Literature
The Serpent in the Grass: A Interlude
Interlude: The Desperate Remedy
Centuries Ago, in the Depths of the Blockhouse...
The air in the Round Chamber was not charged with power; it was thin, stale, and weak, like the final, shallow breaths of a dying man. The celestial maps on the walls were dim, their inner light fading to a dull, milky haze. The great tree of magic that sustained the Blockhouse and its members, a concept more real than metaphorical, was withering, its metaphysical roots starved in the barren soil of a world that no longer believed.
The mundane world was winning. The slow, creeping tide of industrialization, of cold logic and colder iron, was poisoning the wellsprings of magic. The wizards of the Blockhouse, ancient and powerful as they were, were fading. Their rituals felt hollow, their illusions, once effortless displays of will, now required immense, draining effort for the most minor effects.
Simple transmutations would fail halfway through, leaving behind grotesque, half-formed objects. Their
