Over the years that followed, Makrival made good on his end of the bargain. The castle was alive with activity, as old masonry was reworked and the foundations were shored up. Fixtures were replaced meticulously as-new, and what the artisans could not completely rebuild they sourced antiques to replace. The philosopher insisted that the common spaces be addressed first, at a more significant cost and time commitment, so that he could host grand parties for his supporters and fellow academics. He honored Vermorian with these revels in celebration of new discoveries - both his own and those of the larger community to which he belonged. The banquet halls brightened with cheer again for the first time in centuries, and the Galleries of Nahenya were strolled with fresh eyes. All the while, deep beneath the castle where laborers were not permitted, Makrival toiled in secret on his magnum opus.
One night, in the midst of an especially fabulous feast that had brought respected academics and funding nobility together from across the continent, the mage announced that his greatest invention was ready to be unveiled. Makrival gathered his guests and led them into what had been the castle dungeons, now converted to a private subterranean laboratory. With flourish, he hauled open barred metal doors at the far end of the studio, revealing a sprawling machine: a modern Trovhedan masterwork in natural philosophy. As the partygoers walked in awe among the consoles and generators, he explained his achievement. Castle Larragen, he said, held an ancient secret. A phenomenal place of power, a source of magical energy, coursed beneath the surrounding mountains. While Makrival selected the area for his work in the hopes of tapping it, he quickly found that the energy had hollowed out an enormous chasm beneath the castle itself. As such, he was granted direct access.
Makrival went on to tell the rapt attendees that he had plumbed this magical essence into the machine they now beheld. He then pointed to a domed glass chamber in the center of the room - one that mirrored the many smaller globes suspended within the device’s arteries. Anything placed in that focus point, he continued, could be held in temporal stasis for as long as the machine remained attuned to it. There was no controlling the flow of time, Makrival cautioned with a wink towards his investors, but perhaps a shield against its entropic effects could be created at last. With this the mage whistled, and from somewhere in the room a puppy scampered forward to be scooped up and handed to the nearest guest. Three months old, he said, and yet born the year prior. An accomplished seer bustled forth from among the academics, affixing her lenses to inspect the dog - and confirmed with some amazement that what Makrival claimed was true. All applauded, and the mage took a small bow.
Of course, the question came immediately: could this same effect be applied to humans? Makrival smirked, ready with his answer that while such a thing might be possible one day, the potential dangers were great. More experimentation would be required, and so the machine had been configured to pull minimum power from its source. The mortal soul is a delicate thing, he cautioned, yet potent - the interaction between these forces, and the body’s vessel separating them, would need to be carefully studied. Seeing he was losing his audience, the mage pivoted deftly to showing other items the machine had bound, including several platters of still-fresh food prepared weeks prior as tests for the night’s banquet. But Makrival did not have the crowd’s full attention, and some began to wander. As if driven by fate, one of the less sober attendees stumbled while regarding the controls. Both man and drink fell onto the panel and, when he stood, he hoisted himself up with a conveniently placed lever even as the inventor rushed to stop him.
But the machine activated, with its safeguards ruined and attunement misaligned, and drew on the full power of its energy source. The resulting blast sent Makrival and several others through the glass of the focusing chamber, even as the device expanded its area of influence to the entire estate. What happened after that, however, is harder to describe. Neither the philosopher nor his partygoers were seen again, and investigators rarely return from the estate. Those who have ventured inside and lived to tell about it describe a feeling of losing years from their lives the further in they went, even as the castle grounds remain locked in a single moment in time. The fires in the candles and hearths still burn, and the cakes and ales are as fresh as the day they were served. Even the gardens are still perfectly manicured, and the same birds still sing the same songs. But there is a stillness in the air there, and in the shadows what may once have been human still wanders. If it is possible to disable the machine, to free Castle Larragen from what remains of Makrival’s last gala, none have yet a way.
