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<span class="mu-i">Mimic rolls on their feet, thinking quick and throw himself right into the airlock. The tip of a REMARKABLY sharp sword dances across his chest, tearing up the bandage he was busy wrapping about himself. The bandage snags the tip of the sword; fouls up the lung-piercing stab. Sharp, but light, the blade deflects off of a rib.
A wound like that should bleed - would bleed - but instead, Mimic experiences a vision blurring shudder, the world greying at the edges, as his equilibrium shatters. No blood. Just a sense of bone-deep weariness, as if running a marathon. That sword is hungry.
Sapsanolai glances up from idly flickering his eyes over FM Aranski's memoirs of the Arashtoni campaign. Something bounces off of the wall with a little thud, distracting the sapper from a rather in-depth technical discussion on the art of circumventing circumvallation.
And then the smoke-bombs go off as the operatives pull their emergency charges. Airtight, sealed, protected against wind and rain and water and wear, the Rainbow Archives dull to grey immediately. Only keen instinct allows Spsanolai to deduce, half by knowhow, half by sheer gut, that there's an alchemical KnockDrop charge about half a meter behind him. It's named for what it does: knocks you down, drops towers. No fire, no flame, but one void-strong local shockwave. Wait, was that the click of the door gliding into place? Did they . . . seal him in here?
In the tiny box?
behind the reinforced shardglass?
with a <span class="mu-s">KnockDrop?</span>?
Ah, the wonders of shockwaves and pressure in confined spaces. It may be desirable to find some pressure release valve, before the hermetically sealed room is subject to an Interesting Physics Experiment.
Well, no worries, think quick, he'd just need to tear through the . . . reinforced Shardglass walls? No, think quicker: the reinforced Shardglass doors? No, Uh, maybe the . . . Tap tap tap... Just find where the wood is weak and -- taptap /clonk/
Oh, so these walls aren't just wood. Characteristic sound profile: they're wood over twice reinforced steel. Easy enough to get through, if supplied with the essentials, such as a cannon, a month and a dedicated crew.
The paragraph in FM Aranski's writing glides across the mind:</span>
". . . A fundamental symmetry: A parapet becomes a prison by simple adjustment of perspective. "
