The Break of Turris Suclusa 1 MA

It was OA 132, only a single year after the great war of the Deus Mori Aetas, when the people of Iron Isle dared to breathe. The towers had been sealed, the Demon Lord Balrath trapped, and the shattered remnants of Ignivarus and Tenebrix’ followers believed gone forever. Mortals assumed the world had finally found peace.

But peace, as the sages would later murmur, is always fragile.

From the shadows of the sealed towers, a tremor ran through Turris Suclusa, the forgotten “Hidden Tower” that had long been assumed inert. Within its blackened walls, the imprisoned remnants of fire and shadow cultists had secretly gathered. Over decades, they had grown in number, secretly breeding, training, and worshiping the lost flames and shadows of the fallen gods. These were the Fallen Gods’ Army, zealots who believed the old order of fire and darkness should rise again, and the mortals of Iron Isle must either kneel or perish.

On the night of the Crimson Moon, the seals of Turris Suclusa finally gave way. Stone gates splintered, molten fissures tore through the floors, and the tower erupted like a volcano of shadow and flame. Out poured the Fallen Gods’ forces: demons, fire-crazed zealots, and twisted abominations born of Ignivarus’ corrupted blessings. Smoke and shadow blanketed the streets of Iron Isle.

The city’s citizens screamed, chaos running through the streets. But Iron Isle was not defenseless. The Holymen, priests and paladins who had trained in the aftermath of the Deus Mori Aetas, rallied the city’s defenses. Sealward adventurers, recently returning from tower expeditions, formed the spearhead of resistance. Together, the faithful and the battle-hardened pushed back wave after wave of invaders, holding the city’s gates and key districts despite overwhelming odds.

Streets ran with fire and shadow, and the sky above was lit with the sickly green glow of unholy magic. Yet the mortals fought with unmatched courage. Citizens of all races—humans, elves, dwarves, and others—joined in the defense, inspired by stories of Kaeltrius the Sealbearer and the sacrifices of those who had first sealed the towers.

After a brutal night that left the city scarred, the Fallen Gods’ Army was repelled. Turris Suclusa itself collapsed back into a smoking ruin, its surviving cultists captured or scattered, its inner demons resealed—though whispers claimed some had escaped into hidden crevices beneath Iron Isle.

The lesson was clear: the towers could not be neglected. Even a year of peace had allowed ambition and fanaticism to grow in the shadows. The Guild of Sealward Adventurers vowed that from that day forward, every tower—Turris Umbra, Turris Silvarum, and even the forgotten Turris Suclusa—would be constantly monitored, its seals maintained, and its dangers never underestimated.

In the aftermath, the citizens of Iron Isle celebrated the courage of the adventurers and Holymen, but the scars were visible. Streets were rebuilt with fire-resistant stone. Patrols became permanent. And in quiet corners, the older sages whispered a chilling truth: the Fallen Gods had only tested the city’s defenses. Their true return would be far more dangerous, and one day, the world would need a new generation of heroes.