Turn 22.9: TODO send party to fancy ball
Sweet dreams... (Note: I might have fucked up with assigning the dreams. Sorry. I cannot change stuff now.)
Btw, results.
WINNER: Yoink
RUNNER-UPS: Caellath, Taren, Irony_Owl (too difficult to settle on two!)
HONORABLE MENTIONS: Everyone else. The quality was superb.
His eyes don't open, of course. That never happens in a dream. Instead his awareness expands until he knows that he is standing at the bottom of a valley, surrounded by the highest mountains, yet all the lands of the world stretch before him.
He looks down and sees the greatest city in the greatest nation in the world, and moves his consciousness there.
His awareness expands until he knows that he is standing on a road. The road is dirt. The road is paved. Pedestrians and horses and carts and cars pass him at high speed, never once touching him. Without moving he moves, to the end of the street. He looks up at the signs. He cannot read them.
The dream shifts. His awareness expands until he knows that he is at the bottom of a bright red ocean. He is standing on a cloud. A three-armed and three-legged man walks toward him, two hands outstretched, a broad smile on his face. "Shall we," he says, and his tongue is a fish.
The dream shifts again. His awareness contracts. He is inside his own mind. His friends and family wave, before turning around and walking away. He knows that they will never come back. He tries to speak but cannot. He tries to move but cannot. He tries to scream, to struggle, but to no avail.
He wakes up. He stands up. He moves to the door, touches it, it swings open silently. He looks into the eyes of a passing servant and sees himself, naked, and sees himself, an empty suit of armour.
He wakes up. He opens his eyes.
You groan, lying on your stomach and struggling to look up. Your vision is blurry and the world is dark, but you can still make out the hints of silhouette and glowing red eyes of the beast that felled you. Shattered armor lies around you, testament to the behemoth's fiendish strength. You've failed.
You feel the vibrations as the beast takes two massive, ponderous steps towards you, then raises its tree-trunk arm to finish you off for good. You try to struggle to your feet, but barely make it to your hands and knees. You can feel that you won't make it in time, and close your eyes in a grimace as you anticipate the blow.
The sound you hear is not that of you being torn apart, however. Opening your eyes and looking up, you see... pink. Maka's standing over you, having taken the blow on her ornamented cudgel. A moment later, she throws the beast's arm back with an explosion of pink, and it stumbles back a few steps.
She turns to you, extends a hand, winks, and says "Magic!"
You find yourself standing again, and notice more of the creatures advancing slowly. The original one advances towards Maka, swiping at her with massive blows that would rend stone. Each is dodged or parried in a flurry of pink, and she begins raining counterblows upon the creature, driving it back.
To your right, Rath appears, gyrating with some sort of bizzare dance, culminating in a single mighty pelvic thrust. You can vaguely make out some sort of black silhouette or shockwave traveling across the darkened landscape before a black mushroom cloud erupts among a few of the creatures that were getting close.
"Magic!" he says with a wink and a handgun sign to you.
"Indeed," says Apollo, coming up behind Rath to massage his shoulders. "What could be more powerful than the magic of love?"
As if to answer his own question, the two of them kiss, do a little pirouette dance thing, and then strike a pose, one set of hands holding, the other palm out aimed at the enemy. A loud shockwave erupts, carving a furrow into the ground as it barrels into the advancing brutes, doing serious damage.
A polar bear you recognize as Helskaya steps up to your left. "Maka's doing her part, but she can't do it alone!" he warns, motioning ahead with his nose. Sure enough, she's beset on three sides by monstrous teddy bears, holding her own but obviously hard-pressed. Another takes this opportunity to slip right past her, barreling down on you.
"I'll handle this one, but we need your help!" Helskaya says, planting his thick limbs firmly on the ground. You watch as the giant gets close before Helskaya counterattacks.
"Fus Ro DAH!"
A shockwave erupts from the polar bear's mouth, forcing the enemy back and wounding it. It gets up, but Helskaya continues to act as a bear-cannon, firing off shots of magical power every time it tries to recover its lost ground.
"Use the power, Elenor! Look within you!"
You look down at your hands. You're not wearing armor anymore, and your clothes are ragged. You've got no weapons.
You look around you, and see all your teammates. Maka, Apollo, Helskaya... all of them using magic. All of your colorful, colorful teammates.
"Pink Ribbon Pony Attack!" you finally shout, and streamers of pink magic spiral from your hands, decapitating one of the creatures battling Maka. Your teammates all cheer for you, and you notice your clothing seems a bit more frilly and pink.
"GO TEAM MAGIC!" everyone shouts, as you and your allies begin to turn the tide. Between Maka's melee magic, Rath's sorcerous thrusts, Apollo's Kiss Kiss Cannon, Helskaya's Bear Cannon, and your Pink Ribbon Pony attack, the beasts don't stand a chance, and a feeling of pride wells up in you as you feel yourself being finally part of the team for real.
Helskaya runs down one of the dungeons dark, forgotten corridors. Behind him, there is the sound of heavy footsteps, accompanied by the whine of metal upon stone. Every now and then, the sickening crunch of bones being ground to pieces emanates from behind him.
"Heskaya, come back with us. I'll make it fun for you.."
Makas high-pitched, sugary sweet voice calls out from behind him. He stares behind him, only to see a dark, vaguely humanoid shape, its details hidden by the dungeons shadow.
"No!" Helskaya cries, his voice filled with fear and fury. "I know what you are!"
His frenzied sprint continues, and he accidentally stumbles into a dead end. His face wrought with terror, he climbs to his feet and stares behind him, watching the shape slowly come into focus. A horrible monstrosity made of torn flesh, seemingly sown together haphazardly. One of its seams burst, and Makas face slowly comes out, coated with blood.
"Come with us, Helskaya."
Other seams burst, and the heads of his other teammates pop out of the now open wounds.
"Come with us, Helskaya." They say, their voices harmonizing.
"It's dangerous out there." Apollos meek voice says the last line alone.
"No! No no no no no no no."
Helskaya backs up into the wall, retreating from the monstrosity. He suddenly feels the floor drop out from behind him, and what was once his teammates reach down into the pit. He lands upon a chair within a blank white room. Facing him directly is another chair, a gold trimmed red velvet arm chair. Blonde hair coming over the back rest gives him the only hint of an occupant.
A quiet, but hatred filled voice comes from the occupant of the chair.
"I blame you."
"For what?"
The voice becomes stronger, as the anger within it gains strength.
"I blame you."
The chair spins about, showing the occupant. Ratherio Houston. His voice having become a scream, he points at Helskaya.
"I BLAME YOU!"
His arms slam forward at Helskaya, and a great burst of magical energy hurtles at the shaman. At that point he "awakens". He hurtles up in his bed, breathing heavily. A weak voice comes from beside him.
"A-Are you okay? Don't worry, I'll get the light."
The sound of a chain being pulled comes from his right. Helskaya glances in that direction, fearing what horrors may greet his eyes. What greets his eyes is a horror indeed. Apollo Anderson lies beside him, clothed in naught but a white banana hammock and an ivory boa. He clenches within his teeth a blood red rose, and his his posture is in a rather suggestive position.
"Don't worry, I'll make it better Helskaya, just give me a moment."
He giggles.
Black. Deepest black. An endless expanse of it. And somewhere in it, a tiny speck of you.
You wonder how this came to be, but the mere thought seems futile. All that exists is black. Also, you, but that's almost an afterthought. The insignificance of your existance is overwhelming.
You have no perception of time. It could have been minutes or aeons. All that matters is that a change is happening, now. Where the horizon was as featurelessly black as it was since time immemorial, a golden light can be seen. No, like gold, that is what pops into your mind. A painting of gold is not gold like this gold is not gold. Fake gold, but as golden as gold comes.
And because of this golden musing you do not notice the rapid (?) expansion of the gold. Before you knew it engulfs you as the black used to.
No... not quite. It is more like being suspended in a golden bubble... and outside of this golden bubble, there is still black as far as the eye can see.
You are not quite certain how far your eye sees right now.
But from inside this bubble... the black seems different. What used to be one black now is... millions, swirling around chaotically.
Isn't white a shade of black too...
The pressure of insignificance grows stronger... in the golden bubble, you fade... into what...
And then you wake up. Thoroughly unsettled.
... and then, as the blue fades away, you struggle to control the reins of the carthorse as it bolts out of control across the market place, women and children screaming and shouting and jumping to the side as the horse and its cart crush the tomato filled market stands.
"I told you so! I told you so! You needed to go FASTER! FASTER!"
Your mother stands over your shoulder, shouting into your ear, and the louder she shouts the faster the horse charges forward until suddenly its face changes and merges into the face of your father, peering bespectacled as if into some kind of test tube or beaker of alchemical richness and then the whole of the horse transforms into your father, still galloping forward, and then you tug the reins harder to control him as your mother continues to shout.
"Don't take the drugs! I told you not to take the drugs! His grandparents are coming to tea and I told you not to take the drugs!"
All of a sudden she stands on your head and the horse reappears riding on the back of your father, still tied to the cart, still trampling across the endless market place, endless tomatoes pureed beneath your horse-father’s feet, until the blue begins to fade back and an end to the endless market place comes into view and everything around you blurs with the speed and you, your horse-father, the horse, your mother and the cart hurtle uncontrollably towards the city walls.
You seem to transform into a multi-coloured duck as your parents explode beneath you in a bone-crunching collision. You seem to be carrying a newborn baby in your tiny duck claws beneath you. There's a black shadow above you as you fly on and on, and far underneath you can see the sparkling sun glint off a vast ocean, until you realise you aren’t flying any more.
You're tumbling towards the sea, your wings falling ahead of you, and blood pouring from your wing-stumps. The baby is chewing your wings and looking up at you, laughing with the sound of your mother's nursery rhyme voice.
Everything turns black and you wake up, hot and cold.
Peace.
Tranquility.
You haven't felt this well in a long time, ever since your journeys across the lands, all you wanted to do was to make something right, do fix whatever went wrong. Those blasted adventurers ruined everything, and yet you spend your time with the same people as before.
Hypocrite.
The armored man, who was he to accept your hand so quickly? And his friend, so cheerful and happy, did he not know what troubles lay ahead? Adventurers. As foolish and as blind as ever.
Arrogance.
And him, the cause of this all. A flash of light comes before you, and in a second comes the guise of Koba Hopatke - dressed in his usual seafaring clothing, if that clothing was embroidered with gold and silver-lined cuffs. The figure resembles him at the time he left - you can remember it so well, as if it only happened seconds ago, minus the stinging pain of a lost eye and the smell of fish guts. He turns to look you in the eye and approaches.
Trepidation.
Something is wrong. He kneels before you as if prostating against an altar. You can hear...tears? Sobs, sniffles, and a low moan. Then he speaks.
Lies.
No, you don't listen. He lost you an eye and left you alone to fend for yourself for some hapless fools. Why would you listen to him? He turns his face up to gaze into your eyes, and you can see admonition in his face. Wasn't he in tears a while ago?
Sorrow.
The fool. Why did he even come back despite all he did to you? He didn't bother to say a simple apology. His words come out of a mute tongue, and he only seems to beg like a mime.
Regret.
But...this must mean something, right? The only man you knew for most of your life, he must still be someone you remember, even if he lost you an eye.
You inspect him thoroughly, and while the feelings of rage seethe within you for what he did, he appears to not be carrying anything but the clothes on his back and the words on his mind.
And reality, it seems, pulls you back before you can speak. His visage, appearing more ghostly as you look upon it, disappears altogether - his face capturing a silent echo that screams the truth of it all, leaving only questions that probably will never be answered.
The only question that was, however, entrenches itself in your mind as you feel the rays of the sun against your eyes, and the call of reality waking you once more.
He is your brother.
You and your companions are marching through the dark, dank corridoors of a dungeon. You have been for an indeterminate length of time.
'But is it the dunegon?' Some feebly awake part of your consciousness asks. No, it's not, as readily becomes apparent.
The dungeon you are in is some indistinct, half-formed place of dark stone tunnels, twisting along somewhere deep beneath the surface. You don't recall just what brought you here, only that is was vitally important to the world above and its people.
'Now hang on,' quibbles that same voice, somewhere at the back of your mind, 'that doesn't sound very likely!'
But the dream continues. It's got its own agenda, it seems, and you're coming along for the ride.
You march along for a long time, covering the front of the party with your gleaming steel tower shield, aiding your comrades to overcome various obstacles and cleaving various undead fiends with your broadsword. Your party members are quite ill-defined, seemingly fading in-and-out for the purposes of the dream. If there's a locked door in the way, there will be some shifty-looking fellow with lockpicks. If there is some magical barrier capable of roasting the flesh from the sturdiest of warriors, the bespectacled figure of the mage steps up to dispel it. And if there is something involving a tricky, long-ranged shot, well there will be a vaguely elven-looking archer to take aim and a tall, strong fighter to shove them aside and hurl the smallest party member at the target instead.
You, on the other hand, are certainly not what you'd term small. No, your dream-self stands well over six foot tall, is clad in a thick layer of clanking armour covered with a drab cloak and wields shield and broadsword with ease in powerful strokes. In addition you seem to be the reason for the party being in this place to begin with, although just why you brought them here is something your dream-self doesn't seem to be sharing.
You press on, deeper into this place, the foul beasts and constructs becoming more powerful as you go. Faceless party members may fall, struck by bolts of enchanted lightning, crushed under collapsing tunnels or hewn asunder by vicious creatures, but you survive, driven by some great sense of purpose, sword flashing about you as you come ever closer to your goal.
Finally, the tunnel you were following downwards levels out and widens, eventually coming to a vast pair of doors, forged in some forgotten age from black, burnished metal, its surface engraved with seemingly infinite designs of terrible deeds, murder, torture, black magic of the foulest kind and various other things truly abhorrent to your dream-self.
The bespectacled wizard, one of few survivors of your once seemingly-endless party, steps fowards.
"Behind these d-doors," he stammers, glasses fogging up slightly with trepidation as he beholds the way ahead, "lies the Dark One." You simply nod. You have waited for this moment for a very long time, you realise at last. Your entire life, orphaned at a young age by the forces of the evil lying behind this gate, your loved ones twisted and subverted into its mindless servants, your mind hardened as you watched the horrors such beings were capable of inflicting for little more than their own amusement.
Not one to let emotions get in the way of your oath-bound duty, you put such thoughts aside and set your face in your typical grim mask, throwing off your outer cloak to reveal the sacred robes of a Paladin the Order of Banar'Han, decorated with gleaming sigils and cut to fit over your armour, blessed by near-countless priests of the Order and imbued with the highest power with the sole purpose of ridding the world of the blackest, evillest being to plague it in millennia. You set aside your shield and instead hold your Holy Pinwheel of Greater Justice before you, taking a combat-ready stance with your blade in your other hand.
"Ready yourselves," You tell your remaining companions in your gravelly, unwavering voice, tempered to an untold level of badass by your many years questing for revenge, "For this is it. Know that you fight for the highest of purposes: Good and Justice."
You never were much of one for inspiring speeches, but you felt you needed to say something. These folk are most likely to die shortly, following your cause, after all. With that out of the way you nod again to the mage, who steadies himself, steps fowards and blasts the unfathomably-vast doors with a word of Force. They swing open with a tortured ringing of metal to reveal a gigantic chamber, and all at once your little band is plunged into combat with the horrors lying in wait within.
Slowly making your way towards the shiny, jewelled throne on a raised dais in the center of the cavern, you and your allies fight your way through a horde of terrifying foes, ranging from insubstantial, wisp-like shades of darkness which cackle as they swoop towards you, to the lumbering forms of various fluffy creatures, grafted onto each other seemingly at random and bellowing a loud assortment of animal noises, to the shambling bodies of what were once humans, now bound to unlife by magic, with dainty hats and frilly clothing adorning them in horrifying contrast to their rotting forms, their faces pulled into frightful grins seemingly for the amusement of their master.
You see your companions, valiant though they are, begin to fall; the elven ranger pulled into the air by flying spectres and shredded, prompting a cry of rage and sorrow from the fat, bearded axe-wielding dwarf, who is then in turn knocked to the ground by a monster somewhere between an ettin, a rabid hamster and a bug-eyed, slavering chihuahua. The tall, mysterious human fighter steps fowards to save him, only to be himself overwhelmed. One-by-one they die in various nasty ways as you fight on, until finally, after what must have been hours, the only beings still standing in the body-strewn cavern are yourself, the mage, and a towering, eyeless purple bear.
For a long moment, you and your monstrous foe just face off against each other, both tired from the battle.
The tension grows steadily as each waits for the other to make a move. You lock eyes(Well, eye sockets in Mr Bear's case) for what seems like an eternity, you with sword and pinwheel ready at your sides, the bear with its four-inch, dagger sized claws, grafted into its paws. The mage produces a small harmonica from his robes and blows a slow, lonesome note, and an inexplicable tumbleweed rolls through the cavern.
Finally, Mr Cuddles raises one bloody paw and lunges fowards. You roll to one side, the huge beast stumbling past you, and hack at the back of its exposed leg. It topples to the ground and you strike down at it, again and again, its reeking innards spattering over your battledress, until finally the tormented beast is still.
You whisper a quick prayer for it, and all those others who have fought here today-- No, for all victims of the enemy, and then turn towards the dark throne in the centre of the room, striding towards it, holy pinwheel raised.
"Show yourself, Arch-Witch!" You bellow, words echoing across the now-still battlefield. "Your time of Justice is at hand!" You are sure to emphasise the capital 'J', as you have been taught since novicehood.
Finally, at long last, from behind that vile throne of dark metal, studded with the skulls of the innocent steps a slight, sweet-looking young girl, hair and eyes of the brightest pink.
She seems at once incredibly, shockingly familiar and utterly alien, and you know with certainty that she is the evil you were sent here to destroy. Her mouth moves as she speaks, although the words are replaced with a buzzing sound on the edge of your consciousness, as the dream world threatens to give way to wakefulness. "........"
Whatever she says, your dream-self grits their teeth, blade held in a white-knuckled grip. You know that, should you step fowards, this seemingly harmless-looking figure is capable of reducing you to ash with its evil magic, despite the enchanted armour you wear.
So, you stall. "You have plagued this world for far too long, fiend." You spit the words, curling your lip in righteous disgust. The figure laughs, a high-pitched girlish sound, and tilts her head with amusement. ".......?" Again, her words are lost to you, but you know they fill your dream-self with rage. You feel this dream-body straining to charge fowards, to forget the consequences and lash out at this hated figure, but that would mean death...
You see the Arch-Witch smile in anticipation of such a move, watching your indecision with relish, and then suddenly, your hired mage looses a bolt of fire towards her with a loud yell. She whirls, blocks his weak magic with a single thought and reduces him to charred bone with a second, but that is all you need.
Clearing the distance to the throne in a second, you knock your foe to the ground, levelling your blade at her throat.
By rights you should simply kill her now, right away, as you came here to do, but perhaps you're not quite so flawless yourself. Some dark, ugly part of your mind enjoys this moment, recalling all the suffering and misery this creature has caused you throughout the years, and as ashamed as you are to admit it, you savour your revenge. "Time to die, Arch-Witch. You shall burn in whatever foul pit spawned you, and the world you have terrorised shall return to its previous tranquility. You will be nought but ash, your evil deeds repaired, and y--" You realise your error as the feared golden staff jerks up towards you, charging with energy.
You thrust your blade down into the oh-so-familiar girl's throat even as a blast of dark energy rushes up to engulf you...
You wake up with a horrible, stomach-churning jolt, your heart pounding for a long moment as everything slowly falls back into its normal place. Far from calming down, however, said jolt is merely replaced by an altogether worse feeling as you ponder just what this dream meant.
--
A new day begins. The sun rises once more. The adventurers rising from their quarters however look more like zombies rising from their grave, unsettled, freaked out or just silent but still visibly disturbed. The morning sun does little to wash away the nightmares of last night.
The bureau's waiting room is suspiciously empty. The secretary informs you that the time slot has been reserved for you (because you seem to be important or something like that), and shows you in.
Liz' bureau seems like always, except that, looking over it, something is amiss. Namely, Liz is not in her chair, and another woman is in Liz' chair and currently folding her documents into paper airplanes, tossing them all over the room. You've already seen her before, back in the waiting room yesterday, chain smoking and generally not being too wordy. The woman, having seen you as well, only pauses for a moment to inspect you before going back to folding more airplanes.
This continues a few minutes, as no party member seems to care too much about the documents too soon, ending when a very dishevelled, disoriented and breathless Liz storms in. The first thing to catch her eye is the person lounging on her chair, and she is about to shout a few orders just when she notices Elenor and the other party members being in the room as well. An expression of stark confusion sweeps over her face and she blushes fiercely, getting replaced with fiery-hot rage when she realizes everyone is staring at her (and the woman in the chair sniggering, even). With a strained voice, she bellows "YOU, GET OUT OF MY CHAIR THIS INSTANT! AND YOU, STOP STARING OR YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO STARE AT ANYTHING AGAIN! MY PATIENCE IS HANGING ON A VERY, VERY FLIMSY THREAD!" The gray-haired woman gets up, but rather slowly. Liz impatiently takes her place back and tries to sort the paper again, almost compulsively, as if she needed this to regain her composure. It works, somewhat.
"Erm." Did any session ever go her way completely? Once, maybe. "Let's please get down to business now." Her voice still is shaky.
"First, the magic items. I've finished them, here you go." She takes out a small bag and dumps out the contents - looking at it the contents should not have fit into it at all. "What are you staring at? Never seen a Bag of Holding? So..."
She singles out something that looks like a piece of roundish metal with a hole in it.
"This is for the paladin. It's something I call an Element Hilt. Put it on your sword, over the hilt, select what kind of element to add to your sword slashing and stabbing and all that. It supports Fire, Ice and Volt right now but if you find stuff with elemental enchantments or really just elementally aligned things you could put them into this input hole, called that way because you put things in, and you get yourself another element to use or refuel the fuel meters for one of the three standard elements. It's not
multidimensional magic, that much, but don't expect big results when putting something like common earth in."
"Okay, second..." Her expression darkens. "Rogue knight. Here." She slams the trinket on the table.
"It absorbs magic, that's what it does. Magic that is close enough to it, but not all of it. Depends on the magic power. However, there is a
slight flaw I haven't been able to fix. If you die, the entire stored energy is going to get released in a rather explosive fashion. Your relatives will have to bury what's left of your pretty face in very, very small coffins. Consider yourself
warned.
"Third." Her mood is still sour. "Shaman. I think this thing fits you." Before Helskaya's eyes is a giant damn bong.
"The thing has been magically modified to the point where it can be weaponized efficiently and without centrifugal force taking its toll on it. Doesn't break, ever, unless the broken object is the skull of the poor sap hit with it. Plus, whatever you smoke with it is going to give you a really damn good trip. I tested it on the prisoner yesterday evening, she's still drooling."
"Alright, number four. Gunslinger." Looks like a few pieces of tape. "That's remote control for your gun things. Slap two on the gun, two on your hands, job done. Can be a bit difficult to use, but don't fret. Might cause rashes, though."
"Fifth. Sciencist." The thing that's in her hand this time looks like a funnel attached to... something. "That's an Ammo Mod. Can be slapped onto any crossbow or gunpowder weapon, and it converts anything, absolutely everything you stuff into it into ammo for your projectile weapon. This includes, but is not limited to everything you see in this room that isn't too large -- don't be fooled by the funnel's small size, it can take a lot more than you might think."
"Sixth..." She gives the subject a deadpan stare. "Mad Wizard." "Yeeeaaaah!" "Shut up."
"This", she procures a rainbow-colored object, "is the Fun Gun. Capital F. Whoever is hit with it is going to have Fun. That's all."
"Last one." The last item looks like a headset with one monocle attached. "This little baby does it all - provides means of communication with me, provides data about the monster or person you are looking at, even displays power levels, but only up to 9000. It seems to bug out at levels above. When I look into the mirror for example. Who gets it is your concern. One of you better wear it."
"And, oh... you are also there? But I have nothing left. Eh, wait a minute." She shakes the bag once more, and a lobster falls out. "Guy used to be Ratherio's item. Don't ask. Somehow it's immortal and I can't get rid of it. Toss it into a soup or something, it's tasty."
She catches her breath, it's been long overdue. "Let's move on to the second part. The reason I brought Phoenix here." The gray-haired woman, who had dozed off during the explanations, grins. "She says she's been to the second
Stratum, so she's going to tell you what's going on there."
And then, Phoenix (as she appears to be called) begins to speak. Her manner of speech is slurred, careless, yet concise, as if she didn't really bother with speaking conventions because that would be too bothersome. "'s a forest. Cave forest, ac'ually, entire thing 's underground after all. Green and bright tho, real thick 's well. About zero shortcuts thru the undergrowth. Lots of mobs tho, hostile. Ain't gonna be easy keeping yeself alive.
One more, 's a huge door near the entrance. Locked. Ye'll need three keys. G'luck, ye'll need it." After saying these words, she simply jumps out of the window. Maka looks out of it, eager to see some gore, but Phoenix is alive and well, cheerily waving up.
"That woman..." the rampant irrationality doesn't seem to do Elizabeth well. "What are YOU waiting for? Hurry up, go into the dungeon, or something!"
The party hurries into the dungeon at a moderate pace.
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Topic: Roll to Explore the Dungeon: Ch.2 T.38: Do you even praise the King? (Read 121511 times)