in the days of the Eastern Roman Empire

an ancestor of the Count mounts the tower stairs, carrying an oil lamp in the gloom of the snowy night....he moves slowly, dragging his left leg up after taking a step with his right.....he has not been hale since the campaign against the tribes from the East, when his horse fell on him in the battle by the river.....but he is still powerful in spirit, with a reputation as a seer and a mage....and he climbs his tower now towards his sanctum, where his familiar awaits, having ridden in from the clouds on a moonbeam....