It was said that the King fell from grace so abruptly that the earth opened up beneath his citadel so he could fall for eternity. This is exactly what happened...
Down it falls, a great concentric castle of dark stone. Cracked and broken, though upright, pieces large and small fall together in concert, frequently dashing against each other, or drawing apart to create wide gulfs to expose the hungry blackness below.
And in this tumbling castle, there sits a king, his head heavy with his crown, his hands clutching his throne in unending terror.
The fort seemed like every small boys dream, but in fact it was a very well made magical prison, and the young prince only learned the truth when it was too late and the magic sucked him inside, his cries from his now inch high body too quiet to be heard.
All magic is suddenly gone. No mage can sling sorcery anymore. This upsets all empires and civilizations. It is soon discovered though, trough the combined work of mystics, scholars and dreams, that all the magic has been drawn into a single orb in a vast tower located at one of the poles. Whoever gets there first wins the greatest price in history, access to all the magic in the world. But who owns the tower?