Potential New Story - Interested in Feedback (Chapters 1-3)

Chapter 1

Eli swung his sword for the hundredth time, sweat pouring down his face and back.  On either side of him, the other candidates matched the motion.  They held their blades at full extension, the dull surfaces of the lead filled practice swords wobbling in the afternoon sun as their muscles struggled against the dull ache of exhaustion while the drill master walked up and down their line.

She grunted, steely grey eyes taking in their trembling arms and imperfect forms.  She crossed her arms, tanned and laced with scars from decades of battles in Baron Faerhorn’s personal guard.

“Trainee Sarrana,” the drill master barked, pointing her truncheon at a woman near the end of their line.  All of them flinched, the red welts covering their body a testament to the padded rod’s effectiveness as a ‘teaching tool.’

“Your legs aren’t bent,” she stalked over to the trembling woman, tapping the shaking tip of the training blade with the truncheon before poking her in the knee.  “Even if you hit a mirkling like that, it will just bounce off of its hide.”

“Elbows in,” she slapped her truncheon against Sarrana’s arm to punctuate her words, “my grandmother’s rice pudding has better form than you.”

Eli struggled.  His arms were burning as he stared at the tip of his weighted training sword.  Every time it dipped, he forced another burst of energy from his screaming and depleted muscles.

“Zee,” the drill master zeroed on a wiry androgynous person standing right next to him.  Eli had never worked up the courage to ask Zee’s gender, but right now all that mattered is that they were occupying the drill master’s attention rather than him.

“Tighten your grip and raise the level of your sword,” her truncheon smacked into Zee’s wrists, drawing a dull grunt from the trainee.  “Mirklings aren’t going to care if you’re tired.  They’ll just gut you and leave what they don’t eat for the crows.”

The drill master stepped away from the line, staring all of them down as they struggled to hold their swords steady.

“You all have the magical potential to challenge a tower,” she continued, padded rod thwapping dangerously against her hand as she walked up and down the line, “but in the grand scheme of things, that doesn’t mean all that much.”

“Potential will dictate the difficulty and the rewards earned from your trials,” she stopped, tapping the tip of a candidate’s sword that had drooped slightly.  The man grunted, muscles straining as he brought the sword up the handspan needed to hold the trembling blade at neck level.

“But you shouldn’t kid yourselves,” the drill master nodded at the trainee before resuming her pacing up and down the line.  “The fact that you are here, sweating in a dirt field  rather than training at a collegium or war college means that your potential is limited.  Everyone below rank five has already been snapped up by the elites closer to the capital.”

Eli stirred, discontent filling him.  He was a five.  One point shy of escaping the rural barony for the lights and excitement of a major city.  The recruiter had even apologized to him when the result had come up on the testing crystal.  So close, but ultimately not quite of the caliber desired by the imperial army.

The other trainees didn’t talk about it much, most of them were just happy to have any potential.  Some were even rank tens, unlikely to ever make it past the second level when their trials came.  Still, even a second level ascender was fifty percent  stronger and faster than an ordinary human.  Even if they would never be offered access into a speciality tower to learn spells or abilities, that increase in their physical prowess was enough to grant them a life of ease and respect out here in the country.

“Elite or not,” the drill master surveyed them, a feral smile growing on her face, “potential isn’t everything.  I only have a potential of six.”

“Trainee Thomas,” she zeroed in on the man standing on the other side of Eli.  “Tell me what a potential of six means.”

“That each level in your tower will have six trials,” the wiry man grunted, stringy dark hair plastered to his face with sweat, “and that when you enter, you will have a week to ascend six levels in order to earn a return token.”

“Trainee Vendibant,” Eli blinked, sweat stinging his eyes as the drill master turned to him, “perhaps you can tell us why a return token is so important?”

“Without a return token you can never enter your tower again,” the tip of his sword wobbled, the effort to dredge his memory for the answer to the drill master’s question testing his focus.  “If you have a return token, once you’ve overcome enough challenges in the real world, it will begin to glow and you’ll be invited back to your tower.  WIthout one, your future is cut off and you plateau.  With a token, you can keep ascending.”

“Correct!”  She stepped back from the line, both hands gripping her truncheon as she observed all of the candidates.  “More importantly, that means that each and every one of you has a lifeline.  The chosen with their high potentials will have an easier time than you, but the towers do not limit ascenders.  With enough blood and sweat, each and every one of you can climb just as high as the child of a prince or a lord.”

“That,” the drill master whipped out her truncheon, pointing it each and every one of the struggling candidates in turn, “is why I train you like this.  The tower forces everyone to struggle with their trials.  There is no question.  More than half of those who enter seeking power and glory never return.”

“And you,” she continued grimly, “will have to suffer more than most.  The tower will try to rob you at every turn.  If you let it, it will take your future just as quickly as it will take your life, but that is why we train.  That, my dear candidates, is why you sweat, muscles straining as we help you develop the skills you will need to contend with your trials.”

“Many of you are going to die in the tower,” the drill master didn’t sugarcoat the words, “but if you pay attention in your classes, maybe-”

“Just maybe,” she hinted, a humorless smile on her face, “some of you can survive to become something more.  Ascenders.  Heroes out of myth capable of astounding feats.  You can earn all of those adjectives you’ve been denied as ordinary citizens: wealthy, powerful, respected.”

Just as she finished, the long clear tones of the town bell rang out, signalling the end of the workday and calling laborers home for supper.

“Dismissed,” the drill master nodded, a look of satisfaction on her face as she turned and walked back into the training complex.

Eli collapsed to the ground, covered in sweat and heaving for breath, his sword clanging to the cobblestones beside him.  With a thump, Zee and Thomas joined him.

He’d never actually learned their first names.  If anyone tried to address anyone in the training complex by anything other than their title and last name, the drill master or another official would appear as if by magic and lay into them with their truncheons.  After the first couple attempts, everyone stopped.  It just wasn’t worth the pain and effort.

Eli suspected that it was to stop them from bonding with each other.  Once they entered their towers for the first time, those who survived would be assigned to squads, and only then would they be encouraged to fraternize with their teammates.  Apparently, someone had decided that it was bad for morale if a significant portion of your friends all died at once.

He could see the wisdom in it.  The total death rate for challenging a tower might sit around fifty percent, but that took into account those with higher potentials.  Even with the brutal training, their training complex would be lucky to have thirty percent of their candidates return from the towers with maybe one in three of the survivors possessing the return tokens of true ascenders.

“What tower do you think you’re going to be assigned to Vendibant?” Thomas asked, interrupting Eli’s pensive thoughts.  “I’ve been doing really well at logic puzzles and endurance, so I’m hoping that I’ll be sent to the Tower of Wind.  Gods it would be amazing to learn magic.”

“I don’t know,” Eli shrugged, shoulders scraping against the cobblestones as he struggled for breath.  “I’ve done about the same in all of my subjects.  I wouldn’t really mind either the Tower of Wind or the Tower of Swords.”

“Gods,” Thomas sighed, “two more potential and I could have been at an academy.  Then I could have chosen from any number of towers.”

“Just be thankful we have a choice,” Eli chuckled, “most baronies only have one tower master available to initiate candidates.  Plus, if you don’t like wind or swords, there’s always the General Tower.”

“Hey now,” Zee’s squeaky voice piped up, “some of us are going to end up in the General Tower regardless.  My potential is only nine.  No matter how well I do on my training, the Baron isn’t going to spend the time or his tower master’s energy on initiating me into a specialty tower.  If you’re going to complain about the raw hand you’ve been dealt, pick another patch of cobblestones to collapse on.”

“Oh shit,” Thomas blurted out apologetically.  “I forgot.  I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t worry about it too much Zee,” Eli cut off their stammering companion.  “Plenty of powerful people have started out in the General Tower.  After all, it has the entrances to all of the specialty towers in it.  If you’re lucky you might even be able to double class.”

“Oh come on Vendibant,” Zee snorted, “we both know the chance of me making it to level nine in one tower in a week is almost impossible, let alone finding the entrances to two different towers and reaching level nine in the second one as well.  It’d be easier to ask me to grow wings and fly away.”

“Prince Wilhelm managed to make it to level twenty in his first ascent,” Thomas offered helpfully.  “It won’t be easy, but I’m sure that with a little bit of luck-”

“I’m just messing with both of you,” Zee stood up, groaning as they stretched their tortured limbs.  “At potential nine I’m not an ascender and I know it.  I’ll get one crack at the general tower and then I’ll be a noncommissioned officer in the Baron’s levy for the rest of my tower-extended life.  There are much worse fates.”

Eli stood as well.  Already he could feel his limbs tightening.  He desperately needed some light exercise to prevent them from locking up entirely, but at the same time, the idea of jogging or light calisthenics almost made him throw up.

Thomas groaned next to him, on his feet but doubled over and clutching both of his knees.  “That woman is a demon,” he muttered, “I hurt in places that I didn’t know existed before we registered for training.”

“Let’s get cleaned up,” Eli winced as his legs began screaming at him with each step toward the training complex.  “You can complain about the drill master all you want, but I want to get home for dinner, and I know that my family won’t let me in the house without some sort of bathing.”

A few minutes later, the three of them had stripped down to their underclothes, a simple tan sleeveless shirt and shorts, and jumped into the chilly pond that the training complex hand on hand for exactly that purpose.  After a short swim, Eli excited the water, refreshed but still battered from the day’s training.

After waving goodbye to his companions, he began his walk home.  The training complex was, unsurprisingly, located in Faerhorn Keep at the center of town.  The guards inspected his candidate pass at the gates, making sure that his face matched the picture inscribed in the metal plate.

Eli Vendibant, potential five.  It was strange to be summed up by those four words.  Someday the plate would have more information such as his attributes, tower, level, and skills, but for now, that was all he was.  Potential five.  Not quite enough to be an elite, but enough to earn a respectful nod from the gate guard.

Then, he was walking home through the thinning crowds.  A couple of vendors were still hawking their wares, and a number of inns and restaurants had open doors, spilling light, pleasant smells, and the sounds of pleasant banter out onto the street, but most everyone else was already home.

Before too long, he reached their family’s store.  Vendibant’s Fine Wines.  They weren’t vintners themselves, but his mother had a keen eye for vintages that would mature well, and his father knew how to drive a hard bargain with passing merchants and minor nobles.  Between the two of them, his family was very successful for non-Ascenders.

Still, Eli smiled as he pushed open the door.  They wouldn’t be stuck in the Empire’s thin middle class for long.  Once he graduated from the training complex and became an officer in the Baron’s guard, things would change.  Soon they’d have respect to go along with their modest wealth, and if he played his cards right, well.  Anyone who reached level ten and became a Tower Master was entitled to a Knighthood.  Not many merchants would dare to cheat the parents of a Knight.

He stopped, a frown on his face.  Deeper inside the shop, in the living quarters, he heard his mother crying.

Eli sprinted past the displays of barrels and glassware, slipping past the polished chestnut of the counter and throwing open the door to the back of the shop.  His mother was on her knees, head in her hands, sobbing.  Next to her, Eli’s father had his hand on her shoulder, his face distraught and broken.

“What happened?”  Eli asked, glancing frantically at his parents and then around their home.  “Wait, where’s Mila?”

His mother collapsed entirely, weeping openly as she fell limply to the wooden floorboards.  His father looked up, shaking his head grimly.

“They took her Eli,”  the older man’s voice cracked.  “Some teen dressed in expensive purples and reds like he bathed in gold just took one look at her and said ‘she’s perfect.’  He had two men with them and they moved so fast I could barely see them.  One second they were at their side, and the next they had your sister.”

“Ascenders?”  Eli asked, the word almost unnecessary.

“Had to be,” his father responded, voice shuddering.  “I couldn’t do anything boy.  They had Mila and they were gone before I could even move.”

“I’ll tell the guards,” Eli fumed, trying to reason through the cloud of anger that welled up as he imagined some noble manhandling his younger sister.  “I don’t care if they’re nobles, now that I’m a candidate, the Baron won’t just let them kidnap my family members like that.  We’ll get her back Dad.”

His father stared at him for a moment before he began laughing.  A manic and humorless sound as fat tears began to trail down his weathered face.

“Tell the Baron?” the old man grabbed a bag made of fine silk and threw it at Eli’s feet where it clinked heavily.  “What do you think you’ll tell the Baron?

“That,” his father hissed, pointing at the bag, “is what they left when they took Mila.  You tell me what the Baron is going to do.”

Slowly, dread coursing through his aching muscles, Eli reached down and picked up the sack.  It was heavy, far heavier than it had any right to be.  He undid the drawstring and pulled the lip of the bag aside.  His mouth froze into a grim line.

Inside were five gold bars.  Each stamped with the personal mark of Duchess Erdhill.  Each of them worth over a hundred gold.  In total, almost twice the value of their family’s entire store.

“What do you think your Baron is going to do?”  His father cackled, sobbing through the laughter.  “Declare war on his own liege lady on the word of one trainee?”

Chapter 2

Eli stalked to the storeroom, his vision red.  His father’s mocking laughter filled his ears.  The old man was right.  Baron Faerhorn was a just man.  If the wrongdoer had been a knight or a baronet, he wouldn’t have stood for what happened.

The Baron protected his villagers, and more than that, he protected those who had pledged service to him.  As a candidate, Eli was all but a member of the Baron’s guard.  After all, he would need to sign a contract obligating himself to a period of service before one of the Baron’s Tower Master’s sent him into a speciality tower.

All of those pleasant thoughts meant nothing against the Duchess.  Eli didn’t know much about her.  There wasn’t really a need for the son of a wine merchant to know the details of his liege lord’s master.  But, that didn’t really matter.  At the end of the day, the rules that held the imperial nobility together were absolute.

Rebelling against your liege lord was punishable by death and extinguishing an entire family line.  Worse, rebellion didn’t just mean taking up arms.  It extended to knowingly going against your liege’s wishes or seeking to undermine them.  Even begging the Baron to intervene with the man that had taken Mila was asking the Baron to risk his and his family’s entire life.

He picked up a crowbar, muscles aching as he shoved the metal bits of its head into the top of a small barrel.  Little more than vinegar, their family had bought the anointed ‘wine’ for cheap almost two years ago.   It had been improperly stored after its blessing, leaving it with a vile and acidic bite.

That wasn’t what mattered to Eli.  The liquid glimmered a dark gold in the candlelight, drawing a grim smile as Eli set the crowbar down and stripped off his shirt.

He dipped his index and ring finger into the ‘wine’ and smeared a dab of it above both eyes.

“Gods and Goddesses that may be watching,” the ritual words felt stiff and leaden on his tongue, but with each word the memorized cadence came to him more freely.  “Look down upon me now.”

A hand dunked into the holy liquid before smearing it across the heaving muscles of his chest, pausing palm down over his heart.

“My body has been tempered by practice and anointed with your grace,” his heart thumped under his hand.  They’d made all of the candidates learn the words to the ritual at the academy, but Eli had never expected to say them himself.  That was the role of the Tower Master as they inducted him into a particular specialty tower.

His fingers traced a circle around each calf, leaving a trail of the liquid glistening in the candlelight before repeating the process with his wrists.

“My feet run by your will, and my hands strike at your command,” the ritual had an aura of finality to it.  There would be no specialty tower for Eli.  That would mean months of training, time Mila didn’t have.  That would mean swearing loyalty to a Baron that couldn’t move a muscle to help his sister.

He reached down, picking up the small barrel with both hands, aching muscles straining as he brought it up to chest level before raising it to his lips and drinking deeply.  The liquid burned his throat, rebelling and fightin the entire way down as Eli fought the desire to gag and retch the vile substance back up.

“I am prepared for your challenges, body and soul,” the door to the storeroom burst open, his mother standing in the doorway framed in light, tears streaming down her face and her dress disheveled.

“No!” She screamed, taking a step into the dark room before clutching one hand to her chest.  “Eli, don’t!  I’ve already lost my daughter, don’t take my son from me too!”

He clenched his eyes shut, tears of his own stinging them as he clamped down the urge to stop the ritual.  To not say the final words and commit himself to the General Tower.  To a fate of struggle, blood, and pain that deep in his soul, he knew he wasn’t ready for.

All he would need to do is stop.  He could have dinner with his family.  They would be sad for a time, and nothing would ever replace Mila, but they would go on.

Images rushed past him.  Him as an officer in the Baron’s levy, fighting back bandits.  Him being promoted to Knight and meeting the third daughter of a minor noble.  Her blushing as they flirted over wine more valuable than anything currently in his parents' storeroom.  Them getting married in a grand cathedral.  His parents smiling as they bounced their grandchildren on their knees.

Time moved faster, he was a Baronet now, his wife at his side as they ruled a frontier town in Faerhorn’s name.  His children married well and happy.  His parents nearby and content.

But through it all, Mila wasn’t there.  Her absence was a raw hole that tore at Eli as his mind’s eye skimmed through all of his imaginary accomplishments.

Eli’s eyes snapped open, bright and clear.  He smiled at his mother in the doorway, trying to tell her wordlessly that everything would be all right, but unable to interrupt the ritual.

He upended the wine over his head, reveling in the acid sting against the welts from the drill master’s truncheon, the burn of the liquid as it poured into his still open eyes.

“Thy will be done!”  He shouted the final words to the ritual.  The storeroom crackled with light, and then he was falling through absolute darkness.

Eli didn’t know how long he fell through the void’s comforting embrace, it could have been anywhere from a second to a day, but suddenly, he wasn’t alone.

A mote of light floated next to him in the emptiness, swirling around him.  It darted closer to Eli, brushing against his skin and tasting him.  He frowned slightly as it bounced backward, flickering playfully in the dark.

“Hello?” Eli asked, unsure how he was speaking without any air in his lungs.  Frankly, he didn’t know how he was surviving without air.

“Hello yourself mortal,” the blob of light blinked at him.

“What’s happening?” Eli asked, rotating slowly through the empty space until he was facing the ball of energy.  “I thought I would just appear in the General Tower.”

“You could,” it winked at him, “but right now you’re floating at a crossroads, and there might be better options available.”

“What,” Eli licked his lips, “what sort of other options?”

“I’ve tasted your resolve mortal,” the light laughed, a tinkle of clear bells, “and it pleased me.  Most of your kind simply come here seeking power, without an idea of the costs and the difficulty of earning it.  You know exactly how foolish your actions are, but here you are nonetheless.”

“Thank you?” Eli responded uncertainly.

“So, Eli Vendibant,” it orbited his head playfully, “it is time for you to test your resolve and make a choice.  I cannot change your fate.  Even if I wanted, your potential is fixed.  What I can do is condense your time in the tower.  Generally, most ascenders struggle to find their trials.  They waste days in mazes of hallways simply searching for the next rung of their ladder to power.  If you just say the word, I can cut most of that time out.”

“Of course,” the light giggled, “that time between trials is valuable in its own right.  That is time you could be mending wounds, and growing acclimated to the new abilities that you’ve earned.  One trial chained to another will likely overwhelm and destroy you.”

“But,” Eli finished, “one trial after another will give me the chance to overturn my fate.  To earn enough levels to make something of myself despite my potential.”

“Every risk and reward must be balanced,” the entity warbled cheerfully.  “Most turn down my offer, and most that accept it simply die before they can reach the second level, but for the handful that succeed.”

“Heroes,” it flashed exultantly, “men and women capable of digging deep into the bedrock of reality and directing the river of destiny onto a new course.  You could reunite with your sister and more Eli.  Just survive.”

He closed his eyes, blotting out the wisp’s temptation.  As his thoughts turned to the risks of its offer.  He was half-trained, and each level would involve at least five trials.  The constant struggle would almost certainly wear him thin and break him.

Then, Eli thought of Mila.  Her dark hair flowing as they played tag in street outside their parents' shop.  The mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she leapt out from inside an empty wine cask during a game of hide and seek.  The worry on her face as she asked him a question about a boy she liked from school.

Eli opened his eyes once more, staring deep into the void.  He sighed.

“If you really know my resolve like you say,” he didn’t even bother looking at the dancing and winking point of light, “then you already know my answer.”

“That isn’t how this works Eli,” he spun in the darkness, turned by the ball of energy’s will.  “There are rules to these things.  I need you to say it, and I need you to say it of your own free will.”

He clenched his jaw, the image of his sister complaining about an arithmetic lesson flashing through his head.

“Then I accept your offer,” his voice resonated with a power that Eli knew he didn’t possess as the light split into two and then four brilliant specks of energy, all of them dancing around him.

Without warning, all four of them dove into Eli’s chest, punching through tender skin as easily as a rock splashing into a still pond.  Blood fountained from the four wounds crystallizing into ruby blossoms of ice the moment the liquid splashed past his skin.

The light itself burned with the heat of a star, searing holes into his body as they tunneled deeper, seeking something vital at the core of Eli’s being.

He curled into the fetal position, instinctively trying to protect himself from the agony of the balls of energy drilling their way through his body.  Then, the pain reached a blinding crescendo and Eli’s consciousness faded into a crackle of grey static.

Eli blinked.  His bare back lay on a floor of cool, dry stone.  Taking stock of his situation, Eli realized that all he had on him was a pair of thin shorts, and some sort of necklace.  No items, no weapons, and no shoes.  More importantly, nothing hurt.  Even his aching muscles from his day at the training complex were completely healed.

He sat up, feeling something cold and metal shift about his neck.  Reaching down, he found a metal plate, suspended by a bit of wire looped around the back of his neck.  Inspecting it, a smile found its way onto his face.

- - -

Eli Vendibant (Fate touched)

Potential: 5
Tower: General
Level: One
Progress to Next Level: 0%

Trials Completed

Might  0

Agility  0

Intellect  0

Resolve  0

Challenge Time Remaining: 167 hours, 55 minutes.

- - -

“Welcome challenger,” a pleasant voice greeted him.  Somehow Eli knew that the words reached his ears without passing through the intervening air.  “Today you take your first steps toward ascending the ladder of power.”

“For the next seven days you will want for neither food nor water,” the voice continued, repeating facts that he’d long since learned in the training complex, “but in return you will face trials that will test you to your limits and beyond.  If you fall during your challenge, that will be your end.  There are no second chances.”

“Please select a weapon,” a rack filled with simple iron implements began to glow, illuminated by a light with no source, “and exit the starting chamber.  If you fail to leave within one hour, the starting chamber will cease to exist, taking you with it.  Deleting yourself from existence is not advised.”

Eli walked over to the weapon rack, his bare feet slapping quietly against the smooth and chilly stones of the tower floor.  He picked up an iron sword, testing the way its leather grip felt in his hand and taking an experimental swing.

He frowned before replacing the sword and picking up another.  This time, after a test swing, Eli grabbed a scabbard made of lacquered wood and strapped it around his waist.  He sheathed the sword and approached the solitary metal door that marked the exit from the starting chamber.

Eli placed a hand on the knob, letting the feeling of the cold steel seep into his calloused palm.  This was it.  Fortune and glory or a pitiful death, only to be wiped from existence when the tower faded at the end of the week.  No matter what his fate was, it lay on the other side of this door.

Eli turned the knob.

Chapter 3

- 167 Hours, 40 minutes remain -

Cold sweat beaded on Eli’s brow as he looked at the three stone troughs in front of him.  Each was a different size, yawning empty and mocking at him as Eli glanced from them to the collection of glass beakers to his right and the hourglass, slowly leaking sand on his left.  Finally, he returned his vision to the metal plaque in the center of the dais.

Three vessels of stone.
Each must be filled completely.

When drawing water, each measuring glass must be filled to the brim.

When pouring water, each measuring glass must be emptied completely.

If you overfill a vessel or run out of time,

the results may shock you.

A lightning eel, docile for now, bumped gently against Eli’s leg in the knee deep water of the trial chamber.  He turned and glared bitterly at the sealed door to the room.  Of course, the first door he opened after walking out into the maze of corridors that constituted the first level of the tower would lead to a trial of intellect.  Literally less than ten minutes of wandering and he was already risking his life.  He should have known this happened when he made his deal with the entity.

Really, Eli thought with a sigh, he only had himself to blame.  The thing literally told him that he would probably die.  Still, a chance to save Mila was worth it.

He sloshed over to the beakers and looked them over.  The largest was marked one qatt, the middle one was one fifth qatt, and the smallest was one sixth qatt.  As for the troughs, one was marked 0.867 qatts, another stated 0.7 qatts, and the final one had 1.5 qatts written on it.

Eli didn’t have the faintest idea what a qatt was, beyond some sort of indeterminate measure of volume, but at the very minimum, he was glad the puzzle was fairly easy.  He knew that the difficulty would pick up as soon as he made it past the first level, but for right now, Eli was prepared to take any advantage he could get.

Quickly, he filled the one qatt beaker to its brim from the water around his knees and set it on the rock dais in front of him.  Then, he took the one sixth qatt beaker and drew water from the one qatt container twice, emptying the liquid back into the pond that served as the room’s floor.

“Two thirds left,” he mumbled to himself, picking up the one fifth measuring glass and filling it from the water before pouring it into the partially full one qatt vessel.

Nodding, satisfied, he poured the concoction into the 0.867 trough.  A moment later, it began glowing softly.  More importantly, nothing attacked Eli’s submerged legs.

Next, he filled the one sixth glass six times, emptying it three times each in both of the remaining troughs.  Then he filled both of his remaining beakers before emptying the one fifth into the trough marked 0.7 and the full qatt container into the stone container with 1.5 written next to it.

Both of them began glowing and the sand stopped falling in the hourglass.  Behind Eli, the door clicked and swung open.  Sighing, he checked his plaque and confirmed that he was now twenty percent of the way done with the first floor while a couple of the lightning eels playfully headbutted his legs, a not so subtle reminder of what could have happened if the test were a bit harder.

He splashed up the steps and back out into the stone corridor, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him as his scabbard clattered at his side.  As much as he wanted to grumble about the quick, uncomfortable test, it actually was a fairly good outcome for him.

Really, he should be thankful. An early intellect puzzle that left him unharmed was a blessing.  Eli couldn’t discount the cumulative effect of stress on his mental state, dulled senses and slowed reactions from stress and lack of sleep would kill him just as effectively as any more traditional monster.  On the other hand, he’d need to pass the challenges sooner or later, and the longer he maintained his peak physical condition, the more likely he was to actually survive the entirety of his climb.

He stopped, face screwed up in a frown as the hair on the back of his neck stood straight up.  A low growl from behind him was all the warning Eli got before something pounced on his back, slamming him face first into the stones of the tower floor.

Something cracked as his head bounced off of the stone, sending stars swirling around his head.  He struggled for a moment against the sudden weight on his back trying and failing to dislodge it while it whistled triumphantly in his ear, its hot carrion breath turning his stomach.

Eli rolled partially to the side, it’s body shifting on top of him as he freed his right arm that had been trapped underneath his body in the initial attack.  He awkwardly swung his freehand backwards, knuckles connecting with something soft and moist, drawing a warbling squeal from whatever was standing atop him.

He pushed himself up to his hands and knees, grunting as the creature’s claws dug furrows in his exposed skin in the process of him dislodging it.

As soon as it was off him, Eli staggered to his feet, drawing his sword and slamming his injured back into a wall in the same stumbling motion.

It crouched on the furry legs of a great hunting cat, staring at him, a black orb covered in tentacles ending in a collection of serrated spikes and beaks.  The horror show let out a ragged whistling scream before lunging at him, a handful of tentacles swiping at his face and bare chest.

Frantically, Eli set his feet and swung the sword, the simple iron weapon cleaving through the tentacles and sending them spraying across the hallway.  In the back of his mind, Eli made note of his training.  From his stance to the way he swung his sword, everything was a picture perfect replication of his form in the training yard.  Despite everything that was happening, something deep inside him wished that the drill master had been here to see that blow.

The creature hissed and pulled back, remaining tentacles recoiling in pain.  Even without visible eyes in its pitch black body, Eli could tell that the creature was contemplating his ichor soaked sword much more warily than before.

He could taste the blood on his lips, its original attack must have broken his nose, and already Eli could feel the hot liquid pouring freely down his face.  He grinned at it.  Now that it didn’t have the benefit of surprise, his sword gave an almost insurmountable reach advantage.

One swing sent the monster skittering backward, and the second backed it into one of the corridor’s walls.  It tried to bolt to the right only for Eli to step in its way, slashing downward with his sword and removing another two tentacles.

It ducked low, legs bent underneath it as the monster prepared to leap once more.  He circled it, eyes never leaving its coiled body.

Then, it leapt for his throat, claws fully extended from its paws as it reached out for Eli, seeking to end the battle in one quick and fatal stroke.

This time, Eli was ready, bringing his sword around in a double fisted grip and letting the creature impale itself on it.  For a brief moment, he let himself exult in the savage glory of out-thinking the monster and letting it defeat itself with its own attack.

Then, the creature hit him with the force of a runaway carriage, ripping the sword out of his hands.  Its momentum made him stagger backwards, the monster clung to him, its weight bearing him down as he tripped over a seam in the stone floor and slammed his still bleeding into the cool cobblestones.

The monster leaned forward, pouring blood from the sword jammed to its hilt in the center of what passed for the amorphous monster’s torso.  Eli brought his arms up, shielding his face and neck as a dozen tentacles ending in blades and needles tore into him.

Pain wracked his body as the tentacles stabbed and poked at his crossed arms, drawing blood but unable to slip past his defenses to find anything vital.

Grunting, Eli brought his knee up, slamming the soft underbelly of the monster hard enough that he could feel his sword through its spongy flesh.

It warbled in pain and the assault on Eli’s arms slowed.  A second later, his knee buried itself in the creature again.  This time, it fell off of him completely, mewling to itself and trying to curl up into a ball.

Eli scrambled to the side, almost slipping in the dark green ichor that coated most of the hallway as he tried to stand up.  The monster shuddered, its sides rising and falling raggedly as it struggled to breath.

He wiped the blood from his face and arms, biting his lower lip to concentrate through the light headedness.  Even if he was winning, the cost of this fight was too great.  Thanks to his deal before entering the tower, the odds that he’d have enough time to recover from this fight before being thrown into another life or death situation were slim to none.

Still, that didn’t mean he should take pointless risks.  As much as he might want to kick or steal his sword back from the monster that had broken his nose, savaged his back, and chewed up his arms, it wasn’t worth the risk.

It would bleed out on its own without his help, and as dangerous as it was to approach any wounded animal, attacking an oval literally covered in prehensile weapons was even dumber than most options.

Instead, Eli simply watched its final shuddering breaths while he weighed his options.  He was bleeding from multiple still open wounds with nothing to clean or bind them.  Even though he was going to walk away from this trial of might the victor, blood loss or infection could easily do him in later if he wasn’t careful.

Part of him wanted to go back to the room where he’d faced the trial of intellect in order to use the water on his injuries, but by the same token, Eli wasn’t sure that the stagnant water filled with lightning eels was all that much better than literally doing nothing.

Finally, it stopped moving and Eli checked his plaque, waiting until it automatically updated to let him know that he’d defeated a trial of might before he approached the downed monstrosity.  With a grunt, he pulled his sword free, looking around in disgust for a place to wipe down the ichor covered weapon only to shrug and whip the blade downward in a futile attempt to clear the sticky green liquid from his length.

Then, Eli began to wander.  One hallway after another, always on alert for another trial of agility or might.  As the minutes blurred into hours, he found nothing but the occasional atrium or gallery as he cautiously opened door after door.  Not only didn’t he find anything to use for first aid, he didn’t even find any cloth or fabric to bind his wounds.  Every room was nothing but another vacant stone chamber. Before long, he began to doubt himself.

Eli knew from the training complex that trials usually came hours apart.  Most of the tower was tedium, exploration, looting, and keeping a good enough mental map to avoid backtracking.  The suddenness of his first two encounters had thrown him off, literally one after another with a mere minute separating them.  Subconsciously, he’d almost begun to suspect that constant challenges with no break whatsoever would be the norm.

Instead, here he was, hours later, with no new trials to his name as he staggered unsteadily down yet another hallway, mind clouded and fuzzy.  Eli slumped sideways against one of the stone walls, grateful for its chill against his feverish cheek.

He blinked to steady his blurring vision.  His nose and arms were still oozing blood, but his back was in an even sorrier state.  Eli could  feel the blood pouring from the injury under his right shoulder with a slow, steady pulse, suggesting arterial damage.

The realization came to him.  He was already dead.  Even if he found healing salve and bandages in the next room, it was too late.  Eli had lost too much blood as he wandered lost through the maze of hallways.

Mila would understand a voice seemed to whisper to him.  There wasn’t any need to keep fighting.  He’d tried, but it hadn’t worked.  There was nothing to be ashamed of.

Eli frowned, blinking again as he tried to focus on the blurry outlines of his hands as the world began to darken around him.

No need to fight.  Just lay down and accept the inevitable.

He grunted, pulling himself painfully away from the tower wall, his semi dried blood ripping at his skin as he peeled himself free.

One foot slapped clumsily down on the stone floor.

Fighting it would hurt.  He just needed to close his eyes for a second.

A second foot awkwardly hit the stone, barely in front of the first, but forward nonetheless.

It was over.  Mila would-

“No,” Eli moaned, his right foot missing the next step and sending him tumbling to his hands and knees.

His hand reached forward, fingers slipping into the seam between two cobblestones and pulling Eli across the floor as he finished speaking “she wouldn’t.”

Another hand reached forward, grasping another stone.

“And if she would forgive me,” Eli’s mumble grew to a roar, “I wouldn’t forgive myself!”

Eli blinked.  He was sitting in a crude but serviceable wooden chair.  On a stone table in front of him was a roll of gauze and a satchel of medicinal herbs. His vision was clear, and although he was slightly woozy, it barely slowed his thinking.

He looked at his plaque and grimaced.

- - -

Eli Vendibant (Fate touched)

Potential: 5
Tower: General
Level: One
Progress to Next Level: 60%

Trials Completed

Might  1

Agility  0

Intellect  1

Resolve  1

Challenge Time Remaining: 167 hours, 29 minutes.

- - -

“Oh Gods,” he muttered staring at the time remaining that had barely moved.  “What have I gotten myself into?”