those souls, it also requires a price for such safety. These are the damned who have not submitted to Judgement or are otherwise kept from such, so here they must stay and serve. Peace at a price.

Floor Four: Army of the Dead - Here the soldiers, guards and servants of the Tower are housed and prepared. Many merely stand watchful and alert, ready to react at the commands of the Tower's Master. Some go about duties as ordered. But this floor provides the forces to repel any invaders (or troublesome (un)dead).

Floor Five: Throne of The Dead - Here rests the throne room and main residence hall for the master of the Tower. Again, in contrast to the outer appearance of the tower, the inside is bright marble and brightly lit. Inviting. Comforting. Alluring. A crystal and marble throne rests at the central point of this floor, with a grand chamber for individuals to meet and gather before it. A spacious room is also behind the throne where the ruler can find peace and quiet.

Floor Six: Library - The third floor of the Tower houses the History of the Dead. An ever growing expanse of the stories of the dead. What is the life of an individual if it is forgotten? Here, at least, the story of the dead may be recalled and studied by the curious. If they may gain admittance to the place at least.

Floor Seven: Watch Spire - The upper most portion of the tower provides a vantage point to observe all activity in the realm and nearby. Those approaching (or continuing into its domain) can be watched from a significant distance. How far that view goes, especially for a Divine being, can only be guessed at - or learned in time.


Fief Servants: The servants of the Tower vary by the floor. For the upper levels, servants adopt more humanlike forms with qualities of their origins: lesser daemons having discolored skin and daemon appendages, etc. The Army tends to be a mixture of various forms, all armed and intimidating.

Rajmund, after some internal thoughts and delays, finally appeared before the doors to his Tower. Though he had been granted dominion of the place and it had shaped itself based on his thoughts, he still seemed somewhat hesitant to visit and lay claim to it with his physical presence until this moment. He gazed up at the large doors, finally stepping forward and parting them with ease as he entered the first level of his domain.

It seemed his arrival was a final acknowledgement that this was his new home. His old life was past; though not forgotten. A severing of the hope that - as others apparently still maintained - a way back could eventually be found. It was a hope he had let die. But as with his title, he let that hope be reborn into something new. If this were his fate and his new home, he would claim it and try to do the best he could with it.

So he looked about the entrance auditorium, seeing who might have arrived as well in the time since the place's creation. His goal would be the stairs, to work his way up and see what his mind had wrought. And who might have come at the beacon this place provided.

The doors swung open on well-oiled hinges, welcoming their Lord.

The auditorium was covered in thick black webbing, infested with ghostly white spiders. The main paths were clear. Buried in the webs were the old preserved corpses of many humanoids, which lined the benches of the auditorium. At his entrance, the ghostly white spiders ran into the mouths and eye sockets of the dead. Webs wrapped around the corpses like marionettes, and they began to clap and stomp their feet rhythmically.

At the heart of auditorium stood a tall humanoid with four eyes, the corpse of a ghost-eater. Within each eye glowed a small red flame. Rajmund's [Appraise] told him the being was a [Living Dread], an evolved version of the Necromancer they had fought before.

"Hail, Rajmund, Princet of Rebirth, Lord of the Tower of the Dead," the [Living Dread] spoke from a hundred dead throats. "Hail, and well met."

Rajmund gave an appraising look to the humanoid before him, nodding back in return at the greeting and answered back.


"Well met, Dread one," he began. While he knew not the beings name as yet, it speaking to him by title implied much.

"Abide you here waiting my arrival for passage further within, consideration or as one of those who call this place their new home?" he inquired. While likely that this Living Dread was one of those who had come to the Tower as a moth to a flame, finding it their new home, it was always better to ask and clarify such things.

"Yes," answered the [Living Dread]. "Just a song exists because the singer has sang and is singing, and only continues at the will of the singer, so are we."

"There is one who awaits your judgement, above. Hasten to your duty, Lord of the Tower of the Dead."

The [Living Dread] fell silent.

Rajmund gave a nod as he looked upwards at that bit of information. Turning back to the [Living Dread], he spoke up and waved as he turned to head to the stairs.


"A song can be shaped by the will of the singer. As long as it continues, by the singer's will or carried by another, the music carries on. Attend then, singer, and let us see how your song shall proceed as well," he declared.


With the [Living Dread] following, or presumably so, Rajmund continued up the stairs to the higher floors to find one who was waiting in judgement.

Above, within the hall of judgement, noble corpses stirred in the jurybox at the far west of the chamber as the [Living Dread] entered behind you from the left side of the southern wall. The judge's podium to the north was empty, with two exits to the floor above behind it; but the accused soul waited on the raised dais in the center of the chamber.

The soul of the Necromancer that had died in the Lost House - the Necromancer was presuamably your body's 'creator'.

It was silent, save for the creaking of bones and the rustling of ancient cloth form the jurybox.

The slightly recessed eastern wall of the chamber was a great mosaic of you - as your former small goat self - passing judgement over some manner of winged demon, with a choir of angels in the jurybox. As you looked on, water cascaded from the top of the mosaic and fell into a pool at the bottom, turning the whole thing into an etched mirror surface.

Cobwebs covered the ceiling, obfuscating the source of the soft light the filled the room.