Spire's Spite

Fritz groaned, the floor rocked and he spun dangerously on the cool stone. He struggled fitfully, grabbing onto the ground lest he be thrown off. He was dewy with sweat and an oilcloth blanket lay over his body. He searched for Sid and Bert, groggily turning his head to where he could see them eating some bear meat and whispering worriedly, their words reached his ears as garbled nonsense and he had to focus to comprehend what was being said.

“Urgh this stuff is foul,” Bert groused, spitting out some of the powdery residue left in his mouth by his meal. “Hey look. Fritz is waking.”

Sid turned her head to where Fritz lay, the tension in her face and rigid posture easing somewhat. He attempted to give her a wave but found his left arm difficult to move. Fritz couldn't feel his left hand, it was numb, unresponsive and tingling with uncomfortable heat. He wondered why. Had he hurt himself as he ran from the white beast? Then the memory of agony, the feeling of the cruel flame searing his hand in his Sanctum slammed into his still pounding head.

“Argh,” he groaned again through painfully dry lips.

Bert scowled but still rushed to his side, “You okay Fritz? What’s wrong?” he asked in low tones.

“Water,” Fritz exhaled, feeling an incredible thirst and hunger. He felt completely drained and he ached all over, especially his scorched arm.

Bert handed Fritz his water skin, and he took it with his thankfully unburnt right hand. Fritz sat up and drank down the water greedily then asked for something to eat, to which Bert obliged, bringing him some of their rations.

Sid walked over and sat in front of his feet. “What happened, Fritz? You were in your sanctum for a while. Then you started sweating and whimpering and wouldn't wake when we shaked you,” Sid explained in a voice both gentle and gruff.

Fritz considered what to tell them, not really understanding himself what had happened. He sighed or tried to, the mealy texture in his mouth from the bear meat caused him to cough and splutter instead.

Bert slapped him rhythmically on the back a couple of times in an attempt to allay his small coughing fit. It worked mostly and Fritz’s coughs subsided and he gave Bert a grateful smile.

Fritz began to explain what he could, “I saw the strange bonfire, you see. And I wondered if I could bring it into my Sanctum. So I used all my Senses and Attributes to try and bring it with me.”

Sid and Bert looked at him puzzled.

“Why?” Sid asked.

“You can do that?” Bert inquired, seemingly interested in the concept.

Sid frowned, both in anger and concentration then said, “Answer Bert’s question first, what happened?”

“Well, it worked. Sort of,” Fritz said raising his left arm. He stared at it as did the others. It looked the same as ever, pale but outwardly unblemished by the burns he knew were there. He tried to move it and felt a painful tingling rush down his whole forearm, hand and down to the very tips of his fingers. The terrible pain was like pins and needles but far worse, like the needles were molten and the pins were coated in lime juice. He gritted his teeth against the agony. His fingers did move then, sluggishly, twitching as he clenched his hand into a fist. He didn’t know how tightly he was tensing as there was no sensation of touch, just that horrible burning.

“Is something meant to happen? Why are you staring at your hand, Fritz?” Bert said as if he were worried for his friend's sanity. He didn’t have to worry about that, Fritz hoped.

“It’s hard to move and I can only feel a burning, tingling feeling all over it. When I pulled the fire with me into my Sanctum I dropped it and it severely scorched my arm.”

“Scorched? It's only a warm tickle,” Sid stated, glancing back at the ghostly bonfire in the cave’s centre.

“Down there, in my Sanctum, it was as hot as any fire and as evil as any daemon,” Fritz explained dramatically, sweat beading on his brow as he relived the flame’s touch. “It clung to me, then I had to use my Control and Focus to contain it. I tried to douse it in a puddle but it didn’t work. I ended up aligning my Attributes to Control to help. That worked and I was able to store it in a brazier safely. At least I hope it's safe, I haven’t had time to check as I passed out, or maybe died,” Fritz ended with a strained smirk.

Bert huffed out an amused breath and Sid looked like she wanted to roll her eyes but didn’t.

“Now back to my question. Why?” Sid asked seriously.

“I don’t know, it was just a whim, I guess,” Fritz admitted, a little confused as to why he did it himself. He reached back into his memories to try and remember what he was thinking but found the recollection of the event shrouded by the pain and terror of the eldritch flame. He shrugged, wincing as the movement caused his hand to sting terribly.

Sid’s frown deepened, “Don’t do things like that! Idiot! You bloody fool! We’re almost at the top and you do stupid things like this!” She started berating him, more angry than he’d ever seen her. Well, save for when she had strangled him with her scarf, which she looked on the verge of doing again as she wrung its red wool tightly between her fingers.

“I agree!” Bert interjected while suppressing a grin. He seemed to find Sid berating Fritz amusing. “Keep your idiocy on the outside of the Spire.”

“As if you’re much better than I!” Fritz yelled exasperated.

Bert nodded his head sagely, “Yes, Fritz, my idiocy is far better than yours,” he espoused while grinning smugly.

“No, it’s not,” Fritz and Sid said together.

“You’re both fools and madmen,” Sid said as gruff and furious as ever. “If it wasn’t suicide, I’d climb the Spire by myself. I wouldn’t have to worry about you two skulg-brained slop-scrubbers.”

“I’m at least two, no three, times as smart as a skulg,” Bert responded his eyes alight in the wild light that told Fritz he wasn’t at all offended. Fritz caught on to his ploy to diffuse the argument with absurdity.

“I’ve never once scrubbed slop, it’s far below my station,” Fritz argued pompously, trying to turn the shouting match into a farce.

Sid stared at them, glancing between the two as if trying to decide who she was more angry at, it turned out to be Fritz as she wheeled on him growling, “Stop taking stupid, unnecessary risks.”

Fritz felt something from her that wasn’t just anger. Now that they had spent a week or more together he was beginning to be able to read her subtle tells under her gruff exterior. There was care there, a real worry for their safety. He didn’t mean to hurt Sid or Bert for that matter and seeing that he did so left a sour taste in his mouth and a new ache in his chest. Or was that more Sanctum nonsense?

Deciding to meet Sid’s anger with earnestness, he dropped his act and responded, “Sorry Sid. I’ll do better, no more whims. I honestly didn’t think there was any danger. I mean, how was I to know that you could even do what I did?” Fritz ended with a morose sigh.

Sid’s fury sputtered out, doused like a campfire in a blizzard. She grunted her acceptance of the apology and said, “Right. Don’t, let it happen again. Or else.”

Fritz gave a bittersweet smile to the comment, knowing that the threat was a hollow one, he could feel no malice in her tone or stance. Just worry, fear and fatigue, like himself. Awareness at it again, he supposed. I wonder how potent it will get in the future, how much could I read of someone’s emotions with thirty or more Attributes aligned to Awareness?

“Ahem,” Bert pronounced, pretending to clear his throat and shaking Fritz out of his musings. “Haven’t you forgotten someone to apologise to Pack-brother?”

Rolling his eyes Fritz replied in bored tones, “Sorry, Bert.”

“Sorry for what?” Bert jauntily chided as if he were his parent.

“For playing with eldritch fire,” Fritz droned, playing the part of a disinterested child.

“Good!” Bert said slapping him on the back and causing Fritz to wince again.

Sid shook her head, but seemingly didn’t know what to say to the two of them or was maybe just weary of their nonsense.

“How bad are you hurt?” She asked. “And how long ‘till we can get moving?”

Fritz attempted to clench his fist again and was met with hot pain and that same numb tingle.

“Don’t know, maybe I should pop back into my Sanctum for a bit and see how it’s holding up?” Fritz said.

Sid and Bert nodded.

“Might be a while, you guys can finish your delicious dinner,” Fritz added.

They grimaced at the thought of the mealy meat and Fritz dove into his Sanctum riding the cool light down to his centre.

His feet impacted the muddy yard, and rain poured down, harder than its usual drizzle. It’s to be expected, I am under a lot of pressure. I don’t think I’ve ever been as tired, tortured or terrified since my home was taken from me, and that’s now a distant memory that I don’t want to dig up.

His willow stood taller than ever at almost twenty-four feet tall and shadows slithered subtly under its long swaying branches. Its sapphire blue leaves had darkened and deepened in hue giving the whole tree a more sinister appearance, it wasn’t quite right but it was still beautiful all the same.

Nothing on fire, that’s a good sign, he told himself. He hissed through clenched teeth as his arm writhed in a riot of agony, far worse than on the outside. He dreaded to see what his limb had become and didn’t want to confirm his suspicions about its condition. But he steeled himself and looked anyway. It was as bad as he thought, if not worse, it more resembled a withered claw of charcoal than a hand. Adamant on testing its limits he attempted to pull it into a fist, it twisted into place snapping and cracking as ash fell from between thin, black fingers.

It was a new terrible torture. He howled and the rain poured down harder, his willow lashed the air and the light dimmed to twilight. He cut off his yell and wept. Letting the rain wash away his tears and the wind carry away his cries.

Fritz didn’t know how long he stood there in pain, in anguish, it seemed like minutes but it could have easily been hours. All wasn’t lost, he knew, logically he couldn't have been the only person to have damaged himself in his Sanctum but he still felt alone in his plight.

No, none of that! He reprimanded himself. No falling into self-pity. You have Bert. And you have Sid. For now, a bitter part of his mind added.

He shook away his moment of despair and moved, striding towards the pavilion as a flickering eerie blue-green light leaked from over its walls and out from its arches. Stepping on the sodden floorboards and ignoring the persistent agony in his arm Fritz took stock of the ransacked insides. The furniture was still smashed, books and broken knickknacks littered the floor and in the centre, something horrible burned in the brazier.

The blue-green flame danced and fought in its brass prison. Fritz felt like it was mocking him, taunting him even as it tried to leap free and reduce the rest of his Sanctum to ash. Fritz sighed in relief, he knew it couldn’t escape unless he let it. Now what does it do?

He made to move closer to the intriguing fire but remembered Sid’s warning about unnecessary risks and stopped dead in his tracks. She was right. He didn’t know what he was doing and whatever he did might make it worse. He didn’t want to burn his other hand to, one flame withered arm was enough for him.

He studied his charred hand and sighed, he didn’t know what to do with that either. Maybe it could heal on its own? Maybe there was a potion that could fix it? Only time could tell. It rankled to lose the use of one hand but he knew it could’ve been worse. What would have happened if everything had been burnt? He pushed that thought away immediately. Turning his mind to how he was going to fight. Well, it wasn't like he needed his hand for spellcasting; plus most of the fencing he knew was based on only using one arm anyway.

Might as well see if it altered my ‘spire sheet’, he thought calling up then reading the silvery glyphs.

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Spire Readout

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Name: Francis Hightide

Level: 7

Path: Spy

Strain: Human

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Attributes

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Strength: 0

Agility: 9

Endurance: 9

Perception: 18

Focus: 9

Memory: 9

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Advanced Attributes

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Awareness: 12

Control: 9

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Activated 2/3

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Stone Pit

Gouge the stone, shift the ground, instant craters, holes abound.

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Gloom Strike

Weapon writhes, in shadow’s grace, deliver foes, to night’s embrace.

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Passive 1/3

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Trap Sense

Pits and wire, falls and fire, discover danger, before it’s dire.

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Trait 2/3

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Door Sense

Beyond the portal, behind the door, a brutal death or distant shore?

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Twilight Kissed

Perhaps a boon, perhaps a curse, you’ll find out soon, which is worse.

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Path 1/3

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Illusory Shadow

Fake darkness, mocking light? Pseudo shadows, subdue sight.

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Technique 2/3

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The Observations (Novice)

Whittle away, scatter survive, poor prevail, covertly thrive.

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Arte Pugilist (Novice)

Strike, Slip, Punch, Kick, Dive, Skip, Grab, Flip.

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Strain 0/3

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Nope only the usual unusualness, he observed. With nothing left to ponder or do, he left his Sanctum, thankfully leaving most of the searing pain of his arm behind.

He surfaced to find Bert reading his Tome of The Arte Pugilist and Sid reading ‘The Observations’ that she must have taken out from his pack. The thought of her rooting through his things annoyed him but he decided to let it go. No need to anger her and get into another argument.

Fritz struggled to his feet and cradled his arm gingerly. The pain was distracting and he needed a way to keep it steady and out of the way until it got better. If it got better. Seeing him standing, Sid put the journal away into a pocket on her shirt and under her breastplate and turned to him as he approached. Not getting that back anytime soon, he groused inwardly. Not unless I want to make Bert’s groper jokes true. Which I do not.

“Sid, I don’t suppose you know how to make a sling?” Fritz entreated smoothly. “I would do it myself but alas.” He gestured with one hand to his numb hand.

“Why not ask Bert?” Sid said.

“Yeah, why not ask me to do it?” Bert accused mildly, not looking up from his book.

“Because you’re a Brute who’s as likely to harm as to help with those indiscriminate hammers you call hands,” Fritz said casually.

“True enough, my mighty grip would break your spindly bones and Sid is the expert in slings,” Bert agreed genially.

“Yes, she’s a stupendous slinger, and an accomplished archer,” Fritz stated annoyingly.

“I’m not a medic,” Sid sighed, looking him over with a blank face.

Fritz gave Sid his best, most charming smile. She scowled but started searching for some material to make into something resembling a sling, muttering, “Fine, but don’t complain if it’s too tight.”

“I would never,” Fritz said with a smirk.

She ended up fashioning a sling made of some of Fritz’s precious rope and the last of his oilskin. Fritz ended up having to remove his scale shirt to put the cloth contraption on. He yelped as Sid tightened the sling and bound his arm to his chest. With her help, he was able to don the scale armour again, and once it was firmly in place she tied the empty sleeve off so it wouldn’t get in the way. Sid slapped him on the back then the shoulder and he barely winced from the jarring force of the impacts.

“Hold’s up? Not too much pain?” She asked looking over her handiwork and the man subject to it.

“It’s too tight,” Fritz said, adopting a sly smile.

Sid frowned slightly then stated, “It’s meant to be.”

They stared at each other for a moment then Fritz laughed, “Sorry, just messing with you. Thanks for the help.”

Sid nodded her head then sighed and asked, “When will you be fit to move?”

“I’m fit now,” Fritz said cheerily. “Most of my headache is gone and I’m well slung.”

Sid arched an annoyed eyebrow at his statement but he didn’t elaborate. Fritz just smiled at her blandly then glanced to the Doors on the other side of the room, walking over the them with an exaggerated swagger.

Finding himself in front of the three Doors carved into the cave's wall, he searched them as he always did, from left to right.

The first Door led into a tunnel of spongy blue and purple moss lit with luminous mushrooms, there was an acrid tang drifting from its depths. From within he could hear a clicking and clacking that reminded him of mandibles; like those of the copper beetles on the second floor. He activated Door sense and read what he could from the Door. Bugs. Big bugs the height of a hound, a hive of them, maybe ants, all searching endlessly for more food for their queen.

Fritz grimaced and turned away, not liking the feeling he got from that floor, striding sideways he moved to the next Door.

The smooth seamless stone of this rectangle door was of a dark grey almost blue colour, like storm clouds over the sea and just as ominous. Fritz could not smell anything on its still, lukewarm air. He ran his eyes over the smooth stone and ran his Door Sense through it. The fleeting impressions were those of traps and trials. There was also a distinct feeling of being lost and going around and around in circles, never finding the way out.

“Hmmm,” Fritz hummed in contemplation. Had they just found a Maze Floor? It would be fortunate if true. Pulling away from the possible Maze he turned to the last and least appealing Door.

That’s not to say that the last Door wasn’t beautiful, it was. It was a graceful arch of ice, carved with intricate scripture in some ancient tongue of one of the countless, long-forgotten civilisations. A freezing mist floated under its arch obscuring the stairway up. Door Sense told him all he needed to know, it had some sort of time limit. He felt another impression, wandering through the fog feeling its biting chill that drained all the vigour from your limbs and left them leaden and numb.

After just surviving the previous floor he doubted anyone wanted to go through cold again, not so soon anyway even if he felt the Ice Door led to the shortest and smallest floor. He shivered and near quaked in remembrance of the blizzard’s freezing grasp. No not that one, he thought fervently.

Stepping away from the Doors and returning to his crew he relayed what he had seen with his Perception and felt from Door Sense.

“So squash some Bugs or get lost in a Maze?” Bert summarised, ignoring the Ice door completely.

“Yeah seems like it,” Fritz said. “Which do you think we should pick?”

“Bugs!” Bert eagerly exclaimed at the same time as Sid grunted, “Maze.”

Fritz smirked at them both looking between them slowly as if making up his mind. There were a couple of moments where the two of his crew scowled first at each other and then at him. Waiting a moment longer, smugly holding his vote over their heads he eventually said, “Maze.”

Sid exhaled and smiled in relief while Bert gave him a vulgar hand gesture as his hopes were dashed. Fritz attempted to respond with one of his own but found his arm was trapped in its sling and he winced as he jostled it.

“Well, pack up let's get climbing, ten minutes,” Sid announced and they moved to comply.

They were done packing in five; and they stood at the smooth dark grey door, ready to ascend.

“I’m sure this floor will be a-maze-ing,” Bert said with fake enthusiasm, causing Fritz to groan and Sid to huff out an amused breath.

Fritz led the way up those smooth stone steps; closer to the Precipice; closer to the end; closer to his family; where they waited.

Just a couple more Floors.