Scene-Setting Music: "For Instance, a Building Steeped in Animosity" (Bravely Default 2 OST)
A pleasantly warm sun shone high above the realm like a freshly minted coin as a blanket of crystal blue wrapped itself above the castle and the people within. Below in the surrounding villages, lights began to flicker on as families tucked their children into warm safe beds, the day's tasks coming to a close. The soldiers and knights quietly walked through the cobblestone streets; aside from those seeking to roister in pubs and alleys—not to mention those seeking more personal entertainments with a madam's ladies—the streets were calm and peaceful. Off in the distance within the royal palace, the Templar Knights—those royal guards sworn utterly to the protection of their Emperor and royal family—felt their edge blunted this day by the refreshingly warm air and tranquility. With the great wars at an end and peace established among the Seven Kingdoms, there was little concern for outbreak of conflict. Even three decades on, none of the Seven wished to break the peace, lest they risk the combined vengeance—and assured destruction—at the hands of all six of their neighbors.
It was a peace the sorcerer-merchant Aliste savored, warm purple eyes gazing at the various islands below through a tower window. From his position, an archer with a keen eye could have had a clear shot of him if resting atop one of the thick platinum-white walls in the morning’s light. The eerie radiance was partially one of several powerful—and subtle—security enchantments placed by the tower's lord. Any would-be assassin attempting to ascend the tower walls would only get a little over halfway up before a blinding flash melted their climbing equipment and dispelled any magical flight on their person, giving them only seconds to pray to whatever god would have them before hitting the ground far below. The treasures within his domain, both material gems and magical artifacts, were said to rival the hoard of an ancient dragon; thieves throughout the land solemnly swore on their mothers that merely a handful would guarantee an entire family’s fortune for at least three generations. Privately, the mage found such tales overblown--doubtlessly by bards looking to impress audiences rather than espouse fact--but oddly flattering; everyone liked to feel a bit important. Being one of the most influential mystical merchants in the Seven Kingdoms had to have some advantages, after all.
There were just as many tales of would-be robbers attempting to help themselves to his goods. Most of Aliste’s wards were enchanted merely to chastise thieves and leave them with empty pockets, destroyed tools, and painfully bruised egos. Other mystical defenses were set up to banish thieves; those few with the wisdom—and skill—to attempt teleporting into his tower swiftly found themselves chest deep in the unspeakably vile Bog of Eternal Stench several miles away. And, if necessary, the mage's magical wards could easily be used for more lethal effect. As he reasoned while sipping a cup of cocoa, those aware of their existence and attempting to ply the cross-trade anyhow were either dangerously ignorant (making them a severe danger to all around them), dangerously arrogant, or purely dangerous (and their undeniably-sinister intentions needed to be quashed to maintain the peace). Even as he favored diplomacy in dealing with others, far preferring to use his magic for protective purposes rather than offense (thus why he chose residence in a tower where clientele could come to him), Aliste privately acknowledged it was far easier to maintain such a stance having the power of an archmage at his fingertips. There was also, of course, the mile-long list of favors owed him, from powerful princes to humble farmers, he could call upon if necessary. Knowing that a powerful mage was in the neighborhood tended to make most villains and cutthroats try their luck elsewhere, even though he rarely had to intervene personally. (Reputation truly had its own magic.) An entire knightly order, let alone some common rogue, stood a snowball's chance in Hell against all of that.
Of course, there was more to power than raw might. Those who walked the shadowy path of the rogue had their own proverbial saints and legends. To them, such a place was a treasure house ripe for the plucking. Beyond just the material gain, the gleaming tower of white and gold stood in quiet defiance...a challenge that they could not help but see bested. And as the old saying went, too bright a shine often drew eyes of envy.
It all seemed too quiet. That unspoken awareness, one which had saved his life on more than one occasion, was alert even as Aliste lazily sipped from his cup. With such a calm, warm spring day as this, even he found it hard to remain truly vigilant. That was the danger; as his soldier mother would describe it, it was too quiet for sleeping. Then, that well-honed awareness kicked in moments before a silent alarm pinged in his room.
Someone had broken into the tower far below.
The black-haired mage continued to enjoy the fragrant mid-morning breeze, mentally activating some non-lethal traps to greet the uninvited guest. That they made it through the basic wards at all indicated they were either somewhat seasoned, or merely blessed with inordinate luck. Either way, grudging admiration--and more than a touch of curiosity--colored Aliste's thoughts. Who would attempt to steal from him this time? What cutpurse or gutter mage had the reckless bravery, the nerve…indeed, the brass balls required to think him a suitable mark?