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Possibilities gnaw at your brain like a pack of <span class="mu-g">CLEARWATER’S INFAMOUS WILD DOGS</span> tearing apart a week-old hunk of brisket. As far as you can tell, magic kinda works arbitrarily–kinda like Lil’ Stanley… or Talbot. Because of that, you have a tricky time figuring out just what to try first!
Spurred on by the distant sound of the sentry repeating his instructions to your doppelganger and the impatient groans from your fellow <span class="mu-g">EVENING SANITATION COORDINATOR,</span> your brain spontaneously hatches an idea egg–one that prompts you to retrieve your trusty <span class="mu-g">TELESCOPING GOO MOP</span> from your inventory!
“The <span class="mu-i">MOP?</span>” Art hisses in an incredulous tone as Syb quietly facepalms next to him. What? You’re just gonna nudge it out, sheesh!
“Like a hornet’s nest, right?” Asks Talbot with an excited snap of his fingers! “Good call, ba-err, <span class="mu-i">Stan!</span>”
What a dope, you hiss as you extend the mop at your side, he’s been with you for, like, half the damn quest and can’t even get your damn name right! Lining up the mop handle with the eldritch orb, a tiny, but tenacious mutt grabs ahold of your brainmeat…
This… this is <span class="mu-i">silly!</span>
“Oh thank <span class="mu-i">GODS</span>.” Sybil sighs, sharing a relieved grin with Art. “Yes, Stanley, given it’s the work of a highly-advanced race, we really should b-”
Swiftly replacing your <span class="mu-g">GOO MOP</span> with your <span class="mu-g">TIRE IRON,</span> you line it up with your target as you give your pals a reassuring grin. This way you won’t ruin the mop, you explain with a conspiratorial wink!
When no one but Talbot winks back, you shrug and wind up for the pitch! Swinging the iron at the orb like it owes you money (and it <span class="mu-i">will</span> if you aren’t getting overtime by now), you’re taken by surprise as the orb not only reacts to your attack, but actually <span class="mu-i">CLINGS</span> to the edge of the tire iron!
Crackling and hissing with arcane energy, the orb sends magic up and down the length of your weapon as the gate you pried it from groans to life in a symphony of alarms and garbled warnings in a foreign language! Creaking in protest, the teeth barring the gate slowly retract into the wall with a menacing hiss! The bars are only retracted for a second or two before you’re met with a muffled shriek from beyond the door–one that sounds somewhere between a raccoon being butchered and an elephant being stuffed into a trombone!
“I uh…” Art stammers as the gate nearly buckles under something <span class="mu-i">slamming</span> against it from the other side, “I think we should <span class="mu-i">leave</span>...”
As your team watches the chaos unfold in abject terror, you do what any leader would do in a situation like this:
<span class="mu-i">Panic</span>!
>CONTD.
