Ptolus: The Prison of the Sahuagin Queen
Voadam
Legend
"You're the !@#$ing follower of the gizmo god." Garn points out sullenly.
Garn will slosh forward to the door warily ready to jump for all his worth to dodge the ceiling section if it cracks and comes down. If he doesn't hear any sounds of the ceiling coming down he'll open the door and move out from under the weak looking ceiling rapidly.
Garn will slosh forward to the door warily ready to jump for all his worth to dodge the ceiling section if it cracks and comes down. If he doesn't hear any sounds of the ceiling coming down he'll open the door and move out from under the weak looking ceiling rapidly.
Whizbang Dustyboots
Gnometown Hero
As Garn sloshes toward the door, he notices a peculiar ripple in the water beneath the rock. He pulls his foot back, off of the concealed pressure plate, extra water and mud dripping on him from around the ceiling block trap.
Whizbang Dustyboots
Gnometown Hero
There's a sudden release of water and dust as Garn accidentally puts weight on the pressure plate. After a moment, he finds its boundaries and is confident that he can guide everyone safely to the other side -- assuming they follow his directions to the letter.
The door opens with a moment's work: The complex mechanisms aren't particularly successful at keeping even a moderately competent thief from opening the locks.
The room beyond is circular in shape, a crumbling and rat-infested chamber. The ironed-barred door and the cold brick walls give the place the air of some hideous dungeon cell from a nightmare. The room is streaming with dampness and poisonous with stench, due perhaps to the corrupting influence of the filthy water lapping at the group's legs. A statue of a sea-captain stands opposite the door, the figure proud and defiant, with several sahuagin cowed at his feet. Lying in the center of the room is a sarcophagus, its heavy stone lid dust-laden and apparently untouched.
Suddenly, there is a cold draft like someone – or something – passed by, and the sense the presence of an intangible evil.
The door opens with a moment's work: The complex mechanisms aren't particularly successful at keeping even a moderately competent thief from opening the locks.
The room beyond is circular in shape, a crumbling and rat-infested chamber. The ironed-barred door and the cold brick walls give the place the air of some hideous dungeon cell from a nightmare. The room is streaming with dampness and poisonous with stench, due perhaps to the corrupting influence of the filthy water lapping at the group's legs. A statue of a sea-captain stands opposite the door, the figure proud and defiant, with several sahuagin cowed at his feet. Lying in the center of the room is a sarcophagus, its heavy stone lid dust-laden and apparently untouched.
Suddenly, there is a cold draft like someone – or something – passed by, and the sense the presence of an intangible evil.
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