Aragon - The Endless Spire

They first saw it in the bottom of a river.

Taking a trip to the vast swamplands surrounding Namarast was not most people’s idea of a pleasant holiday. Just trying to walk through the endless layers of mud and stagnant water was difficult enough. Aragon had managed perhaps three steps an hour when they had taken a wrong turn and gotten stuck in a particularly nasty bog. Not to mention the stink that rose from the rotting plants, which choked the air and the lungs of anyone unfortunate enough to inhale it.

No. It wasn’t the natural beauty of the place that interested Aragon. Even now, as they pushed through a narrow path that skirted the water of a dirty, algae-covered pond, their mind was fixed on a different task.

Their little ‘holiday’ was, first and foremost, a good excuse to spy on the Witchfinders, the Order, members of the Mage Court, and anyone else involved with magical goings-on.

They duck behind a bush. Crashing out of the trees is a witchfinder patrol. Sweating in the stifling warmth, they pushed on through the undergrowth, mumbling as they stumbled into holes and cut their legs on brambles.

Only when the sound of their footsteps faded into the noise of rippling water and buzzing flies did they peek out from their hiding place. Upon closer inspection of their footprints, it appeared to have been only a few. Either way, they didn’t want to cause too much trouble.

That was the second reason. The monsters and general chaos, especially in Faline, had worn their patience thin. It was impossible to achieve anything with the fear of being killed by a corrupted mage looming over everyone’s heads. Instead of staying in a terrified capital, they decided the wilderness seemed a bit more hospitable. Everyone needs a break at some point.

The Witchfinder footprints lead to a river. Surprisingly cool and clear, running swiftly over the exposed rocks. A tiny bird, it's tail wagging as it hopped across the stones, sang a quiet song.

Instantly, they start to miss swimming in the Mirror Bay. The water there is the perfect cure to the summer heat. Of course, the river was probably full of nasty swamp water. A dip wouldn’t hurt though. Right?

They step in and immediately the heat that had been slowly smothering them dissipates and they breathe a sigh of relief. They stare down at the surface of the water; a rippling mirror.

Behind their own tired reflection is when they see it.

Beneath the flow of the river, against the rocks, is the image of a spire. It branches upward, slowly climbing into the sky like a colossal serpent raising its head to strike. It glows with a sick green light that burns from within its many windows and doors.

For a moment, their eyes are locked on the apparition. Frozen entirely, they can only watch as the image slowly fades, floating away with the flow of the river.

The moment it is gone they scramble backward, shaking and blinking, shivering with the cold of the water.

-

The image is still burned into their mind as they drag themselves into Mead. It is not hard to find a small room and a morsel of food among the maze of old wooden cottages and hastily built inns and lodging houses. They barely make it to the bar to order a mug of Mead’s famous mead.

Staring into the mug of vaguely yellow liquid they have been assured is most certainly the original mead of Mead, the silhouette of the spire seems to overlay itself on the surface of their drink.

‘You hear about that spire thing?’ Murmurs the bartender as he drags a cloth across the bar as if he knew it was on their mind.

‘Uh… I don’t think so?’ Is all they can muster in reply.

He grunts and shrugs.

‘Surprising, that’s all they’re on about right now; those explorer types that come through here.’

Dropping his dirtied cloth into his apron, he gestures toward a poster hung on a noticeboard. Following his movements, Aragon’s eyes lock onto a familiar shape scrawled on a piece of torn paper.

‘Apparently, it popped up from where that nasty jungle monster got killed. Keeps getting taller and taller, like someone’s frantically adding new floors every night. They reckon its magic.’

They remain fixed on the poster but nod at his words.

‘They say there’s stuff in it. Treasure, magical scrolls and such, and all sorts I wouldn’t know about. Order seems to be interested in keeping people out, which is enough for me to believe there’s something they like in there. Either way, it all sounds a bit too dangerous for my taste.’

Standing up from the table, Aragon takes a swig of the mead and grins.

‘Hmm. A bit too dangerous. Perfect for me.’

-

Their next trip into the swamp is not hindered by the mud or the heat as they march through the trees, swatting away branches and flies as they storm toward the river they had first glimpsed the Spire in.

As soon as they splash into the water they stare down to its bottom and await its arrival. Like clockwork, it appears as soon as their eyes meet the water’s surface. This time, the image seems closer. They can see clearly inside one of the thousands of doorways that led to the inner rooms of the strange spire. Within the darkness, they can see the shimmer of gemstones, gold, and pearls as they meet the green light.

Without pausing to think, they take a deep breath and dive headfirst into the water. They swim deeper and deeper and deeper. They do not stop swimming until they feel the warmth of the light on their face and they burst through the surface of a different river.

The Spire spirals into the sky before them as they drag themselves out of the water, coughing as they shake themselves dry. The light flickers around the edges of the Spire, like thin fingers beckoning them forwards. Their eyes meet the entrance they glimpsed and another grin appears on their face.

What a nice holiday this was turning out to be.

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