Four hefty columns divide the room while simultaneously seeming to stand guard around a stepped dais at its centre. The stone platform rises from the cold, damp vapour below and holds an odd machine, that seems to be slowly feeding a thin coil of wick into the base of a hanging lantern overhead.
Barely more than an ember, the tiny flame inside still dimly illuminates the area immediately around it. Although it seems to spark slightly into life at Fortu’s entrance, it's still too weak to effectively light up the surrounding area.
A blanket of grey/white mist covers the flagstones but a waft from Rifkin's magical paper fan reveals more of the bronze tracks just seen outside.
After springing no traps but still wary of attack, the more tactical members of the Party slink in behind the two Warriors. The Bard however, falters fearfully at the open doorway, before playing an inspiring melody on his mandolin to help counter the creepiness that permeates the entire tower.
Then, skating gracefully out from their hiding place behind the thick stone columns, four more of the automatons glide along their hidden tracks in search of intruders.
They're much smaller than the Mech-Knight fought outside but similarly impressive. Beautiful bronze and steel figures in the shape of Hand-maidens, with voluminous dresses and long wire-like braided hair. Their slender arms though, end in brutal looking cold-iron maces.
Mace-hand-maidens.
Both Fortu and Doberman charge forward to disrupt the Hand-maidens' attack, while their teammates sprint forward to find some tactical advantage, and so in the midst of the mist, the Party suddenly find themselves in a battle for survival.
Even as he advances, the ever confident Arowe, releases a quickfire volley into one of the advancing machines, but is shocked to see all of his arrows either deflected or barely piercing its metal carapace. Everyone struggles against the four swan-necked machines though, their steel torsos and bronze ball-dresses proving near impossible to penetrate.
...
Except for Fortu, and he's more surprised than anyone.
Almost losing balance with the very first un-resisted chop, his giant blade slices through the metal woman’s skirt as if it were paper. Grinning at his obviously awesome new Bastard sword, Fortu makes short work of his, now seemingly defenceless opponent. In response two more of the Hand-maidens slide along their rails toward the big Human, while the other one faces Doberman, Henshaw and Arowe.
The goatee sporting Barbella creeps up behind one of Fortu's mecha-maid opponents but curses as he can neither locate its kidney nor pierce its bronze hooped armour.
Casting around, Liga Bur, atop Mir Hundur, races to the far side of the chamber, but as he passes the raised platform, from the corner of his eye, he notices the puny flame within the hanging lantern, seem to wave at him.
Skidding to a halt at the safety of the far wall, the Halfling, stares back only to find his initial observation confirmed. The sputtering flame has taken on the form of a tiny Human and now appears to be mouthing 'Help'. Ignoring the battle around him, Liga Bur raises his bow and fires at the tempered glass of the small, wrought-iron lantern. His aim is true and two panes of glass shatter as the little flaming man ducks low to avoid the arrow passing above him.
Meanwhile, to Liga Bur's left, Arowe, in frustration and a desire not to waste anymore of his precious arrows, draws the magical rapier gifted to him by the Satyr; Magritte. He uses it two handed though, as he knows that it'll take all the strength he possesses to drive the steel blade through the bronze armour.
Beckoning to the now released fire creature, Liga Bur watches, momentarily confused, as the pixie-sized flame instead gestures to the wet vapour surrounding him below and then toward a dry, unused torch, held in a black metal sconce on the wall just behind him.
With the aid of his fantastic new weapon, Fortu makes short work of his three mechanical opponents and is relieved to see that his team-mates have, between them, managed to overcome the fourth.
After grabbing the dry torch behind him and gathering up half-a-dozen spares, Liga Bur rides forward and proffers the dry torch to the tiny flame creature. Leaping quickly onto it from the meagre wick, the torch immediately roars into life with the little flame man growing considerably larger. Holding the flaring torch as far from his face as he's able, a crackling voice whispers...
"Thank you. Thank you. I've been held prisoner here for a hundred years, trapped in that claustrophobic glass box and starved of both air and fuel. I am so very grateful for you releasing me and as such, My name is Dijonn and I am now your faithful servant."
Except for Fortu, and he's more surprised than anyone.
Almost losing balance with the very first un-resisted chop, his giant blade slices through the metal woman’s skirt as if it were paper. Grinning at his obviously awesome new Bastard sword, Fortu makes short work of his, now seemingly defenceless opponent. In response two more of the Hand-maidens slide along their rails toward the big Human, while the other one faces Doberman, Henshaw and Arowe.
The goatee sporting Barbella creeps up behind one of Fortu's mecha-maid opponents but curses as he can neither locate its kidney nor pierce its bronze hooped armour.
Casting around, Liga Bur, atop Mir Hundur, races to the far side of the chamber, but as he passes the raised platform, from the corner of his eye, he notices the puny flame within the hanging lantern, seem to wave at him.
Skidding to a halt at the safety of the far wall, the Halfling, stares back only to find his initial observation confirmed. The sputtering flame has taken on the form of a tiny Human and now appears to be mouthing 'Help'. Ignoring the battle around him, Liga Bur raises his bow and fires at the tempered glass of the small, wrought-iron lantern. His aim is true and two panes of glass shatter as the little flaming man ducks low to avoid the arrow passing above him.
Meanwhile, to Liga Bur's left, Arowe, in frustration and a desire not to waste anymore of his precious arrows, draws the magical rapier gifted to him by the Satyr; Magritte. He uses it two handed though, as he knows that it'll take all the strength he possesses to drive the steel blade through the bronze armour.
Beckoning to the now released fire creature, Liga Bur watches, momentarily confused, as the pixie-sized flame instead gestures to the wet vapour surrounding him below and then toward a dry, unused torch, held in a black metal sconce on the wall just behind him.
With the aid of his fantastic new weapon, Fortu makes short work of his three mechanical opponents and is relieved to see that his team-mates have, between them, managed to overcome the fourth.
After grabbing the dry torch behind him and gathering up half-a-dozen spares, Liga Bur rides forward and proffers the dry torch to the tiny flame creature. Leaping quickly onto it from the meagre wick, the torch immediately roars into life with the little flame man growing considerably larger. Holding the flaring torch as far from his face as he's able, a crackling voice whispers...
"Thank you. Thank you. I've been held prisoner here for a hundred years, trapped in that claustrophobic glass box and starved of both air and fuel. I am so very grateful for you releasing me and as such, My name is Dijonn and I am now your faithful servant."
Two things;
ReplyDelete1. "Grinning at his obviously awesome new Bastard sword" now feel I'm in a Lego movie
2. The lil flame guy better be worth it, he better cut the mustard.
Cheers Kirk thanks for all the time and effort which seriously makes me laugh
Glad you're appreciating my descent into madness. :)
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