"A jar left unopened can’t ruin your day. A jar opened out of curiosity will definitely try." – The Te of Slacking, Book 1, Verse 7
WELCOME, ROGUE OF ELDHAVEN!
The words blazed across my vision in fiery letters so unnecessarily dramatic they might as well have come with a 1980s rock anthem playing in the background. I half-expected a virtual crowd of pixelated peasants to manifest around me to cheer me on from the sidelines.
Beneath the banner, the notifications began to pile up, cascading like the world’s most ominous spam emails:
You have entered: SHARDSPIRE VALE (Level 30+ Zone)
World Buff: Perpetual Dread (Enemies gain +10% Critical Hit Chance)
Debuff: Uneven Terrain (Agility reduced by 5%)
New Quest Added: SURVIVE UNTIL YOU REGRET COMING HERE.
"Well," I said, swiping at the notifications with the focus of someone dealing with an inbox full of ‘Act Now!’ sales pitches, "this just screams ‘relaxing stroll,’ doesn’t it?"
A new notification blinked into existence.
Hint: One does not simply stroll relaxingly through Shardspire Vale.
“Okay, Sean Bean, settle down.”
I took my first step forward, and the world immediately shifted around me.
The ground beneath my boots squelched with a noise that felt far too satisfied, and the rocks seemed to twitch, their edges glitching against the bleak terrain like a poorly rendered video game.
The path itself was little more than a suggestion, snaking through a wasteland that looked like it had been sketched by someone having a really bad day. Twisted trees clawed at the sky, their bark oozing something viscous and dark, pooling ominously around their gnarled roots.
And directly ahead was Shardspire Tower. In which, presumably, was kept Lia . . .
New Hazard Discovered: Clotting Sap.
Prolonged exposure may result in mild hallucinations or nausea.
Recommendation: Keep moving.
“Cheers, mate,” I muttered, stepping carefully around the trees and trying to ignore how the sap seemed to be licking its lips while watching me.
As I walked, I noticed how the mist curled around the stones that littered the landscape. Some of these rocks bore strange, geometric carvings—patterns that shifted and writhed like they were alive. Worse, when I glanced at them, I had the distinct and horrifying impression they were staring back.
Warning: Prolonged observation of marked stones may result in cognitive disruption or worse.
“Yeah, thanks for the heads-up,” I said, yanking my gaze away.
But the damage was done. The edges of my vision shimmered, and my stomach churned with a queasy lurch that reminded me of eating a bad kebab after a pub crawl.
Shardspire Vale didn’t just want to kill me—it wanted me to know how stupid I was for coming here in the first place.
To my left, a cluster of ruins loomed out of the mist, their jagged outlines etched against the sickly green sky. The remains of a windmill—yeah. Windmill. I’m going with that. Because Spinning Sacrificial Pole of Despair is a little on the nose—jutted from the ground, its walls blackened and crumbling, while a thick layer of moss clinging to it.
The moss squirmed.
New Location Discovered: Shardspire Refuge (Defunct).
Lore Update: Once a haven for adventurers, this sanctuary has been long abandoned. No one remembers why.
“Sure. Looks cozy.”
From within came a growl—not loud, but heavy. It wasn’t just a sound; it was a presence, a noise that crept under your skin and set up camp in your bones.
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Environmental Hazard Identified: Resonant Decay.
Prolonged exposure may lead to auditory hallucinations or existential dread.
This windmill was the sort of place where, in any self-respecting horror film, you’d yell at the screen, “Don’t go in there, you idiot.” Naturally, I found myself walking toward it.
Warning: Local wildlife highly territorial. Caution advised.
The growl came again, deeper this time, carrying the distinct impression that whatever was making it was very hungry—and I was looking like a snack.
Then the windmill seemed to lean in, crowding closer as though eager to grab hold of me. Shadows shifted all around, flickering in unnatural patterns. It was like a giant middle finger to common sense. Twisted and half-collapsed, its scorched walls leaned at angles that no sane architect would ever sign off on, and the remnants of its blades jutted out at irregular angles, creaking in the absence of wind.
“What’s the worst that could happen?” I said, stepping off the uneven path and onto the squelching, sticky ground that surrounded the structure. My boots made a wet, sucking noise with every step, and I was pretty sure the muck was actively trying to pull me under.
Environmental Hazard Identified: Clotting Mire.
Movement speed reduced by 15%.
Prolonged exposure may result in… well, don’t worry about it.
“Great. Love this for me,” I said, yanking my boot free from the muck and stumbling forward. “Let’s see what horrors you’ve got in store, Haunted Windmill.”
The closer I got, the worse the windmill looked. Its walls weren’t just damp—they oozed, and not in a “quaint, rustic charm” kind of way.
A faint trail of slime trickled down the wood, pooling in viscous puddles around its base. The blades, though shattered, still groaned ominously, spinning in fits and starts as if powered by the universe’s worst attempt at clockwork.
Hint: Enter at your own risk.
Note: Risk assessment suggests you don’t.
I hesitated, glancing back at the path I’d left behind.
It would be so easy to turn around, pretend I hadn’t seen the cursed windmill, and continue on my merry, doomed way toward the tower.
But no.
Curiosity, that bastard, had other plans.
“Fine,” I said, stepping through the threshold and into the gloom.
The interior of the windmill was somehow worse than the outside. The floor was covered in a thick layer of slime that clung to my boots with a sticky determination. The walls were lined with shelves, most of which had collapsed under the weight of decay. Shattered pottery and rusted tools littered the ground, and in the centre of the room, a spiral staircase twisted upward into darkness.
The growl grew louder as I moved further in, vibrating through the air like an insect’s wings amplified a thousandfold. My head throbbed in time with the sound, and I had to grit my teeth to keep from turning back.
A faint movement caught my eye—a flicker of light near the base of the staircase. I crouched to get a closer look and immediately regretted it. A pile of bones was arranged in an almost ritualistic pattern, the skulls positioned to face the staircase as if in worship. Strange symbols were etched into the floor around them, their lines shimmering faintly in the dim light.
Curiosity Reward: +5XP for Investigating Ritual Remains.
Warning: Interacting with remains may result in… complications.
“Nope,” I said, straightening up and stepping back. “We are absolutely not poking the cursed bones today.”
The hum intensified, and the faint glow from the symbols began to pulse in time with it. The room felt alive, like it was breathing around me, the walls shifting imperceptibly closer.
Optional Objective Unlocked: Ascend the Windmill.
Reward: Unknown.
“Yeah, sure,” I said, staring up at the spiral staircase. “Because that seems like a great idea.”
The steps creaked loudly as I ascended, each one protesting under my weight as though daring me to go further. The hum grew louder with every step, resonating through my chest like a second heartbeat. By the time I reached the top, it felt like my entire body was vibrating.
The room at the top of the windmill was small and circular, the walls lined with broken windows that offered a panoramic view of the desolate landscape. In the centre of the room stood a pedestal and on it… a jar.
The jar was unassuming—small, glass, with a metal lid that gleamed faintly in the strange light. Inside, a swirling, dark substance shifted lazily, almost hypnotically.
New Item Discovered: Essence of Despair.
Note: Handle with care.
I reached out hesitantly, my fingers brushing the cool surface of the jar. The moment I touched it, the hum stopped.
The silence was deafening, pressing against me like a physical weight. I froze, every instinct screaming at me to leave, to drop the jar and run, but I couldn’t move. My hand closed around the jar, and a new notification popped up:
Quest Update: Deliver the Essence to Shardspire Tower
Note: The tower is now aware of your presence.
“Perfect,” I said, tucking the jar into my pack. “Because this place wasn’t creepy enough already.”
The silence broke with a loud crack, and the windmill shuddered violently. The walls groaned, the floor beneath me trembling as though the entire structure was about to collapse.
I didn’t wait to find out if it would.
I bolted down the staircase, taking the steps two at a time as the windmill shook around me. By the time I reached the ground floor, the hum had returned, louder and more menacing than before.
“Thanks for the hospitality,” I said, sprinting out of the windmill and back onto the path. The air felt lighter as I moved away, the weight of the windmill’s presence fading with every step.
Next stop, the tower itself.