A special tower has been built to test the skills of anyone who claims to be a skilled thief. The higher they go, the more fabulous the treasures and books, but also more cunning the traps. None of the traps are lethal, at most they're embarrassing and uncomfortable. With some, failing the thief and sending them back to the beginning. -- Anon Guest
If you live your life on the streets or among the rooftops of Deepwater, it doesn't look like anything special. A squat storage silo with no discernable entrance and a rather boring roof. Those who use the Rogue's Highway of Deepwater's rooftops avoid it. To step foot on it is to slide right off it, resulting in a bone-breaking spill onto the cobbles below.
It's so boring that it isn't even used as a landmark. People don't bother with it. They don't ask who uses it, they don't wonder why it's there.
It's kept by the Deepwater Thieves' Guild, which is lead by a fallen god and has its centre in the lower labyrinths of Deepwater's Undercity. It is there that also holds the entrance to the Rogue's Testing Tower.
It's normal for those with learned skills to test them. Either through challenges between each other or via gauntlets to prove their learning to their teachers. This tower is the Tower of Traps, and the Thieves and Rogues go through it to test their prowess, their paranoia, and their pick-pocketing.
There is only one entrance, but a multitude of exits. Each level contains trickier traps, more perplexing puzzles, and greater risks included with the more fantastic rewards. Those who enter can leave at any point with everything they've already acquired.
Anyone smart enough to search for those exits could never find them. The tower itself was magic upheld by Xiolein. Though the all-seeing horror of the Undercity appreciated cleverness in His subjects, He did not appreciate cheating.
Tantaren had been through several of the floors. Caution, wariness, and the right tools had seen her survive a multitude of such trials. She had been in and out of the tower so often that she left the lower levels' loot for other players. Most of it was tribute for and from Xiolein anyway.
Her aim was to reach the top. That was where the greatest prize was. That was where the Thief of all Thieves could get everything they could ever want and everything they could ever need. So it was whispered, at least.
Nobody had ever reached it to say. So the gossip about what could be there exaggerated it beyond belief.
There was only one way to get there. Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered. Upstream against a tide of troubles and traps and taking chances that even the divine would quake at attempting.
Tantaren was no fool. She took her time, took few chances, and took extra rations to tide her by on the way up. She looked, examined, checked, and tested everything new, everything valuable, and everything unfamiliar.
She had gained a lens that could help her see magic. With a little experience and some trials, she could discern which aura meant what, and therefore not touch anything cursed.
This recent run up the tower had taken her two weeks, so far. Much of it was familiar ground. Some were safe spots where a runner could bathe, relieve themselves, and even sleep if so needed. Xiolein was a merciful fallen god. Or... so He imagined.
It helped to repeat that once in a while.
Tantaren had taken a rest before taking on an unknown floor. It was always better to face these things with a restored mind and body. She exited the little habitat and faced her new challenge.
A long, featureless corridor. And on the other side was a door.
It was just a little bit open.
The door was two hundred feet from where Tataren stood. She got out her telescopic poking stick and looked through her lens. Nothing magical. She tapped on the floor and walls nearby. Nothing triggered. She leaned some weight on the floor. Nothing.
No nightingale floors. No fall-away walls. No magical wards.
There had to be a trap.
There had to be a trick.
Tantaren stepped forward with every caution. On guard for the slightest hint that something was about to go off. The poking stick set to the length of a quarterstaff so she could vault free when something went off.
She never let down her guard. Never assumed.
A hundred and fifty feet between her and the open door.
No pressure plates. No ward triggers. No magical illusions. No magical traps. Nothing but a long, featureless corridor, and an almost-shut door at the other end.
Her heart started pounding. For a great reward one had to go through a greater risk. There had to be something. There had to be something.
She started feeling out the air in front of her with her poking stick. Just in case there was some invisible fiend or foe waiting to attack.
Nothing.
One hundred and twenty feet between her and the door.
She was very glad of her use of the privy before she started. Otherwise she'd be creeping forwards with her own piss spilling out of her boots.
One hundred feet. Her knees were turning into jelly.
What had she missed? What precaution had she failed to take?
Her mouth was dry. She was feeling faint. Yet all of her protective amulets and rings were showing that there was a threat. What was happening to her was the work of her own terror. The product of her own anticipation of incoming danger.
She couldn't stand it.
"Exit," she squeaked, barely able to give voice to the word.
Xiolein heard her anyway. The way out presented itself.
She ran out, and realised that she was just under the roof line.
Damnit.
[Photo by Liam Briese on Unsplash]
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