The Liberation of Duncroft

There was a time when faith led Morpheus and me, the Wizard of Magical Colors, onto a path to Duncroft, a small town built around a prominent silk farm renowned for its quality silk products. An opportunity for colorful new robes and accessories was one we could not let pass, so we decided to explore.

Upon entering the town, we were met by the ghost of a thriving community. All the signs of life were conspicuously absent. No children were playing in the streets. The doors were locked and the windows shuttered. A silence clung to the town like a shroud. Not the peace of slumber, but the breathless hush of fear, carrying the promise of ill winds.

We were looking for a store where we could examine the fine wares of the town. But no buildings immediately stood out. They were all covered by faded paint that once shone in bright colors, but was now dirty and unattended. The only sign of life was the desolate rhythm of two guards marching in the distance. Their steady, hollow tramp, punctuated by the single sharp crack of a closing shutter, felt like the town itself sucking the life force out of us as we walked down the street.

Hoping to exchange a story or two, we entered the tavern, only to be met by the silent gazes of the local community, which were quickly averted as they returned to their private conversations. They were all cloaked in drab, woolen clothes, their dark attire swallowing what little light the tavern offered. A single slash of silk, a scarf around the bartender's neck, was the only defiance to the room's woolen gloom. He looked distressed, and while serving us drinks, his eyes were more focused on the door than on his clients, as if he were expecting a ghost. We sat down at a table with our ale. Morpheus and I exchanged a look, conveying a shared realization that needed no words. It would be impossible to enjoy an ale under this suffocating pall, for the ale here served only one function, which was to escape the reality of whatever weighed upon the town.

As our eyes adjusted to the light of the tavern, a gaze emerged from the darkest corner of the room. A lone figure was sprawled at a table, half-swallowed by the shadows. We had not seen him before, but now he was staring right at me, holding my eyes with a gaze that reflected none of the fear and paranoia we could detect in the others. Before I had time to react, he stood up and marched over to us. His move sent a ripple of silence across the room, drowning the low murmur of conversation as every head turned in his direction. He wished us welcome and declared that they don’t often see travelers here. Then, he added that we were lucky to be able to enjoy the hospitality of the Guildmaster. The irony in his words was obvious, but it was enough for the other townsfolk to divert their eyes back into their private spheres and resume their previous conversations.

As he sat down, I couldn't resist making an ironic comment about the Guildmaster’s overwhelming hospitality. A flicker in his eyes told me the remark had hit a nerve. I introduced myself as the Wizard of Magical Colors. Responding to my introduction, he pulled his chair closer and checked that no one was listening. He stated his name was Dominique, and then proceeded to confirm what we had already suspected. This town was dying from the inside out. Not from poverty, not yet. From a lack of hope. The Guildmaster and his thugs had made the world grey, and people have forgotten the sun exists. He said, “You... if you truly are the Wizard of Magical Colors. Your very being is an antidote to this poison. I've heard tales of your work. You don't just create color, you can create wonder.”

The power of helping others is what speaks to me. It is the drive to empower them to be their very best, to save lost souls from the deepest shadows, and to be a friend to those who see only despair. And in this desolate town, it was clear these people needed a spark to rekindle the dying embers of their spirits. He wanted to commission me to perform a show later that night. A show not to amaze, but to prove that change was possible, and to remind them of the colors that existed before the Guildmaster asserted control over the town. A shadow of caution flickered in Morpheus's eyes, but my own purpose burned too brightly to be deterred, so I accepted. I promised that if he could help gather an audience, I would perform at the market as the sun set.

Dominique shook my hand and whispered that “the town is counting on you”, before he melted back into the grim shadows outside. I turned to Morpheus for inspiration on which colors to use, as nobody knew the extent of my arsenal better and his advice was always valuable. He reluctantly agreed, but warned me that the Guildmaster might not appreciate this performance. I agreed, reasoning that if the Guildmaster decided to openly sabotage the performance, his actions would more likely strengthen the people's spirit than break it, confirming for me that this was the right path.

As we approached the market just before sunset, a small crowd had already gathered, growing as we began to prepare. I could sense the people were starving for pure, unconditional joy, yet the backdraft of their pain was ever-present. The city guard was present, but they did not intervene. And even as the show began, Dominique’s absence was noticeable. Nevertheless, we proceeded with the planned show. I unleashed my spells, painting the twilight with fireworks of impossible color, and drank in the sound of their applause. I could see flickers of genuine joy illuminating their pained faces, like wildflowers blooming in a barren field.

Then, like a roaring dragon arriving to destroy my show, we heard screaming from the western side of the market. Seeing smoke emerge and the angry orange glow of a rising fire, the people abandoned my performance to investigate. Curious and cautious, Morpheus and I followed. The smell of real smoke, acrid and oily, cutting through the air was the last thing a town on the brink of mental collapse needed. Following the crowd, we came to the silk storehouse. We joined others in carrying water buckets, but the effort was futile, as the storehouse was already consumed by fire and beyond saving.

I still could not understand the accusation. I had been performing at the market, with nearly a hundred witnesses, including some of the guards themselves, to prove it. Yet, amid the chaos of the fire, the city guards apprehended me for the attempted murder of the Guildmaster. Deaf to my reasoning, they embodied a stoic duty that they performed flawlessly. The iron door of a dark cell slammed shut, sealing me with the silence and my own disbelief for the rest of the night.

In the crushing darkness of my cold, wet cell, the day's events replayed themselves in my mind as a frantic and flickering film. Surely, they would know I could not have started the fire, given I was at the market. It simply could not have been me. I dived deep into the Void to seek the truth. A single color answered my call. Its presence was a familiar comfort. It was Sovereign Blue, emerging like a long-lost friend. I brought it back to the cell and started painting on the wall. The Sovereign Blue painted a terrible truth onto the canvas of my mind. It showed me that I could have started the fire. With a little planning and a touch of magic, it is possible to start a smoldering fire that will emerge an hour later. The chilling thought was that with my magical powers, I could very well have arranged it. The true horror, however, wasn't the realization that I was capable, but the certainty that I was not the mastermind. I had simply been framed as the perfect scapegoat.

It was clear that Dominique was the culprit. He was the one who had asked for help to dismantle the Guildmaster's dominance, the one who still held a flickering candle of courage in a town where every other flame had been extinguished. It was his final, desperate act, driven by the conviction that the Guildmaster had to be removed at any cost, even at the price of murder or sacrificing an ally. But his desperate scheme was flawed, and like a serpent, the Guildmaster had slithered from the inferno's grasp.

I, the Wizard of Magical Colors, had been drawn into the guildmaster's silken web, a man who now knew he had a target on his head. Locked up in a cell, the Sovereign Blue helped me see clearly. Surely, the next day there would be an execution, and I would be the victim. The Guildmaster now had to display his fangs and crush this attack on his person at all costs. He would have to prove once and for all that resistance only created deeper wounds. I had to escape, but since my colors were not designed to bend walls, I was simply locked up, forced to await my destiny.

I needed to relax and think clearly. I reached deep inside to connect with Lunar Lavender, a color I had found during a journey to a spiritual world, capable of connecting two worlds. There within my prison, I found the peace I needed. I let the Lunar Lavender guide my consciousness across the veil and into the dream realm, where Morpheus awaited me. This was the first time I had been there in an awakened state, as he usually came to me in my sleep. There we forged our plan. I would lull the guards to sleep, allowing Morpheus to come and unlock the door. It was dangerous, but we decided to proceed.

From within my cell I slowly started painting the Lunar Lavender into the air. It spread across the room, then through the door, until the very stones of the prison seemed to hum with the ethereal color. For a breathless moment, the cold iron and damp stone of the prison dissolved into the shimmering fabric of the dream world. Morpheus acted quickly, collecting the necessary keys from the guards. And just like that, as phantoms in the lavender mist, we were gone.

We moved like ghosts through the sleeping town, two shadows in a night that held its breath, knowing the Guildmaster's guards were anything but at rest. If I were seen outside the prison, the alarm would sound instantly. We needed somewhere to hide, and Morpheus had just the right spot for us. During the chaos of the fire, he had spotted Dominique. He had followed him and discovered his house. Despite the realization that he was the one who had framed me, we decided to go there. We sought him out not just for a safe place, but for answers, believing his intentions were pure even if his methods had gone too far.

There, in the oppressive gloom of his shuttered home, Dominique began to unspool the town's brighter history. The baron who owned the silk plantation and the land had made it an attractive place for people to work and build their lives. It was a happy community woven together by the silk trade, where every life was intertwined with its threads. He, along with the Guildmaster and the Guard Captain, ensured everyone had work while holding a shield of safety over the town from external threats such as bandits and goblins.

However, when the baron died prematurely in a work accident, the young heir was still too young to properly manage the family's affairs. The Guildmaster, like a patient spider, seized the opportunity, weaving a web of influence around the young boy with lavish gifts. The Guard Captain noticed this too late, and when he tried to intervene, the new baron interpreted his actions as hostile. The Guard Captain was removed, and the young baron appointed a new captain suggested by the Guildmaster, someone who was already in his debt. Together, the three formed a triangle, with the other two in both emotional and financial debt to the Guildmaster. He exploited this, installing his loyalists into positions of power. This drove a deep wedge between the baron and his people, poisoning the well of public trust until any criticism of the Guildmaster was seen as treason against the barony itself. This put the Guildmaster in a position of absolute power, fully controlling how the other two interpreted the reactions from the people. The young baron was caught in a cult of three, perhaps the most unbreakable mental prison known to man.

Dominique explained his conviction that the only solution was to sever the head of the serpent, believing that with the leader gone the other two would see clearly and the town's remaining problems would simply wither and die. That is why he had used me as a distraction and started a fire, knowing the Guildmaster would be alone in the silk storage when everyone else was at the show.

I told him that this would never work. The Guildmaster may be the leader, but this is a three-headed snake. Even if he had succeeded, the other two would only be reinforced in their conviction. They would simply replace him with a new Guildmaster loyal to them. The monster would live on. "This is a monster that cannot be rooted out with force," I explained, "but by building a bridge. We have to show the baron that the people are not evil. They are struggling. Their perceived illoyalties are not acts of defiance. They are cries for help. The baron sits on a throne of power, yet he trembles like a child. The Guildmaster grants his every desire, but has left him afraid of the very world he is meant to rule. This is especially true now that there has been an attempt to murder the Guildmaster. The only way to solve this is to show the baron that the people are friendly, that we love him, and that there is nothing that will change this unconditional love. Only then will he be able to see that he is living in a beautiful world where people can live in peace. Without love, there can be no peace".

"Love?" Dominique scoffed, a bitter laugh catching in his throat. "You want to cure a poisoned man by telling him the world is sweet? The Guildmaster holds the keys to the Baron's mind. He is the venom whispered in his ear each day, transmuting our suffering into proof of our betrayal. Your parade of love will be twisted into a mob of traitors at the gates before the first flower is laid. He will hold up your soft heart like a cracked mirror, showing the Baron only a warped reflection of weakness he must be shielded from." Then he grabbed his freshly sharpened knife and went out into the darkness, leaving us with a chilling promise, this time, he would not fail.

Morpheus and I exchanged another knowing look. This was turning into another disaster. Dominique was pushed to the absolute limit. After witnessing the town he loved fall deeper into corruption for fifteen years, he was right that love alone could not solve it. Even if we gave the baron a moment of clarity, he would fall back under the influence unless the people were there to greet him. A parade in his honor would certainly be interpreted as a threat to be dismantled.

Morpheus watched as I paced restlessly across the floor. We desperately needed a solution, and we needed it now, before Dominique fueled the snake's hatred. “We have to warn the Guildmaster,” I said, urgency sharpening my voice. “Enter his dream. Tell him an assassin is coming for him, right now. You must hurry. There is another quest for you when you are done.” Morpheus did not understand the plan that was forming in my mind, but his faith in my judgment on this was a bedrock he stood upon without question. Without a word, he closed his eyes and his consciousness slipped into the dream world to warn the Guildmaster.

While he was gone, I started painting the air and the walls of Dominique’s house with the color of Lunar Lavender. I made sure every surface of the house was covered with it. When Morpheus came back, the entire house had merged with the dream world. I told him that now was the time for him to do something he had never done before. He had to carry me through the dreamworld, into the dreams of the baron. I don't know how he did it, but as he grabbed me and pulled me along, reality dissolved. We shifted through a cascade of dreamscapes before finally arriving in a nightmare. The baron was sitting in the middle of his mansion in a circle of light. Surrounded by luxury, but also demons and ghosts. Every now and then a shadow snuck up on him and grabbed at a leg or a hand. He was trapped in a self-made prison of light, a frantic ritual where each new candle, meant to banish the dark, only gave birth to a new shadow from the flame before it.

Stepping into the circle, I promised him I meant no harm, for I was a friend who came with a message. He looked at me in terror. Never before had the shadows been able to stand firmly in the light. I told him I was there to help him and that the shadows he saw were not there to hurt him, but to beg for his help. Then I unleashed my final weapon, painting the room in Sovereign Blue. The Sovereign Blue bled into his nightmare, dissolving the illusions and revealing the raw, agonizing truth of his prison. Where he had seen demons, the blue paint revealed the faces of women begging for food to feed their children. The monstrous forms melted into the familiar figures of the weak and tired from his own town, begging for a job, for a chance to prove their loyalty to him. They were the collective screams of desperate people, looking for anything that could help them survive until the next day.

Yet, there was one shadow that remained. As the Sovereign Blue washed over the final shadow, it did not simply reveal the Guildmaster. It stripped him bare, peeling away the layers of his deception like sun-scorched paint. Verbal venom, green and foul, poured from his mouth, a choking mist of accusations designed to obscure the truth. His accusations were a torrent as he pointed at the townsfolk. He claimed a man with a broken leg would surely sneak up and kill the baron and then condemned women and children for fifteen years of injustice, even those not yet born when the supposed crimes occurred. For the first time, the baron saw the Guildmaster's words not as protection, but as the very poison that had sickened his world.

The baron stared in disbelief at the figures the shadows had concealed. "It is not true. It cannot be true!" he screamed. I could see in his eyes a different kind of fear, the fear of having been wrong, of facing fifteen years of lies, and of accepting that he had trusted the wrong man. I placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, drew him into a firm embrace, and whispered a simple truth against the torrent of his despair: "It is not your fault. Show the people that you love them, and they will love you back." He stood frozen in the ruins of his own conviction, his silence a hollow echo in a world shattered.

I told him that tonight someone will try to assassinate the Guildmaster. He is a man of pure and honest heart, but his spirit has been shattered by despair. This man is an old friend of yours, a memory buried deep within you that is waiting to surface. He is desperate to pull you from the Guildmaster’s suffocating clutch. Your first step toward the light of truth is to offer the grace of a pardon. This act of compassion must be followed by listening to his message.

As the Lunar Lavender faded and the connection to the dream realm was severed, we were gently pulled from the nightmare and back into Dominique’s house. There we looked through his chests where we found ourselves some fitting garments. With our course set and disguises ready, exhaustion finally claimed us, and we surrendered to the deep, dreamless sleep of the utterly spent.

The very next day, we dressed in the drab, woolen clothes of the townspeople, wearing muted cloaks that would conceal our identity. Just as expected, the City Guard was preparing the market for a public execution. A sinister cloud hung over the market, and time seemed to stand still as we watched the preparations from a distance.

The City Guard carved out a stark stage for the execution, an isolated pocket forbidden to the silent spectators. Then came the Guildmaster and the Baron, followed by the Guard Captain pulling Dominique, who was treated as little more than livestock, his hands tied and mouth sealed shut by a tight rope. They walked into the center of the open square. There, Dominique was forced to his knees, his neck laid bare upon the chopping block as it waited patiently for its grim task.

Then the Guildmaster started his speech. “This man is guilty of starting yesterday's fire, a futile attempt to end my life. As if there is no end to the man’s foolishness, when he failed, he decided to try again, by breaking into my chambers, believing he was strong enough to take my life with force. Let it be known that such a foolish attempt will be punished with death, and death alone.” A grave, hollow silence descended, so complete it seemed to steal the very air from the people’s lungs. Then he spoke again, this time to inform the people that the damages that one man had caused were a loss for the entire community. In order to rebuild the storehouse and pay for the damages, everyone would be expected to contribute through a special damages tax. He then turned and, with a voice as cold and sharp as the executioner’s axe, commanded the Guard Captain to deliver the final stroke.

From where we stood, we could see a war of loyalties waging across the baron's face. Just as the axe was about to fall, the baron stepped forward. “Halt!” he commanded. “This man is an old friend of mine. We used to play together in the fields when we were younger. I want to hear what he has to say.” Rage coiled in the Guildmaster like a serpent as he turned. “Are you crazy, he tried to kill me! There is no reason to listen to the voice of a traitor.” Then he commanded the Guard Captain to sever the head. Asserting his authority, the baron commanded the Guard Captain to stand down. He was the baron, and he was the one giving orders. The Guard Captain stood frozen, a puppet whose masters pulled his strings in opposite directions. Due to the hesitation, two other city guards stepped forward and picked Dominique up. They removed the rope that bound his mouth. “Now speak,” commanded the Baron.

Taking the opportunity to speak, Dominique laid bare the Guildmaster's lies. He detailed the devastating consequences people suffered for their refusal of loyalty and spoke of each citizen whose job and family were taken as punishment for crimes never committed, showing that the Guildmaster was the sole beneficiary of their suffering. The Baron then turned to the people and asked with a loud voice, “You heard the man. Will you forgive me if I pardon him for his crimes?” A roar of unconditional applause erupted from the crowd, a human tide finally breaking the dam of fear. The roar of the people was a death knell to the Guildmaster's authority. Realizing what was about to happen, the Guard Captain acted. With a wordless snarl, he snatched the axe and swung a vicious arc of steel at Dominique’s neck. But alert as ever, he reflexively jumped to the side, and the Guard Captain fell face-first into the dirt.

The Baron personally went over to Dominique and untied the rope binding his arms. He proclaimed, “I want you all to welcome your new Captain of the City Guard. This man has proven through years of testing that he will protect me with his life, and that his concern is to keep the town safe at any cost”. Turning to the Guildmaster, he said, “You are fired, and all of your goods are confiscated as evidence in the case against you”. The Guildmaster objected, but was chained and led to prison, along with the previous Guard Captain. Hearing the Baron proclaim that they would build a future built on understanding and community, we knew our work was done. We had pulled the poison from Duncroft's heart. Now we had to leave the town in the quiet care of its own mending.