Roche swore as she climbed up a set of stairs, one of seemingly hundreds in the massive, sky-piercing 'Tower of Poloskis'. Her plate-mail was covered in blood, soot, trace remains of acid, was dinged and scratched beyond serviceability, and was squeaking uncomfortably with every step she took. Her shield had been swallowed long ago by a sticky worm-monster. Her sword was heavily notched and the magic on it may have been running out; it was failing to cut as sharply as before. Most of her supplies had been depleted. She had no food, no alcohol, barely any water, no lantern oil, and she had thrown every caltrop, hurled every vial of firepowder, and chucked her maps in frustration. But she'll be damned if she wasn't going to ascend to the top of the tower and get the prize there!
A thousand years ago, the Tower of Poloskis was made by the arch-mage Poloskis to keep his most valued treasure safe. It, strictly speaking, wasn't meant to keep people out. It was meant to be a gauntlet, filled with constructs, traps, undying monsters, weird curses, and more, all placed one on top of the other in a gigantic spire. Roche had heard descriptions of hell from other adventurers. She had thought, repeatedly, that this was close as you could get on the mortal coil.
She climbed to a landing lit with a glowing stone and a door leading inside the tower. The stairs behind her were almost straight; the tower was curved so that each flight was like that, leading to huge rooms. Roche placed a hand against the door, raised her sword, and swung the door open.
The room was colossal, as big as some castle grounds, with a high ceiling and four gigantic columns holding the roof up. Meaningless scrawls hovered off of the columns, glowing with ancient arcane power and illuminating the contents of the room; a single signpost. There were no more doors in the room other than the one she had opened.
Roche squinted at the sign, not wanting to get to close. Not readable from here, but the general shape looked to be Sylvanic, a high-class, ancient language used frequently in some of the riddles in rooms far, far below.
Gently scooting out into the room and sweeping her sword side to side, Roche crouched low to check for raised plates in the stony floor. None that she could see. Her danger-sensing lens had been eaten by a purple ooze, drained of its magic, and had been spat back at her. Roche so wished she had it now.
She'd have to go in on blind faith alone, then. Walking up to the trap by the side, to avoid anything placed on the simplest of routes, Roche read the sign. 'This is the end of your journey. I spent the entire treasury on building this tower. There is no treasure. Your prize is the fame of surviving everything I spent my money on. Congratulations on your determination."
Fuck that! She came here for solid goods, not some title! Enraged, Roche kicked the sign, punting it to the far wall. Instead of careening off the stonework, it passed through. Roche paused, then grinned wickedly to herself. She was going to be filthy rich.
Sword in front, Roche walked to the illusory patch of wall and poked at it with her sword. The tip passed through, and Roche felt no resistance whatsoever. She tapped it against the floor. Sounded like solid stone. A few more taps established enough to stand on. Putting a hand in front of her as if she was blind, Roche stepped through.
In front of her, another set of stairs turned off and ascended upwards. Roche cursed.
Roche would have damned the name Poloskis with every step, but she needed the energy. Each stone upwards was a drag on her patience, every bent knee a reminder of just how absurd this was. But damned if there wasn't going to be something good at the end of this!
Roche's legs were groaning with exhaustion by the time she got to the last landing. Taking a moment to catch her breath, she looked up at the door. It was solid gold, fine metalwork leaves crawling around the frame, with red wooden plating and silver door knockers. Thank the gods, finally!
Roche reached out to the door, and then paused. It could still be a trap. She poked the other two walls with her sword. Solid as their stony construction looked to be. She poked the door. The sword scratched some gold off, and it clinked when it hit the floor.
Taking a deep breath, Roche grasped a knocker and pulled it open. After a moment of incredible resistance, as if she was pulling on a mountain, the door swung open, and Roche collapsed against the opposite wall as it gave way. Grinning enough to be almost giggling, Roche stepped in with her sword held high.
There was no gleaming gold. There was no shining silver. There were no iron-wrought boxes, no armor lying around, no weapons placed on racks. There wasn't the glint of gems. Roche couldn't even see a hint of copper in the room. But at least the room itself was very different.
Plants grew everywhere, clinging to the ceiling, groping raised stone blocks, and holding fast to the floor. Many chunks of stone bricks had been replaced by dirt, where the plants spilled from. Few had flowers, instead leafy vines overrode the place. A square moat surrounded the center of the room, lilypads growing on the surface of the clear water sporadically and a small rock bridge arching over it. In the center stood a raised stone platform, where a cloth covered a long, lumpy shape. A circle of sunlight shone above the shape, cut into the ceiling and looking like it penetrated it.
Roche was running out of curses to use. This was a lot like the room with the man-eating plants, but she had had firepowder to deal with those. She only had her sword here. Looking past the cloth, she saw that there wasn't a door. She didn't want to go back down for supplies. She wouldn't survive it. She'd get hungry, collapse, and then starve to death. She didn't trust the water in this entire tower, and she didn't want to go into the room much.
Well, if she was dead either way, she may as well die going forwards. One hesitant, clanking boot into the room, then the other. None of the plants stirred. Another few steps, and still nothing else moved. She had to admit, it smelled fresh in here. The rest of the dungeon was stale with age and old, spilled blood. Here, it was as fresh as a forest.
Roche made it to the bridge. Nothing moved, but the shape under the cloth was huge, as big as four people easily, and spread around lazily. Holding her sword high, ready to chop, Roche pulled back the cover.
Gold! Shining gold! And rubies too! Sapphires, emeralds, even a few errant silver! Roche felt revitalized, looking at the shining expanse before her. No, hold on, it wasn't gold. It was all too smooth, the dots of shining color connected to each other like scales on a snake, the surface rounded like a tube.
Roche muttered what may be her last swear word as she tensed. The snake-like tube didn't move at all. Was it dead? She tore off the rest of the cloth, looking for a head. Instead, the she followed the coils up until they transitioned into a golden human body. Joined at the waist, the being was a young woman, with lapis-lazuli hair down to her 'waist', the connection between human and serpent, curled up and sleeping. Her hands were clutched over her breasts, holding on to something.
Roche reached across and fumbled the item out of the woman's hands. A small scroll! She unrolled it. Idly, she read the sylvanic words aloud, "Wake Up, Princess." Huh? Oh dear.
Roche jumped back as the coils began to tremble. The woman's body turned upright, exposing her perky nude breasts and dark blue nipples, before she stretched her back and mumbled to herself.
The woman's eyes fluttered open, revealing sapphire irises, and she closed them again as she stretched her arms above her head. The woman leaned up, scratching her disarrayed hair, then looked at Roche. Roche's sword pointed to her throat.
The woman's eyes widened, and she shuffled away to the opposite end of the platform. Looking down at her naked body, her tail whipped the cloth back at her, and she held it in front of her like a curtain. "Er, um, congratulations, brave warrior, you have bested my father's tower. Now you can claim your prize," the woman said, speaking in Sylvanic. Her voice was high and soft, but it squeaked a bit in fear.
"Hold on, father?" Roche demanded in Sylvanic, pressing for answers. Poloskis had been single! Never married, never had kids! It was something wizards did.
The woman looked even more alarmed, looked closely at Roche, then breathed a sigh of relief. Wait, did this snake-woman take her to be a man at first? Roche was wearing all-encompassing plate armor, even the head, so it wouldn't be that odd.
"Yes, I am Cotil, daughter of Poloskis and the goddess Xochicoatl," the woman replied. She couldn't be older than 20, Roche decided, or at least, that's how it looked. She was thin, even with her snakey lengths, except for her curves at the waist and breasts, with a gentle face. Her nose was a bit large, but her lips were brilliantly blue and remarkably full. It was a lot like how Roche expected a demigoddess to look, save for the snake part.
"Where's this prize?" Roche asked. She was getting tired of being denied her loot.
"Um, it's me." Cotil sheepishly replied, pointing at herself.
