What happened in that fight has been speculated in the Lexicons for centuries. No one bore witness save Calian himself, and as his old master-at-arms would say, he has a 'bloody wild way of embellishing the truth.' Only the gods truly saw how it ended, or the felling stroke. But in Calian's drunkest nights, and once or twice in his sleep, he would mumble to himself. One might ascertain that his life was saved by a single rock, though how that came to be was a topic of speculation. However it happened, an outcropping of the bridge was sundered, and the left statue of the two gargoyles at the front gate that framed the entrance was caved in and shattered. 

The silent watchers within bore witness to the great gateway's shackled lock being lifted, and the heavy doors slowly grinding open. In the gloom of the eternal twilight, they would see the gleam of his glimmering eyes, and the glint of his sword as he unsheathed it. Within the wide chamber were shambling figures, rotted skin and boney framed, with gaping maws and fingers sharpened to points. 

Calian stepped in, but in the light saw the multitudes of draugr-like creatures, many human-like, but some had multiple arms and elongated, xenos faces. A few had hooves and what abominations that still had skin were colored in strange fashions. He couldn't guess how long the Ebony Tower had been here, but many had apparently tried and failed, and had been arisen by those that looked. Calian slashed at one with his blade, cutting through whispy cartiladge and ligaments, but the blow sent a jarring vibration up his arm and he had to swing again to fell the closest ghoul. The knight backed up to the wall, realizing he wasn't entirely suited for this sort of fighting, at least until his head bumped into an iron rod that frightened him for a moment. Glancing up, he saw a baroque, black iron torch instrument. Calian grabbed at it and lifted it out of the rivets that kept it on the wall, and his next swing sundered the next skeleton with the ease of a battlehammer. The cracking of bones echoed through the endless halls, but it still took much doing and exhausted the knight, as did the stairs that led up to the third quarter of the tower. 

When he stepped into the lacquered room, he noticed how comfortable and how unlike it was to the horrorible and gothic terrors he had just cut his way through. The air smelled of lavender and pine oils, and yet somehow, the bore that had devoured any and all magic was strongest here. Something here was undeniably sobering, as if one had just gotten home from a fun night out and found out their mother had died from a vehicle accident. Calian had never felt such a juxtaposition, but he swiftly got used to it. He would much rather be here than downstairs with the teeming masses of undead that wanted him to join their ranks, but either way, he was in a cage, albeit a gilded one. What manner of criminal resided here? 

A snore broke him from his trail of thought, and he stepped into the next room to see what he didn't expect...a red head in a bed, sleeping the day away. She snored again, a bit more loudly this time. 

"Oh." Was all he said, and with his armored ruined, a pauldron having been torn off and numerous cuts marring his otherwise striking visage, he looked more annoyed than anything. He walked up to her and shook her awake, gingerly but with impatience.