The Tower's energy was palpable as Jobaer stepped through the shimmering portal leading to Floor 1. This time, the transition felt smoother, less jarring. A brilliant light engulfed him, and when it receded, he found himself standing on a cobblestone pathway that stretched into a bustling town ahead.
The town was larger than Jobaer had expected, sprawling across the horizon with structures made of stone and timber. It was lively, filled with the chatter of merchants hawking their wares, adventurers bargaining for equipment, and townsfolk going about their daily lives. The town bore the name Kaelthorn, etched onto a wooden sign hanging from a stone archway at its entrance.
Kaelthorn: The Gateway of Beginnings
Kaelthorn was a bustling hub of activity and intrigue, a place where adventurers from all walks of life converged before venturing deeper into the Tower. Its foundation was ancient, a testament to the generations who had passed through its gates. Despite being part of the enigmatic Tower, Kaelthorn exuded an odd familiarity, blending the fantastical with the mundane.
The Architecture
Kaelthorn's architecture was a harmonious mix of practicality and splendor. The main streets were lined with sturdy stone buildings, their walls etched with carvings that glowed faintly in the evening. These runes were said to be protective spells, warding off any danger from within the Tower itself.
Tall spires crowned the central district, where the town hall and guild headquarters stood. These buildings were adorned with vibrant banners, each bearing the insignia of guilds vying for influence. The rooftops were tiled with multicolored shingles, giving the skyline a kaleidoscopic effect when the sun hit just right.
The outer edges of the town housed simpler structures, mostly inns, workshops, and trading posts. Here, the architecture was more functional, catering to the transient population of adventurers. Wooden buildings creaked with age, but they had an undeniable charm, adorned with hanging flower baskets and lanterns that lit up the streets at night.
The Market Square
The heart of Kaelthorn was its sprawling market square, a vibrant patchwork of color, sound, and scent. Merchants set up their stalls early each morning, their voices ringing through the air as they advertised wares from across the Tower.
"Potions! The finest healing potions, brewed with Tower herbs!"
"Enchanted daggers! Guaranteed to pierce through even the toughest monster hides!"
"Maps of Floor 1! Don't wander blind—buy now and live to see tomorrow!"
The goods on display were as varied as the people who sold them. Exotic fruits that shimmered with unnatural hues, weapons that seemed to hum with latent energy, and trinkets rumored to be relics from long-forgotten floors. The scent of spiced meats roasting over open flames mixed with the aroma of fresh bread and the tang of herbal brews.
Adventurers haggled with merchants, their conversations a chaotic symphony of bartering and banter. Street performers added to the atmosphere, juggling flaming torches or playing lively tunes on stringed instruments.
The Adventurer's Plaza
Adjacent to the market square was the Adventurer's Plaza, a gathering spot for newcomers and veterans alike. A massive bulletin board stood at its center, covered in notices. These ranged from job postings to guild recruitment flyers and warnings about local dangers.
The plaza was always alive with activity. Adventurers compared notes, shared stories of their exploits, and forged alliances. Makeshift sparring matches often broke out, drawing crowds eager to watch and learn.
Small fountains dotted the plaza, their crystal-clear water sparkling under the sunlight. Benches lined the edges, offering a place for weary travelers to rest. Despite its chaos, the plaza had an air of camaraderie, a sense of shared purpose that united everyone who passed through.
The Western Gate
The western gate of Kaelthorn was a stark contrast to the lively market and plaza. It was the edge of safety, leading into the wilds beyond the town. A thick, reinforced wall encircled Kaelthorn, its stones etched with glowing runes similar to those on the buildings.
Guards stood watch, their armor polished to a mirror shine. They carried weapons imbued with light magic, ready to fend off any threats that dared approach. The gate itself was massive, made of dark iron and engraved with the sigil of the Tower—a swirling vortex encircled by a ring of stars.
Beyond the gate, the terrain shifted dramatically. Dense forests with towering trees stretched as far as the eye could see, their canopies forming a dark green sea. Occasionally, the cries of unseen creatures echoed through the air, a reminder of the dangers lurking just beyond the town's protective walls.
The People of Kaelthorn
Kaelthorn's population was as diverse as its architecture. Humans were the most common, but there were also elves with pointed ears and ethereal features, dwarves with braided beards and stocky builds, and even rarer beings like lizardfolk and feline humanoids.
Each person carried their own story, their own reasons for entering the Tower. Some sought riches, others glory, and many simply hoped for a chance to survive and build a new life within the Tower's confines.
The townsfolk, those who ran the shops and services, were often descendants of adventurers who had chosen to settle on Floor 1. They were a pragmatic bunch, well-versed in the needs of their transient clientele. Blacksmiths worked tirelessly to repair and craft weapons, alchemists brewed potions in bubbling cauldrons, and innkeepers provided warm meals and soft beds for those who could afford them.
The Atmosphere
Despite the constant hustle and bustle, Kaelthorn had an underlying tension. The Tower was unpredictable, and danger was always a possibility. Every adventurer who passed through carried an air of determination, their eyes flicking between their surroundings as if expecting a fight at any moment.
At night, the town transformed. Lanterns cast a warm glow over the cobblestone streets, and the sounds of laughter and music spilled from taverns. Yet, the shadows seemed deeper, and the town's edges felt more foreboding. It was a place of contrasts—both a sanctuary and a reminder of the perils that lay ahead.
Kaelthorn was more than just a town; it was a crossroads of destiny. For Jobaer and countless others, it marked the first step in their journey through the Tower—a place of beginnings, where bonds were formed, choices were made, and the path forward became a little clearer.
The Guild Encounter
As Jobaer studied the board, a man approached him. He was clad in light leather armor, with a bow slung over his shoulder and a warm smile on his face.
"New here?" the man asked.
Jobaer nodded. "Just arrived."
The man extended his hand. "Name's Kiran. I'm with the Silver Fangs, one of the local guilds here in Kaelthorn."
"Jobaer," he replied, shaking the man's hand.
Kiran gestured toward a nearby table where several adventurers sat. "Why don't you join us? We've got a few stories that might help a newcomer like you."
Jobaer hesitated but then nodded. Information was valuable, and Kiran seemed friendly enough.
Sitting down, Jobaer was introduced to the rest of the group. There was Zara, a fiery swordswoman with a sharp wit, and Brelok, a towering orc who seemed quiet but observant. Over tankards of ale and plates of roasted meat, they shared tales of their exploits on the lower floors.
"The first floor is deceptively calm," Kiran explained. "Kaelthorn might feel safe, but the moment you step beyond the walls, it's a different story. Monsters roam the forests, and rival guilds or rogue gangs will try to kill you for your loot."
Zara leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And watch out for the Black Vipers. They're a gang that preys on solo adventurers. They've been causing trouble near the western gate."
Jobaer listened intently, absorbing every word.
The Encounter with the Black Vipers
The dim alley was a labyrinth of shadows, the flickering glow of distant lanterns casting long, wavering streaks of light across the uneven cobblestones. The air was thick with the smell of damp stone, faintly tinged with the acrid stench of refuse. Jobaer walked cautiously, his hand resting on the hilt of his newly-acquired greatsword. Though Kaelthorn was a vibrant hub of adventurers and activity, it wasn't without its dangers.
He had just left a small meeting with a guild representative who had explained more about life on Floor 1. Feeling a need to clear his head, Jobaer decided to take a different route back to the inn. It was a decision he was beginning to regret.
As he turned another corner, muffled voices reached his ears. The sound was sharp, filled with tension—a heated argument or a deal gone wrong. Jobaer hesitated, instinctively pressing himself against the damp wall.
"Just give us the damn coin, old man," a gruff voice growled.
"I told you, I don't have any more!" another voice, shaky and desperate, responded.
Peering cautiously around the corner, Jobaer saw the source of the commotion. Three burly figures, each clad in dark, mismatched armor, surrounded a frail older man clutching a small satchel to his chest. The insignia on their shoulder plates—a black viper coiled around a blood-red dagger—made Jobaer's stomach churn.
The Black Vipers.
Even in Kaelthorn, their reputation was notorious. A gang of cutthroats and thieves, they preyed on newcomers and loners, extorting and robbing without hesitation. Jobaer's fists clenched as he watched one of the thugs, a broad-shouldered man with a jagged scar running across his cheek, shove the old man against the wall.
"Looks like we're gonna have to take it by force," the scarred man sneered, yanking the satchel from the trembling hands of the elder.
The older man cried out, stumbling forward, but another thug—a wiry figure with cold, calculating eyes—blocked him, shoving him back into place. The third member of the group, a hulking brute with arms as thick as tree trunks, stood silently, cracking his knuckles menacingly.
Jobaer felt a surge of anger rise within him. He knew stepping in could be dangerous, but his conscience screamed at him to act.
"Hey!" he called out, stepping into the alley. His voice was firm, though his pulse quickened. "Let him go."
The three men turned toward him in unison, their faces ranging from surprise to amusement. The scarred man chuckled darkly, tossing the satchel to the ground.
"And who are you supposed to be?" he asked, taking a step forward.
"Someone who won't stand by while you bully an old man," Jobaer replied, drawing his greatsword. The blade gleamed in the dim light, its weight reassuring in his hands.
The wiry man raised an eyebrow, his thin lips curling into a smirk. "Looks like we've got ourselves a hero," he said, pulling out a pair of curved daggers.
"Wrong place, wrong time, kid," the brute rumbled, stepping forward with a mace in hand.
Jobaer didn't wait for them to make the first move. With a battle cry, he charged forward, swinging his greatsword in a wide arc. The scarred man barely managed to dodge, stumbling back with a curse.
The alley erupted into chaos.
The Battle Begins
The wiry man lunged at Jobaer from the side, his daggers flashing like twin vipers. Jobaer twisted, narrowly avoiding the attack. He retaliated with a quick strike, his blade catching the edge of one dagger and sending it clattering to the ground.
Before he could press his advantage, the brute swung his mace in a crushing downward blow. Jobaer sidestepped, the weapon smashing into the cobblestones with enough force to send shards of stone flying.
The scarred man, regaining his balance, drew a short sword and joined the fray. The three attackers moved with practiced coordination, forcing Jobaer to backpedal as he parried and dodged their relentless assault.
The narrowness of the alley worked against him. With little room to maneuver, every movement felt restricted, every swing of his sword a calculated risk.
"You're not bad," the wiry man said, his voice almost admiring as he feinted left before slashing right.
"Thanks," Jobaer grunted, blocking the attack and countering with a kick that sent the wiry man stumbling. "You're not going to like how this ends."
The Turning Point
Despite his determination, Jobaer was beginning to feel the strain. His muscles burned with effort, and his breathing grew ragged. The three men seemed tireless, their attacks unrelenting.
But then, an opportunity presented itself. As the brute raised his mace for another devastating swing, Jobaer saw an opening. With a burst of speed, he lunged forward, driving his greatsword into the brute's shoulder. The man let out a roar of pain, dropping his weapon as blood poured from the wound.
The scarred man cursed, stepping back to reassess. "Enough of this," he growled, signaling to the wiry man.
The wiry man nodded, tossing a small object toward Jobaer. At first, Jobaer thought it was a rock, but as it hit the ground, it exploded in a flash of blinding light and a cloud of choking smoke.
Coughing and disoriented, Jobaer stumbled backward, his vision swimming. He swung his sword wildly, trying to keep the attackers at bay.
When the smoke cleared, he found himself alone. The Black Vipers had fled, leaving behind the injured brute, who groaned weakly on the ground.
The Aftermath
Jobaer's heart pounded as he looked around, his greatsword still clutched tightly in his hands. The old man was huddled against the wall, his face pale with fear but otherwise unharmed.
"Are you okay?" Jobaer asked, his voice softer now.
The old man nodded shakily, his eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you, young man. I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't stepped in."
Jobaer offered a small smile, though his mind was racing. His first real fight in the Tower had left him shaken, not just from the physical exertion but from the realization of how dangerous this place truly was.
Before he could dwell on his thoughts, the sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears. A group of adventurers appeared at the end of the alley, drawn by the commotion. Among them was a woman in light armor bearing the crest of a local guild.
"What happened here?" she demanded, her sharp eyes scanning the scene.
Jobaer explained the situation briefly, and the adventurers moved to take custody of the injured thug. The old man, still clutching his satchel, offered Jobaer a deep bow before hurrying away.
As Jobaer left the alley, his steps were heavy with the weight of what had just transpired. He had fought—and won—but the encounter had left a mark. This was the Tower, where danger lurked around every corner, and survival often meant taking a life.
Later that night, as he lay in bed at the inn, the reality of his first kill settled in. He stared at the ceiling, his mind replaying the fight over and over. Though the thug's death had been an accident of self-defense, the finality of it haunted him.
But as the hours passed, exhaustion overtook him, and he drifted into a restless sleep. By morning, the weight on his chest had lessened, though the memory remained. He couldn't afford to dwell on it—not when the Tower demanded strength and resolve at every turn.
Coming to Terms
The morning after the fight with the Black Vipers brought a strange clarity to Jobaer. The weight of his first kill still lingered in his chest, but it felt lighter now, like a heavy fog beginning to lift. The reality of life in the Tower was harsh, but it wasn't something he could shy away from.
Sitting by the window in the inn's common room, he watched as the sun crept higher into the sky, bathing Kaelthorn's streets in warm light. Adventurers and townsfolk bustled about, their movements a reminder that the world didn't stop for anyone.
After a light breakfast, Jobaer decided to explore the town further. He wanted answers, something to guide him as he prepared for the challenges ahead.
An Unexpected Invitation
As the evening descended, Jobaer found himself in the company of a lively group of adventurers at a local tavern. The place was bustling with energy, the air filled with laughter, clinking mugs, and the occasional heated debate over strategies and exploits.
He had been sitting alone, nursing a modest mug of ale, when a man with a wide grin and a scar running across his jaw approached him.
"Mind if we join you, friend?" the man asked, motioning to his group.
Jobaer nodded, grateful for the distraction.
The group consisted of four members: the grinning man, who introduced himself as Derrek; a stoic woman named Anya, clad in lightweight armor with a longsword at her side; a wiry, energetic man named Fenn; and a tall, quiet mage called Lysar, who kept a staff close at hand.
"You're new here, aren't you?" Derrek asked, leaning back in his chair.
Jobaer nodded. "First time on Floor 1."
"Well, welcome to the chaos," Derrek said with a chuckle. "Let me guess—you're here to figure out how to survive the trials?"
"Something like that," Jobaer admitted.
Derrek's grin widened. "Then you're in luck. We've been around this floor for a while. Stick with us, and you might learn a thing or two."
Learning About the Trials
As the night wore on, the group shared stories of their experiences in the Tower.
"The trial on Floor 1 is designed to weed out the weak," Anya explained, her voice steady and matter-of-fact. "It's not just about strength or skill—it's about adaptability and determination. You'll be tested on your ability to handle unexpected challenges."
Fenn leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "There are three parts to the trial, each more brutal than the last. The first is survival—simple, right? But they throw you into a wild zone with limited supplies. You've got to find food, shelter, and fend off whatever creatures come your way."
"The second part," Lysar added, his voice low and measured, "is a puzzle. It's not like any ordinary riddle—it's meant to test your mind and perception. Some people spend days stuck there, unable to move forward."
"And the third part?" Jobaer asked, his curiosity piqued.
Derrek's expression darkened slightly. "That's where most people fail. It's a combat challenge, but it's not just about fighting. It pits you against illusions, fears, and things you don't expect. The Tower knows your weaknesses, and it exploits them."
Jobaer's grip tightened around his mug. The thought of facing such trials was daunting, but he felt a spark of determination ignite within him.
A Moment of Camaraderie
As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, Fenn tried to lighten the mood with an exaggerated tale of a near-death experience involving a wild boar. The group erupted into laughter, and even Jobaer found himself smiling despite the lingering weight on his heart.
"You've got guts," Derrek said, raising his mug to Jobaer. "Not everyone steps into this mess willingly. Here's to surviving the Tower!"
"To surviving the Tower," Jobaer echoed, clinking his mug with the others.
Reflections and Resolve
Later that night, as Jobaer walked back to the inn, he felt a strange mix of emotions. The camaraderie he had shared with the group had lifted his spirits, and the information they provided had given him a clearer picture of what lay ahead.
But the memory of his first kill still lingered at the edges of his mind. He stopped in the middle of the quiet street, staring up at the stars that dotted the night sky.
"I'm not the same person I was before," he murmured to himself. "But maybe that's what the Tower wants. To break us, rebuild us, and see what we become."
As he reached the inn, a renewed sense of purpose settled over him. The road ahead was long and fraught with danger, but Jobaer was determined to face it head-on.