Flynn creeps forward and quickly examines the door, before waving the group forward.? "Lets not have violence as our first response, shall we?" he whispers to SW.
DM/
Flynn?contemplates the machinations- the metallic combinations, the tiny sparks of lightning, the heady odor of stormclouds
. . . One halberd is obviously forged of coal fired iron and the other of copper corroded green. There¡¯s a magical aura to the overall trap but now that it¡¯s been triggered, the disabling at this point is fairly mundane. Traps need to be able to be reset so
there must be a way, he just needs to find it.?
The Bard cautiously advances. His eyes dart around, scanning for any signs of danger. As he approaches a suspicious-looking section of the floor, he spots the telltale signs of a pressure plate trap.
Carefully, he kneels down, his gloved hand hovering just above the stone floor. With a keen eye, he inspects the mechanism, tracing the outlines of the hidden trigger as he calculates his next move.
With a steady hand, he reaches into his cloak and withdraws a set of carved wooden chopsticks with multiple fine hooks and grooves. Gently inserting them into the small gap beside the pressure plate,
he begins to manipulate the intricate mechanism within. It¡¯s challenge all the moreso with the incessant nipping of bats at his ears.
Each movement is deliberate, each adjustment precise. His mind sees what his fingers feel and his face presents as calm and relaxed as he concentrates, eyes closed, blocking out the world around him.
The trap functions through a combination of intricate mechanisms, employing both springs and gears in its design. As the pressure plate is depressed, it triggers a series of interconnected gears and weights, set into motion by the weight of the intruder. These
gears, in turn, activate a network of springs, which are coiled tightly beneath the surface of the floor.
Meanwhile,
North?tries talking with the swarm of bats. It¡¯s nearly impossible to get the attention of any one specific bat. They¡¯re all moving around so quickly and darting down to bite now and again, but the Gnome thinks one mentions ¡°cat¡±
and ¡°stick¡±.
For what feels like an eternity,
Flynn?pokes and prods to find his way around, testing tensions and gauging for possible redundancy tripwires. Lifting a gear from its sprocket, he hears a faint click as its latch key
drops loose. Twisting the tool, he maneuvers the sprocket chain wheel over and inverts the rack. Next, he gingerly lifts ?the pulley back onto its coil and pulls hard to get the ¡®Guardians¡¯
to swing back into starting position. Finally he lifts the pressure plate, revealing the mechanisms beneath and wedges a rock into place as a holder. With a sense of triumph, he tests his weight on it and is confident it is now harmless.
With the danger averted, the Half-Elf allows himself a brief moment of relief before pressing onward, his senses alert for any further obstacles that may lie in his path, but sees no other danger.
At the end of this hallway is a set of double doors, slightly ajar, and the aroma of burning incense comes from beyond.
(Everyone takes 2 hp damage from the bats.)
And what do you do?
/DM
