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It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time
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<blockquote data-quote="tmart" data-source="post: 1447794" data-attributes="member: 11198"><p><strong>Revelation and burnination</strong></p><p></p><p>The next several minutes pass with the three adventurers observing Michael as he cracks every joint in his body.</p><p></p><p>He notices the prying eyes. "What? It's been a few thousand years." Everyone looks at each other. Shrugs and nods are exchanged. Then Michael looks down. "Anyone have some spare pants?" Everyone looks at each other. Shrugs. "A rag?"</p><p></p><p>Astor offers, "I have a tarp? ?"</p><p></p><p>Michael grabs it and wraps it awkwardly around himself. He then begins to wander about the room, cursing profusely. Sigils appear in the air as he pass by the doors. Cursing, he reads them all until he finds a certain sigil. Still cursing, he disappears inside of it. The party follows him to the door. All look at one another.</p><p></p><p>"Should we follow him in?" </p><p></p><p>"I don't know."</p><p></p><p>"What the hell."</p><p></p><p>Pendric opens the door to see a short ladder leading down to a small five by five room with a door. He shrugs and climbs in, followed by the others. They open the door and see Michael trying door after door, opening one and then slamming it.</p><p></p><p>"Erm? are you looking for something?"</p><p></p><p>"Yes. My clothes."</p><p></p><p>In a few minutes of help from the party, Michael has his dignity back, along with armour, a ruby circlet which glows with fire when worn, a bow and quiver, and an empty scabbard which he straps to his back.</p><p></p><p>Pendric is confused. "Stupid question, but shouldn't there be a sword too?"</p><p></p><p>Michael extends his hands in front of himself, palms up. He places them together and a red flame appears between them. He spreads them slowly, and the flame spreads with them. Soon a sword made of flame reaches from one open hand to the other. Lightning quick, he snaps his hands into fists. The flames congeal into hot steel. He spins the sword with a flick of the wrist and slides it into the back-mounted scabbard. All are impressed. Scattered applause.</p><p></p><p>Michael climbs back out of the room, followed by the hapless adventuring party.</p><p></p><p>Pendric says, "Hold on a moment, Michael. We still need to recover our ally."</p><p></p><p>"Oh, the singer? I suppose." He walks over to the door indicated by the conspicuous red blood, easily distinguished from the black blood still dripping from Pendric's hands. The sigil appears again. Michael opens the trapdoor a crack and viscous black smoke begins to emerge. He slams it back shut again. He gestures the party to stay and forms flame in his free hard. Jerking the door open, he lets loose a torrent of divine fire into the opening. Demonic screams pour back out. He closes the door again and listens closely. He seems satisfied and jumps in headfirst. The party waits. </p><p></p><p>A moment passes and Michael emerges with the unconscious minstrel. There was much rejoicing.</p><p></p><p>After Festrell is brought back to consciousness, the archer asks, "So Michael, what exactly is behind that door?" </p><p></p><p>"Things that were put away a while back. Like me. I know you're going to ask, so I might as well explain why: I disagreed with a rather important person."</p><p></p><p>"Yes, but what <strong>is</strong> this place?" Astor asks.</p><p></p><p>"It's a storage room, of sorts. Your friend was behind the death door." There is a collective uneasiness. Festrell looks at Michael with one eyebrow raised. </p><p></p><p>"The death door?"</p><p></p><p>"Yes, the death door. With dead things behind it, you know. The Seneschals put them there." Pendric inhales to ask a question, but Michael interrupts. "Servants of my masters, my arrogant masters. They decided they'd run a little game."</p><p></p><p>"Game?" Festrell asks.</p><p></p><p>"Your deities. My masters took their things and stuck themselves in here. They're giving the new gods a head start."</p><p></p><p>Pendric ventures, "By 'game,' do you mean? oh, I don't know? epic warfare?"</p><p></p><p>Michael ponders for a moment. "No, I don't think that the warfare will be so epic. Your deities have changed the rules. You don't use words as power, for one thing. And you're all so very short." The adventurers look increasingly confused as their entire foundation narrative begins to slide like a rug Michael is slowly pulling out from underneath their feet. He yanks it out all at once. "Your gods, the new gods, were the servants of the old gods."</p><p></p><p>"So where are these old gods now?" asks Astor. Michael points to a very large door in the ceiling.</p><p></p><p>"In my bardic college," begins Festrell, "I was taught that the ancient gods were elementals whose worship died out almost overnight around 3000 years ago. The Barrens in the north are believed to be the result of their war at that time."</p><p></p><p>"I served Ignis, god of fire," says Michael, nodding. "Now that the door has been opened, his legions will soon come pouring forth. Although I doubt that it will happen immediately -- they should not be very cooperative. Aqua is more interested in healing; Aura chaos; Terra order. Ignis would like to wipe everything out and begin again. Terra will definitely try to go back to the old ways." </p><p></p><p>"Hey, if this is a storage room, do any of the doors have gold behind them?" Festrell has a hungry look on her face. Michael taps his chin for a moment, looking around, and opens a door in one of the walls. Gold coins of an ancient mintage come pouring forth. Festrell screams and disappears inside for a moment, emerging with seams almost bursting full of gold.</p><p></p><p>"I don't suppose that they will really miss a little bit of their store," Michael suggests.</p><p></p><p>Pendric thinks for a moment. "You're quite sure, Michael, that these gods antagonize and intend to kill our gods?" Michael nods. Pendric draws a circle in front of himself with his holy symbol, glances east, and begins to load his pack with gold.</p><p></p><p>As the party is gleefully packing up the treasure, something begins to slam on the death door. Its sigil pulses. Michael appears very concerned. "We should leave."</p><p></p><p>Everyone heads for the exit. As Michael leaves, part of him is blocked as if there were an invisible wall. He hits the ground on the other side, screaming. A flame outline of him oscillates inside the room for a moment, and then evanesces. His ruby circlet's former bright luminance is reduced to a dull glow. He barely has time to be helped to his feet before a twenty-foot-tall humanoid apparently composed of darkness emerges from the obliterated death door. Our intrepid heroes break into a jingly run.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="tmart, post: 1447794, member: 11198"] [b]Revelation and burnination[/b] The next several minutes pass with the three adventurers observing Michael as he cracks every joint in his body. He notices the prying eyes. "What? It's been a few thousand years." Everyone looks at each other. Shrugs and nods are exchanged. Then Michael looks down. "Anyone have some spare pants?" Everyone looks at each other. Shrugs. "A rag?" Astor offers, "I have a tarp? ?" Michael grabs it and wraps it awkwardly around himself. He then begins to wander about the room, cursing profusely. Sigils appear in the air as he pass by the doors. Cursing, he reads them all until he finds a certain sigil. Still cursing, he disappears inside of it. The party follows him to the door. All look at one another. "Should we follow him in?" "I don't know." "What the hell." Pendric opens the door to see a short ladder leading down to a small five by five room with a door. He shrugs and climbs in, followed by the others. They open the door and see Michael trying door after door, opening one and then slamming it. "Erm? are you looking for something?" "Yes. My clothes." In a few minutes of help from the party, Michael has his dignity back, along with armour, a ruby circlet which glows with fire when worn, a bow and quiver, and an empty scabbard which he straps to his back. Pendric is confused. "Stupid question, but shouldn't there be a sword too?" Michael extends his hands in front of himself, palms up. He places them together and a red flame appears between them. He spreads them slowly, and the flame spreads with them. Soon a sword made of flame reaches from one open hand to the other. Lightning quick, he snaps his hands into fists. The flames congeal into hot steel. He spins the sword with a flick of the wrist and slides it into the back-mounted scabbard. All are impressed. Scattered applause. Michael climbs back out of the room, followed by the hapless adventuring party. Pendric says, "Hold on a moment, Michael. We still need to recover our ally." "Oh, the singer? I suppose." He walks over to the door indicated by the conspicuous red blood, easily distinguished from the black blood still dripping from Pendric's hands. The sigil appears again. Michael opens the trapdoor a crack and viscous black smoke begins to emerge. He slams it back shut again. He gestures the party to stay and forms flame in his free hard. Jerking the door open, he lets loose a torrent of divine fire into the opening. Demonic screams pour back out. He closes the door again and listens closely. He seems satisfied and jumps in headfirst. The party waits. A moment passes and Michael emerges with the unconscious minstrel. There was much rejoicing. After Festrell is brought back to consciousness, the archer asks, "So Michael, what exactly is behind that door?" "Things that were put away a while back. Like me. I know you're going to ask, so I might as well explain why: I disagreed with a rather important person." "Yes, but what [b]is[/b] this place?" Astor asks. "It's a storage room, of sorts. Your friend was behind the death door." There is a collective uneasiness. Festrell looks at Michael with one eyebrow raised. "The death door?" "Yes, the death door. With dead things behind it, you know. The Seneschals put them there." Pendric inhales to ask a question, but Michael interrupts. "Servants of my masters, my arrogant masters. They decided they'd run a little game." "Game?" Festrell asks. "Your deities. My masters took their things and stuck themselves in here. They're giving the new gods a head start." Pendric ventures, "By 'game,' do you mean? oh, I don't know? epic warfare?" Michael ponders for a moment. "No, I don't think that the warfare will be so epic. Your deities have changed the rules. You don't use words as power, for one thing. And you're all so very short." The adventurers look increasingly confused as their entire foundation narrative begins to slide like a rug Michael is slowly pulling out from underneath their feet. He yanks it out all at once. "Your gods, the new gods, were the servants of the old gods." "So where are these old gods now?" asks Astor. Michael points to a very large door in the ceiling. "In my bardic college," begins Festrell, "I was taught that the ancient gods were elementals whose worship died out almost overnight around 3000 years ago. The Barrens in the north are believed to be the result of their war at that time." "I served Ignis, god of fire," says Michael, nodding. "Now that the door has been opened, his legions will soon come pouring forth. Although I doubt that it will happen immediately -- they should not be very cooperative. Aqua is more interested in healing; Aura chaos; Terra order. Ignis would like to wipe everything out and begin again. Terra will definitely try to go back to the old ways." "Hey, if this is a storage room, do any of the doors have gold behind them?" Festrell has a hungry look on her face. Michael taps his chin for a moment, looking around, and opens a door in one of the walls. Gold coins of an ancient mintage come pouring forth. Festrell screams and disappears inside for a moment, emerging with seams almost bursting full of gold. "I don't suppose that they will really miss a little bit of their store," Michael suggests. Pendric thinks for a moment. "You're quite sure, Michael, that these gods antagonize and intend to kill our gods?" Michael nods. Pendric draws a circle in front of himself with his holy symbol, glances east, and begins to load his pack with gold. As the party is gleefully packing up the treasure, something begins to slam on the death door. Its sigil pulses. Michael appears very concerned. "We should leave." Everyone heads for the exit. As Michael leaves, part of him is blocked as if there were an invisible wall. He hits the ground on the other side, screaming. A flame outline of him oscillates inside the room for a moment, and then evanesces. His ruby circlet's former bright luminance is reduced to a dull glow. He barely has time to be helped to his feet before a twenty-foot-tall humanoid apparently composed of darkness emerges from the obliterated death door. Our intrepid heroes break into a jingly run. [/QUOTE]
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