The Tower of Walgoth Episode 4

The following takes place following: The Tower of Walgoth Episode 3

The Tower of Walgoth loomed in the distance, a slender spire piercing the heavens. Its silhouette was visible from nearly every corner of Waldonia. While occasionally curious, Travers had never felt a strong urge to visit—until now. In his newly introverted, moustachless state, he felt drawn to its heights, seeking solace, and perhaps a restoration of his lost self.

The tower lay southwest of Devlin Manor, but Lake Waldron stood in the way. Travers, having chosen to walk, was forced to go around it. Though the northern route was considered more dangerous, he took the road northwest along the lake’s upper edge, planning to loop around and follow the western mountain range south toward the tower.

Before the road began its descent, he stopped at a weathered sign pointing uphill to a village nestled at the base of the mountains: Windspeak. He’d never heard of it, but was intrigued. Turning back, he could still see Devlin Manor on the distant hill. For most, the walk from the manor to Windspeak took about 45 minutes. For Travers, on his tiny goblin legs, it took twice that. He’d set off late, and dusk was already settling in.

He climbed the steep path to the village, crossing a small wooden bridge over a stream before being greeted by the warm glow of timber-framed homes. The modern buildings and street lamps, paired with the old-world layout, made Windspeak feel suspended in time. The streets were quiet; the townsfolk had retired. He found a modest inn—The Wistful Wanderer—and secured a room for the night.

Alone in his small room, Travers stared at the moonlit lake and the faint glow from the monastery atop the tower. He took a drink of ale and wiped his bare upper lip. Suddenly, his thoughts turned to the moment the moustache was torn away in the kerfuffle with Guthrie and Master Devlin. Then to his failed attempt to run for MP. The loss of his confidence gnawed at him until sleep finally claimed him.

By dawn, he was on the road again. The trail carried him south, into the tightening woods. With every step, the Tower of Walgoth loomed closer—a promise or a warning. Travers didn’t know which. Only that he had to reach it.

The road twisted through ancient groves where the trees whispered to those who listened. Travers felt a quiet kinship with the gnarled oaks and towering pines, as if they too held stories best left untold. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in shifting patterns as midday approached.

The trail opened into a clearing, revealing the base of the tower. Its wooden façade, warped with age, was carved with scenes from goblin mythology: serpents entwined with flowering vines, leering faces of long-forgotten heroes, their eyes seeming to follow him.

The massive doors loomed ahead, each panel etched with tales of worship and folly. One showed a goblin warrior slaying a dragon; another, a raucous feast, frozen in laughter. Travers grinned at the absurdity, shaking his head at the sheer extravagance of the culture that built it.

As he stood before the doors, a hooded figure emerged from the shadows—an elderly yet imposing monk with a presence that commanded attention. His deep green robe trailed behind him like a whispering specter.

Monk: “Ah, a pilgrim seeking the sacred edifice of Walgoth. This tower, a testament to Waldo’s delirium, stands as a beacon of devotion to the Editor, the almighty architect of our realm.”

Travers: “Hey there, old timer... You the doorman or something?”

Brother Cedric: “I am Brother Cedric, sentinel of the sacred sanctum, defender of the Waldoist faith. My duty is to ensure that those who seek the tower do so with pure intent. Many have come, driven by madness and greed, seeking power they cannot comprehend.”

Travers: “Madness, huh? Hardly surprising from someone who follows the Waldoist faith. You do realize Waldo is completely mad, right?”

The monk gave him a stern, quizzical look.

Travers: “He’s actually a friend of mine... Well, employee, technically…”

Cedric’s gaze sharpened.

Brother Cedric: “Mind your words, traveler. The sanctity of the tower and the Editor’s realm are not to be trifled with. Many of my brothers on the upper levels would not take kindly to such jests.”

Travers: “Uh, sorry...” (raising an eyebrow) “Look, I’m just a weary traveler from Widdlington on a little quest of self-discovery. The name’s Travers… Harris Travers. Natio—(ahem). Anyway, I was hoping I could get room and board for a while... Maybe hang out with some monks... find some enlightenment. Perhaps get a hot meal. That kind of thing. Nothing sinister. Scout’s honor.”

Brother Cedric: “Beware, traveler. The Tower of Walgoth is more than timber and stone. It is a crucible of faith, a monument to the Great Waldo’s obsession, and a gateway to the Editor’s domain. The path you tread is fraught with peril, both seen and unseen.”

Travers: “Peril, huh? Well, thanks for the heads-up, old-timer, but I go where Ed leads me, and I’ve come too far to turn back now.”

Brother Cedric softened slightly, a hint of curiosity in his gaze.

Brother Cedric: “Very well, Travers of Widdlington. Your journey is your own, but heed this: within these hallowed walls, you may find more than you seek. The Editor’s gaze is ever-watchful, and His judgment swift. Proceed with caution, and perhaps, you may emerge unscathed.”

Travers: “Got it. I’ll keep my eyes peeled.”

Brother Cedric: “Then may the Editor guide your steps, pilgrim. Farewell, and may you find what you seek within the shadows of Walgoth.”

Brother Cedric turned and pushed open the massive doors. They creaked ominously, revealing a dark, spiraling staircase that seemed to descend into the depths of the earth before winding upward into oblivion. The air inside was thick with incense and the weight of history. As Travers stepped over the threshold, a chill ran down his spine.

The staircase stretched upward, each step carved from the same ancient wood as the tower itself, polished smooth by countless hands. The walls were adorned with murals depicting the trials of enlightenment—goblins battling their fears and desires, their expressions ranging from despair to exultation.

Travers leaned on his walking stick, staring up at the endless spiral, feeling a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

Travers: “Well, here goes nothing.”

He stepped forward, the weight of the tower pressing down on him as he began the climb.

The Waldoverse continues in The Tower of Walgoth Episode 5