This is the story of how the Arcane Tower was destroyed and rebuilt in a day.

Somewhere north of Cordor, on the edge of the Bramble Woods, lay a barren hillock overlooking the Mayfield's tavern and the Arelith Caravan Guild's oxstalls. All was still, except for the occasional trundling of a cart. All that changed on the day the Arcane Tower rose from the depths.

It began with an earthquake. A short, sudden jolt that wracked the border zone between Cordor and Bendir, and while under ordinary circumstances it would be paid little heed, the purple lightning crashing down and sudden descent of night made it clear that this was no ordinary earthquake.

Localised stormclouds cast shades of colours never seen before by mortal eyes, throwing violent shadows and jagged forks of light and fire across the sky. The centre of the plain cracked, a small stoneblock pushing upwards... and upwards, and on and on, growing wider at the base until it rose high into the air. Towers and parapets burst forth from this monolith like a phoenix's wings, and the storm began to subside.

Crackling aetheric energies caressed the monolithic structure, engraving the walls to look like brick and stone. As the final streak of purple lightning passed over this structure, it resembled a great castle - as though it had been there for centuries.

When the storm and darkness had faded, all sorts of people had gathered at the foot of this edifice, but a select few approached closest, almost instinctively. A sudden glow pierced the foot of this creation, shining between the cracks in the walls, forming a doorway - a portal.

As soon as it appeared, a magestic metallic door filled up the frame and opened. From within a bright light appeared, hazy and indistinct. It came closer before assuming the shape of a humanoid figure. The few closest to the doorway immediately recognised their Archmage.

'My sons', boomed Ayin, 'welcome to the Arcane Tower.'