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Message: <blockquote data-quote="arwink" data-source="post: 993510" data-attributes="member: 2292">Capellan goes on holidays to the other side of the world, and I still get e-mails reminding me that I haven't updated storyhours.  It's been a while, but without further ado:Zalich's Log, Entry Six I slept for a good while after we defeated the ice creature, shivering below my blanket as I tried to fight off the memory of its chilling touch.  We were still in bad shape, with battered warriors aplenty, but at least we had warmth and an easily defensible spot we could use to wait out the storm.  This is the thought that comforted me through nightmare after nightmare of sleet and ice-flows, the cold fears of my past rising up in the quiet place where dreams dwell.  Warmth and safety were within our grasp, and no snowstorm can last forever.  A life at sea and six hours on an ice flow quickly teaches you that there is no greater thing that a respite from danger.Unfortunately, I discovered that a life of adventuring and the slow deterioration of my companions wits taught them that there is no greater thing than an empty ruin to explore and the possibility of certain death lurking around the next corner.  I was cooking a quick breakfast throughout the discussion, so I'm not sure whose idea it was, but as I served a warm bowl of gruel and bacon to my new-found companions it was explained that the upper levels of the ruins must be cleansed of danger.  Their logic was that our food couldn't last forever, but such foolishness is ever idiocy disguised as pragmatism.  I tried to point out that I could stretch our food supplies well past the slim predictions they were using as motivation, even with the veracious appetites of two half-orcs and a Brodnak taken into consideration, but my years of skill as cook and quartermaster evidently mean nothing in the face of certain death.  With a jaunty enthusiasm that bothered me, the sword wielding maniacs headed for the stairs.The second story of the ruins provided shambling dead and cold.  The dead spent much of their times in ruined rooms, not roaming, which only proved the foolishness of further exploration.  What is worse is the annoying habit my enthusiastic companions had of rushing through the doorway to attack.  Often they bunched up, obscuring any sight of the creature that was slashing and pounding its way free.  I spent much of my time in hallways, rubbing the frostbite of my feet and dreaming of the warm cup of tea I could be drinking while waiting for the storm to end.  I had spells aplenty memorised that could have helped in bringing down the dead, but all would have been blocked by my companions bodies.  They are muscle-bound and, I'll admit, skilled with their blades, but they have no grasp of tactics and little practice in working with a wizard of any kind.  It took several hours to clear the second story, and I hoped that we would be done with the foolishness of "exploring" and "purging" by this time.  Unfortunately, there is a streak of perverse enthusiasm that accompanies the lack of sense any adventurer has.  There remains another set of stairs, and despite the light wounds many of my companions suffered, we were committed to climbing them.I followed along to the third story, where a large chamber with statues and twin doors dominated.  The wind still raged outside, bringing flurries of snow drifting through broken windows, but the storm was noticeably lighter than it had been.  When I went to point this out, I found the others locked into a discussion as to how they'd get through the doors.  Troilan was quick to volunteer for the duty, claiming some skill with locks, and it was decided that this was the best course of action.  It was trouble, of course, we all knew that. Any idiot could see that this chamber was something important, and highly likely to be trapped, but the possibility of treasure seemed to spur everyone on.Troilan crouched by the locks, a series of picks and hooks slipping into the small mechanism.  With the confident tone Troilan had used when boasting of her prowess with locks, I'll admit I was surprised when she failed to jimmy them open.  Less surprising, however, was the sudden animation of the wooden statues when the doors were tampered with.  People sometimes ask what comes first, the chicken or the egg.  A more telling question would be to consider what come first - the trapped door, or the fools who think it's a good idea to trigger the trap and steal whatever's beyond.  I'm sure there's a whole host of specialists out there who would go broke if adventurers such as my new companions ceased to exist.</blockquote>

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