Spire's Spite

Fritz took the white and black know-note eagerly and read its new glyphs.

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Treasure

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Amulet of Repose

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Alignment: Boon, Life, Mind, Sense.

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Capacity: 3/6

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Abilities Imbued

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Second Wind

Pushing through, tired and weak, rise again, reach the peak.

Recovers two thirds of total stamina.

Alignment: Life.

Cost: Three.

Duration: Nine seconds.

Refresh: None.

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Calm

Frayed nerves and a stomach knot, eased and smoothed then forgot.

Reduces emotional distress or excitement.

Alignment: Boon, Mind, Sense.

Cost: Two.

Duration: Fifteen minutes

Refresh: None.

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“How could anything named ‘Amulet of Repose’ be meant for you,” Fritz said scowling.

“What? I’m always posing!” Bert replied as he held up his arm and flexed his bicep. “I even sometimes, re-pose,” He added as he switched to flexing his other arm.

Sid burst out laughing and Fritz smiled at the truly terrible pun.

“That’s not what repose means, idiot,” Fritz argued, still smiling.

“Don’t care,” Bert eloquently riposted.

“Well, I guess the Second Wind effect would be most useful for you, especially because you probably use a lot of Stamina mending your constantly breaking bones,” Fritz reasoned after Sid’s raucous laughter had died down.

“Indeed… that’s why I want it,” Bert said furtively.

Fritz, already bored by the suspicious routine, ignored him and asked, “What of the Calm Ability? Does that only affect the user?”

“I dunno’, we’d have to test it, but it costs a whole two mana,” Bert said.

“Never mind, we can always test it outside the Spire,” Fritz said. “Now that’s all sorted. Who has the goblin Chief’s ring?”

“Gave it to Sid. My gloves wouldn’t fit over it,” Bert lamented in deep disappointed tones.

“Right here,” Sid said, holing up her hand and displaying the thick golden ring and its dark purple gems wrapped incongruously around a slim finger.

“Shouldn’t we talk about who gets the ring?” Fritz suggested.

“Nah,” Sid stated.

“Why?” Fritz asked.

“Bert doesn’t want it and besides I don’t trust either of you with it,” She said, not unkindly but also not without edge.

“I’m hurt Sid,” Fritz proclaimed, surprised to find it was true.

“Don’t care,” Sid said seriously. “It’s mind magic. You can do a lot of harm with such a thing.”

“Bert and I would never do anything untoward with such an Ability,” Fritz said reproachfully, almost angrily.

“Maybe not. But I don’t care. I won't risk it in anyone elses hands,” Sid said seriously as she met Fritz’s gaze and stared back, hard.

“That’s not very fair,” Fritz started in genuine offence.

“No. It's not. Nothing is. Or will be,” Sid stated absolutely.

“Leave it, Fritz,” Bert warned. He walked up to and then whispered into Fritz’s ear, “We’ve seen a lot of bad stuff in the gutters, but she’s had to fear far worse.”

Fritz still felt aggrieved and was about to boast of all his virtuous acts and intent, but something in her steely blue eyes shouted at him that it would be of no use and that Bert was right. It wasn’t even necessarily an aspersion on his honour. The horrors she may have witnessed or perhaps endured had put her on a path, one of prevention and protection. He felt he had no right to tell her differently.

“Fine. Keep the ring. Looks better on you anyway,” Fritz said, sounding stilted and slightly petulant even to his own ears.

“I will,” Sid said.

They stood glaring at each other for some moments, some deep, burning tension building between them. For some inexplicable reason, Fritz felt the desire to stride across the room, take Sid into his arms, press her to him and kiss her. Aching frustration flared hot and he could see it reflected, resonating in her own bright gaze. They nearly moved; they nearly moved, together.

Bert piped up genially, “What’s behind the Doors, Fritz?”

The silence was broken as was their intense eye contact, their passion quenched with a reminder of Bert’s presence, the cold of the room and their current situation reasserting its reality. It was not the time for such things and definitely not the place, he told himself but the thought just made Fritz ache more.

Fritz looked to the Doors sheepishly, and Sid turned her back to him, her cloak swishing in the air and she let out a long steadying breath.

Fritz decided to leave it be, for once, and strode to the Doors carved into the cavern wall. In all the passionate arguing he had forgotten about his new boots and now revelled in the sublime softness and complete comfort as he walked.

Standing before the last three Doors of the Spire he felt something of a weight, a finality. He shook his shoulders loose, trying to shrug off the stress he felt pressing down upon him. He sighed and looked to the first Door.

Its shining arch was made of slowly flowing red glass, the whole opening somehow reminded him of sweet syrup and his mouth watered from the recollection. A thudding echoed from the depths, maybe some of the glass dropping to the sticky floor. His Door Sense pulled forth images of monsters encased in amber, like some of the curios he had seen when he was young, or perhaps more like candied pears.

The Door exhaled air that was hot and sickly sweet, with hints of rancid fruit and rotting meat. Fritz didn’t much like the stifling qualities projected from that floor so grimacing he turned to the next Door.

This Door seemed to have a simple frame, and beyond that a hallway of wooden planks, only some of which had swollen with water and had been taken with mould. It felt familiar, a rain-soaked, leaking house, well-known and oft navigated by both Fritz and Bert on their many heists and explorations. He was sorely tempted to pick this Door, to have an advantage, to be in their element. Until Door Sense ruined it with the impressions of a pale, translucent figure, a murdered man with a broken neck and a knife in his gut, floating through the walls and rooms.

Fritz shivered, he could hear the spectre’s aching, accusatory lament whispering on the cold, clammy air. Undead, and not the kind you can stab with a sword or break with your fists. Maybe their Abilities would be able to hit the ghostly monster but he didn’t want to risk his life on a maybe.

The last Door was eerily familiar. It was an arch comprised of gnarled wood, bleached with age and caked with grey dirt. It was incredibly similar to the first door he had picked in the Spire, just... older. He felt at the Door, finding the impressions strengthened, maybe because he knew what he was feeling for. The blight hounds were stalking for long-deceased, long-gone prey, they were still starving, vicious and snarling. The moon watched on as it ever did; and one hound; the greatest in size; the greatest in strength and wiles; the most horrifying and hungry; never sated, ever starved. Terrible eyes, that ate the light, horrible maw, that ate the bright. That hound waited; It waited for him.

Fritz stepped back as Bert yelled out something that broke his focus on what lay beyond.

“What?” Fritz replied blearily, still seeing the hound's awful lightless stare like an afterimage in his mind.

“I said what are you doing?” Bert said. Fritz snapped out of his daze and realised Bert was right next to him a strong hand grasping his shoulder. “You were about to stagger into the Door. Was it another compulsion?”

“Yes. No? Maybe? It was the blight hound, the big one. You remember? On the first floor?” Fritz explained stiltedly.

“Can’t say I do, I was more worried about getting you and Toby out,” Bert said. “There was a big one? And I didn’t get to punch it?”

“There was,” Sid said. “And this was before your decision to totally embrace your madness.”

“Hmm. We can make up for lost opportunities then,” Bert said grinning and swinging his fist up in an uppercut. He then started punching and kicking at the air, fighting against some imagined foe.

“Let’s hear about the other Doors first,” Sid said about to roll her eyes but stopping herself, knowing that it would just encourage the Brute.

“Yeah, uhh other Doors, any good targets?” Bert said.

“Well, the glass in this red one seems to drip and could catch you within it, sticking you in place and potentially holding you there forever. But there may be other complications with the floor as well. I don’t like it overmuch.”

“Sounds like a bad way to go, sealed in glass like that,” Sid said grimacing at the thought.

“The middle Door has a ghost, which we all know is undead and therefore to be avoided.”

“And you can’t punch ghosts,” Bert said sourly. “Or maybe I can with Concussive Blow, can Abilities hit ghosts?”

“Depends on the Ability’s alignment, I hear that sometimes incorporeal creatures are aligned to elements or other concepts, like sound or shadow,” Sid supplied when Fritz looked to her for the answer. “But it's not likely to be able to be hit with what we have. Unless it's a stone ghost? They tend to be more solid,” She added hopefully.

“Not likely to be a stone ghost, probably just your everyday, run-of-the-mill, normal incorporeal undead,” Fritz said blandly.

“Uh-huh. Which means no punching?” Bert asked.

“Which means no punching,” Fritz agreed.

“And the last floor is the blight hounds again?” Sid asked.

“It might actually be the entire first floor again,” Fritz said.

“Weird,” Sid stated.

“Or a trap,” Fritz intoned soberly. “Call me mad but-”

“You’re mad,” Sid and Bert said on cue.

Fritz sighed but let a wry smile crawl up his face and continued, “As I was saying. I got the distinct impression that the hound was waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” Sid asked.

“Waiting for me. To eat me. Eat my Sanctum. Probably,” Fritz hedged.

“You’re mad,” Bert said again.

“Door Sense?” Sid said.

“That and the last time I saw it. Before I even had Awareness, I felt something similar,” Fritz said.

Sid grunted in acknowledgement but said nothing more.

Bert slapped Fritz on the back and asked, “Which Door then?”

“Hound Door, at least we know we can kill the hounds and already know where the Stairways is. If it doesn’t move,” Fritz reasoned.

“Can a stairway move?” Sid inquired incredulously.

“It can. Well, my father said it had happened to him once or twice,” Fritz stated.

“Hound floor it is. Straight in or rest up?” Bert asked.

“Rest,” Fritz said exhaling heavy. “After that goblin fight, nay battle, nay war. I am mighty tired.”

“We can also test our New Abilities once we rest up,” Bert suggested. “Especially that Danger Sense.”

“Why do I get the feeling testing Danger Sense is just a reason to punch me without consequence?” Fritz complained.

“Sid can help too,” Bert said, ignoring his question.

Sid grunted, seemingly agreeing.

“Oh and you aught to refill your Treasures,” Bert said, helpfully heaving out what remained of the bull’s heart from his pack and laying it on the ground. “I should too now that I have one of my very own,” he added, rubbing the circle of brass against his cheek affectionately then quickly kissing it and placing it against the gold.

Fritz and Sid stepped forward adding their respective Treasures. Surprisingly, or maybe not, now that Fritz thought about it, the Chief’s ring absorbed a lot more gold than the other items. Sid quickly pulled it away before it ate the rest of the heart.

“Hungry Treasure,” Fritz noted.

“Yeah, should I fill it fully?” Sid asked.

“Yep,” Fritz and Bert said together.

“I dunno, what if it eats it all?” Sid said strangely reticent.

“Then I won't have to lug it around anymore,” Bert said.

“I dunno,” Sid repeated, and Fritz got the impression that it wasn’t so much about the gold, but more about the Treasure itself.

“Don’t trust yourself with it either?” He asked gently.

“It’s a lot of Power,” Sid said.

“So is Wind Strike, or Venomous Strike. They both have the power to kill,” Fritz reasoned.

“It’s different, this ring can mess with your mind. It has a lot of room for abuse,” Sid said.

“Maybe, but that’s true of all Power. For what it’s worth, I think you’re right about being the one to use it. I trust it in your swift hands,” Fritz said earnestly. “And if you don’t want it anymore you can just leave it at the pinnacle,” he added with a shrug.

“What a waste, it would look great on me,” Bert said. “Really fits my aesthetic.”

“Didn’t know what gold was for, knows the word aesthetic,” Sid said. “What is wrong with you?”

“Don’t bother Sid. His vanity goes beyond even my own,” Fritz stated, glad to have quickly abandoned the subject of the ring. He didn’t quite know where he stood on the whole mind control argument and he would rather avoid it for now, and maybe forever.

“Vanity? Is it truly vain to want to be covered in gold, jewels and fine silks?” Bert argued.

“Yes,” Sid said at the same time Fritz responded “No, I suppose not.”

“What?” They again said together.

“Oh, of course, the noble-” Sid started.

“Minor noble,” Fritz corrected.

“Would want to waste their wealth on silks,” She continued unwilling to hold back the disgust in her voice.

“I never said I would, it’s just nice to look nice and it’s not as if, once we’re out of the Spire, you’re not going to get yourself something pretty too,” Fritz argued.

“I won't,” Sid said stubbornly. “Only the necessities.”

“Uh huh,” Bert said obviously disbelieving Sid’s words.

Heading off another argument Fritz said, “Let’s rest, we’re obviously exhausted.”

Sid sighed, stared at the gold ring in her palm, put it on her finger and strode away, setting up her oilcloth sheet as far from Fritz and Bert as she could.

“Damn, Fritz. You know how to pick ‘em,” Bert whispered.

“I have no idea what could possibly be implying about me or my tastes,” Fritz said haughtily.

“I’ll be clear then, what’s with you and proud, principled… perilous women?” Bert asked.

“I don’t think it’s pride, I think it’s... ambition,” Fritz mused, not even bothering to deny his feelings for Sid.

“You know that’s gonna make your life difficult,” Bert observed frankly.

“When have I ever cared about making my life easy?” Fritz said smirking.

“Too true I’m afraid, far too true,” Bert intone putting a hand on his shoulder, “Good luck.”

“Won't need it, under all this grime I’m mighty handsome,” Fritz boasted.

“A faerie princeling in the making,” Bert mocked grinning.

Fritz winced at the comment, brutally reminded of his connection and the favour he still owed to the Duskmoth.

“But I don’t think it’s your looks that bother people, Fritz,” Bert continued worried his insult hit too close to home.

“It’s not?” Fritz said aghast.

“No, it's all the rest,” Bert said waving his hand at Fritz’s head and then his heart.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Fritz stated, intentionally ignoring his faults.

“And you probably never will,” Bert said. “Sid would have her hands full with you.”

“In more ways than one,” they said together.

They laughed, earning them a scowl and a shout of “Shut up I’m trying to sleep!” from Sid.

They quieted down and set up their own area to sleep.

Fritz was worried about having another nightmare, but fortunately none assailed him in the hours he slept. He was lying down one moment then being shaken awake in the next. Blearily, his head heavy he looked up to see Sid pushing on his shoulder, a bright blue-white light pulsing over her face. There was a trilling in the back of his head and he tried to shake it off until he realised it was his Trap Sense.

“Can't rest any longer, the tower is doing something weird, probably a Well-timer,” Sid said.

Fritz nodded and got to his feet quickly, spotting the offending tower and its pulsing warning. It was definitely dangerous and they had maybe a couple of minutes to get out.

“I tried to wake Bert but he sleeps like the drowned,” Sid explained obviously annoyed.

“More like the drowning, with all his flailing,” Fritz said.

“Bert, heist time!” Fritz yelled slapping his friend in his sleeping face.

Bert startled and sat up rapidly, rolled to his feet and started packing his things with a glassy look in his eyes that only started to fade once they were all in front of the gnarled wooden arch.

“We ready?” Fritz asked as they each checked over their gear one last time as the light burned brighter and pulsed faster.

“Ready,” they called out as a buzzing started to fill the room, and powerful vibrations travelled up their legs. Sid startled a little but was quick to follow as Fritz strode up the dirt and stone steps, back to the old forest where they had begun their climb.

A mild breeze caressed them with stale scents of rot and ruin. It felt like a wrongness lay before them, above them, but they had nowhere to go but up. They would have to lay eyes on that lonely moon again. The dirt of the tunnel was greyer, dustier and somehow more lifeless. Ancient roots poked through the tunnel walls bleached like the bones of some long-dead animals, and some that he realised were the bones of long-dead animals. Something he either didn’t notice or wasn’t there the first time they came through.

Silver light poured into the tunnel from up ahead, spilling out of the exit and Fritz strode into it, shielding his eyes with one hand and squinting in the brightly illuminated basin beyond. He had expected the night to be darker, or dimmer, that same soft lantern-like light, not the near blinding brilliance of the unmarred moon overhead. He let his eyes adjust, removed his hand to look upon that singular metallic orb in the black sky, but found instead an endless plane of flawless silver that stretched across the sky.

He realised quickly that the sky was the moon. It was huge, too big, and it was close, too close, far too big, far too close. Worst of all, it was getting closer, he felt its weight was about to crush him or already was. Fritz’s breath was coming in rapid bursts and he was sweating as he gazed up into the slowly descending silver. He felt like a worm, smaller than a worm, the smallest thing in the world looking up at the falling heel of a Titan.

Get a hold of yourself, look away, it can’t hurt you. Yet. Fritz told himself struggling with the mind-bending, nay mind-breaking, enormity of the moon’s surface.

He closed his eyes and bent his head, content to stand still and breathe deeply as he gathered his wits.

“Fritz, what’s wrong?” Bert called out from the tunnel.

“The moon,” Fritz said through his clenched jaw. “Just a moment or two more and I’ll be able to cope with the weight.”

“What weight?” Bert asked worried evident in his tone.

“You’ll see,” Fritz said his voice echoing out ominously.

“See what?” Sid asked.

“The moon… it’s just there, so near, and big,”

“Big?” Sid asked.

“Too big,” Fritz amended. “Huge, enormous, words don’t do it justice. You’ll see, but be prepared before you look up.”

Eventually, after some minutes of standing still and focusing on himself and his breath, he got used to the pressure. Fritz opened his eyes, taking in the basin around him. Near the wall of snaking, pale roots lay an animal’s porcelain white skeleton. Dread building in his gut from the utter wrongness, the incongruity of too much passed time as he recognised it as the first blight hound he had faced. Shaking his head and looking away from the ancient bones he motioned his friends forwards hoping they didn’t suffer as badly under the silvery strain.

Bert stepped out Sid close behind, they strode up to Fritz keeping their eyes low. When they reached Fritz’s side he said, “Might as well get it out of the way, we won't be able to find the stairway if you can't look up.”

They nodded, Bert looked up and said “Whoa.” In only a moment rolled his shoulders and broke eye contact with the shimmering metallic sky.

Sid was next and gasped, “It’s so...big,”

“Told you,” Fritz replied.

Her eyes slowly lowered back to the basin and to Fritz’s forlorn face.

“That it?” Bert asked, seemingly already bored.

“You don’t feel it?” Fritz wondered aloud.

“Feel what?” Sid asked.

“The heaviness, like you’re being or going to be crushed?” Fritz asked incredulously.

Sid and Bert shared a quizzical look and shook their heads. Obviously, whatever effect the moon had on Fritz didn’t seem to bother them at all as they looked around easily shouldering or maybe not even feeling the pressure of the moon's presence.

The air was quiet, the wind still, there was no longer the rustling of leaves, the only thing Fritz could hear was his own breath and that of his crew.

Until the howling began.