Charge the tower

As you make for the tower’s spire, the clouds rumble and arms of lightning reach out to you. You nimbly dodge each volley and come upon the face of the tower. An observation window, a single sheet of some lucid substance, opens into a nefarious chamber of torment and corrupted wizardry lit by orbs of crimson light and bloody candles. 

The walls, the floor, and even the ceiling of this chamber appear gilded. The whole sanctum forms a kind of gaudy golden tomb, a hall of unholy science at the center of which sits a raised throne of exotic origin. Atop this throne, menacing and fat, is the dark lord himself. With slitted reptilian eyes and skin like a rotting orange, he addresses you.

“Go back to New York, and take your liberal cuckery with you.”

Before you can respond, he raises a fluorescent arm and casts a spell. The whole weight of his dominating will is suddenly thrust upon you, and the desire to keel over and die fills your soul.