At the head of the winding river Olaee, nearby the fragrant forest,
stands the Black Tower of the Southlands. High into the air rise its
bleak stone walls, piercing the sunset with slender spire. For
eternity it has been there; by the sluggish waters on which float
great bloated crimson lilies and for eternity will it be there. The
peasants of the nearby village know not whence it came nor why 'tis
there, and wisely avoid it when the moon is on the wane. Few dare
visit the colourful forest of evil or the treacherous river, for
strange and unholy things dwell therein.
Some tell of how on the dark of the moon there comes from the great
star Sirius a growing speck of flame ultimately losing itself in the
eternal midnight of outer space. However this may be, it is certain
strange and alien beings built this ebon tower in the dawn of the
world, for purposes not understood by mortals; sealing the door long
ages since.
There is a tale the old wives spin, saying: One of the adventurous
villagers, Castor by name, took undue interest in the tower and was
frequently seen slipping furtively to and from it in the dusk. Of all
the people of the town he had the least savoury ancestry, his father
being a satyr, his mother a witch-woman. True, others mated with the
people of the glen, yet it is not considered a thing to be proud of.
The very Burgomaster had a gnome none too far back in his lineage,
which was expressed in the coarse features of his evil countenance.
But a satyr! The righteous citizens avoided Castor scrupulously, and
the dislike was mutual. So it was he continued on his silent trips
unheeded.
What he did there so often not known but the seasons came and went and
the winter merged into spring and in time it was Walburgas Eve. That
night the town gates were tightly closed and bolted and all cowered
behind locked doors. Strange shapes flew screeching through the air
and sniffed most horribly at the doorsteps.
That night Castor went to the tower as had become his habit, though
his better sense warned him to stay home abed. His satyr ancestry
openly rebelled, but the witch proved stronger. As he stole timorously
through the wood he heard sounds of high revelry from within the
castle. Therefore, he was quiet as he hesitated before the foot of the
long unopened door. Queer things were abroad though he dared not
return home alone through the forest, still more did he fear to remain
within reach of the Things of the tower. As he deliberated on the
course to take the great door swung silently open and a crab like claw
lovingly encircled his waist and drew him in.
And he was seen no more by the villagers.