Upgrade your account to a Community Supporter account and remove most of the site ads.

Reply to thread

Message: <blockquote data-quote="InVinoVeritas" data-source="post: 3873910" data-attributes="member: 41485">Torhan, Fr. Berman, and Calahan rush headlong into the flames. The corridor is narrow; the three instinctively duck and make their way down the passageway in single file: Torhan, Calahan, then Fr. Berman.Darian and Ru hang back, trying to find some way around the flames, hopefully to figure out where they lead out. The heat is intense. The fire billows into the faces of the trio that braves them. Armor grows hot. Hair singes. The brigade peppers with comments. "I can't believe it! Brave men they are." "Brave fools, more like it. Keep that water coming!" (-10 hp to Torhan, Calahan, and Fr. Berman) Past the initial inferno, the hallway gives way to an area mostly burned. The halls are black with soot, the beams charred through, and the sounds of raging torrent from the fire give way to creaks. The air here is bad, smoke-filled. The haze is dizzying. No one is quite sure whether the gnome ran into a side door--they are charred and shut, unlikely--until a glimpse down a hall to the left is seen. A staircase rises, and the sound of footsteps can be heard. "Do you know anything about gnomish architecture?""Not really..." There is Little Diversions, of course.Who would know the way around? Alek! Darian muses a moment, an image of Alek emerging from the burning corridor, charred, broken, burned to a crisp, consigned to hell. The image is amusing. Yet...A thought occurs to Darian. "Alek came out of that hallway earlier. And before that..."Darian looks up. "He was on the balcony!"The velvet curtains have since disintegrated. The railing is black and broken. Smoke issues forth from the hall beyond. Yet the floor of the balcony appears made of a stone pedestal, though, and would be able to support weight. And, since it is to a gnome's scale, Ru can jump and reach it easily.The trio rush up the marble stairs, thankful that they do not give way. Smoke fills their nostrils, an odd, pungent odor. The scent of burning oak, the oakiness of a well-aged wine, the fruit of a fresh morning market, the fresh earth after a rain, the familiar sebaceous tang of waking next to the one you love... what could make that incense?At the top of the staircase is a bedroom. The portal stands ajar, barely staying on its hinges. The stultifying aroma wafts forth, carried on the smoke. Inside, the room is lit--it has not finished burning. The bed and canopy are in flames. A desk lies cluttered, covered in broken vials, lamp oil afire, as a rosy syrup oozes from the flames. A door beyond remains shut. A window to the outside stands broken, wind howling through it. And in the center of the room, Alek. He stands, arms outstretched like some god, wearing his white mask and outfit, as Sasha, Kitten, and Marionette cling to him wantonly."Alek!" challenges Torhan as Fr. Berman and Calahan file into the room. The police level their weapons at him... ...and stop a moment, as Alek's unmoving form twists, bubbles, and cracks. An easel buckles, sending what is actually just a painting crashing to the floor, smoldering. Behind the painting, against the backdrop of the conflagration, stands someone else. In his hand, the bloody, messy masked heads of Ada and Temp dangle by their hair. He steps forward. He has the face from earlier. He is the gnome in the alleyway."Not Alek. Not Combledorn. Irrelevant. Time to leave."His head begins to shake.</blockquote>

Verification