I guess no one wants to go ahead and make the story. I guess I could start...
>You open the door to the North.
You are immediately assualted by a rank, acrid smell what your primal instincts tell you can only be rotting flesh-and the more tangy smell of recently expended cordite. Not that your not used to it by now. You've done very bad things to get where you are now. And your about to do worse.
Room: As exquisite as the room that preceded it-the West wall is dominated by a plush, four poster bed with red silk sheets with two nightstands, one of mahogany, one of Ivory. On the Ivory nightstand is a artful handblown table lamp and a scrap of ragged yellow papyrus, on the mahogany nightstand, a worn down piece of red chalk and a revolver with a no bullets remaining. Within the ivory nightstand, one would find a pack of six speedloaders for the revolver, and a very special book. Within the Mahogany nightstand, one would find only death-it's wired to four pounds of C4, and triggered to explode when opened.
The North wall directly across from you is covered with a richly woven tapestry, depicting some very unsavory things being done to people in the Depth of Hell. One can barely discern the outline of a door beyond it.
The East wall leads into a walk in closet, in where you would find a few business suits, assorted shoes, your ceremonial robes, and the long rotted corpse of your brother.
On the floor of the room is a pentagram written in red chalk, with a circle drawn around it, and a line of arcane runes in that circle.
>Open the mahogany nightstand, get the bullets, reload the revolver