Welcome to the Dungeon of Doom!

There's water on the other side of this. Maybe not much, but we can hear it. Whether or not it is the way out, I decided it was definitely the priority.

Examine throne for whatever.

The battered throne is raised upon a pedestal perhaps 6 inches higher than the rest of the floor. Small pictographs are etched on each of the pedestal's four sides: a crown, a mantle, a scepter, and a book. The image of the scepter glows faintly, but the rest are dim.

Tucked beneath the throne, you find a small corked vial filled with a sparkling blue fluid.

Also, Scary Bob is sitting in the throne and producing the most godawful music.

Smell liquid, and possibly identify it.
Steal Bob's new staff.
Steal Argumentus's crown.

The dwarf scratched his beard and turned away from the door, heading back to the throne and glaring lightly at the elf before he looked back over his shoulder at the big guy with his diadem wandering around the room. His eyes slid to the thief trying to take things from the various party members.

"Oi, I'd be asking rather than taking, lad. The big fella is liable to crush your head if he finds out you took his things. It looks to me as if we need to have someone sit in that throne holding four different items. I'll wager it's the thief's cloak, the woman's stick, the big guy's crown.... huh." He looked around. "Anyone found a book?"

As if in response, Argumentus growled and gripped his table leg, glaring at Fescue.

A whiff of the little vial produces the telltale camphor stink of strong medicine.

I'll go ahead and give the room description again since it may have been buried in the fight.

A once-majestic throne dominates this room, through the jewels are missing and the cushions have long rotted away. The room is dotted with small worktables and bedrolls of various sizes. A rusty cage lies open on the east wall, next to a door of solid stone. A huge cabinet sits on the south wall, its doors sealed with a flimsy padlock designed less for security than for empty peace-of-mind.

Motsognir, knowing enough to expect a trap of some kind, walked over to the side of the cabinet and struck at the padlock with his axe. Perhaps this elusive book would lie inside.

Motsognir hacks the cabinet doors open, and a torrent of tomes pours out onto the floor.


Any Port in a Storm: The Life of Mongo The Frail
Captain's Logbook: HMS Fandango
Inventory of the Royal Armory
Tales from the Green Goose Inn
Bawdy Houses of the East: A Traveler's Guide
Trephination and Its Uses
History of Hammerfall
Household Guide to Lycanthropes
Moradin's Favorite Battle Hymns
When Jellies Doth Ooze: An Autobiography
Chicken Soup for the Dwarven Soul
Things I Found In The Gutter
How to Talk to an Eladrin (If You Must)
Diary of Melvin Fancylad
On The Movements of the Heavens
Procedures of Efficient Dragonslaying, Vol. 3
We're Hitting People: Love and War Amongst the Orcs
Encyclopaedia Khazadia: GU - HR
Household Hints from Hulfdag
Gypsies, and Why We Must Exterminate Them
Index of Edible Things
Secrets of the Yub-Yub Brotherhood

Stealing.....things?!

None of the books looked to be of interest, or to be the item we were looking for. I did however pick out the traveler's guide and keep it for myself, should we ever find daylight enough to read anything.

Argumentus grew bored and began whiffing his mighty table leg. On accidental impact with the stone floor, the big stick proves to be not so mighty and splinters. Rooting through the "found" items, Argumentus pries the mace from the human bandit's cold dead fingers. Testing its balance and swinging it about satisfies all of Argumentus's expectations regarding the bashing potential, and a stupid grin crawls across his face.

His time at His Saint Morgen's Internment House For the Super Special has made Argumentus literate in words that pertain to his interests, but before looking through the Index of Edible Things for pictures, Argumentus spots the warhammer and tests his simple skills in its use.

The dwarf looked over at the drooling monster hefting a hammer. Well, that doesn't bode well for the enemies, at any rate.

"Right. So I'm not the only one who realises we need a group of things to solve this little problem, then." He glowered as the thief continued prancing around. "Throw the elf your cloak before we decide to remember who brought that ooze down on us, lad."

I had been daydreaming again and was woken by the shifty fellow trying to steal the staff I held in my hand. I smacked him upside the head with it as a gentle but firm invitation to desist. It seemed to me as though the symbols on the floor must correspond to the items we had found thus far and the dwarf had just found a load of books. None of the titles immediately suggested a solution so I wondered if we might not be best served just chucking them all on the throne and sitting on top of the lot?

Satisfied that the warhammer would do better for bashin stuff, Argumentus set about doing some "reading." Picking up Index of Edible Things Argumentus sat in the light by the throne. The priestesses at the old Internment House had instilled the view that reading with head wear was rude (caning rude), so Argumentus removes the crown and inadvertently places it on the crown-shaped depression.

I stepped off the throne and skipped over to where the retard was sat reading. Moving slowly so as not to upset him, I reached for the crown he had discarded. "Me borrow crown, ok? You sit, play with puppy" I spoke slowly and clearly, hoping that he could understand me. Just to make sure, I ghost-sounded a puppy barking from the other direction, hoping to distract him long enough to pick up the crown. Once secured, I returned to my seat and popped the crown onto my head to see if the crown symbol lit up.

Argumentus was oblivious to the Mage's trickery, his undivided and simple attention was focused on studying the illustrations of various yum yums.

The engraved symbol of the crown flickers alight as Bob puts the crown upon his head.

Motivated by mysterious, probably imaginary voices, Motsognir throws the books from the cabinet at Bob one by one, hoping that one of them will light up that... chair-light.

One by one, the various volumes batter Scary Bob about the face and neck before bouncing to the floor. Nearing the bottom of the heap, Motsognir flings the History of Hammerfall at the irritated elf. Mere inches from Bob's face, the tome stops in mid-air — hovering for a moment before dropping heavily into his lap.

Only the symbol of the mantle remains dormant.

The dwarf stood next to the chair and then glanced between the rogue and the mage. "Right, so if she gets up does that mean the door won't open? Because if we have to leave someone, I vote we leave her. Ain't no place for a woman anyway." And with that he trudged off to stand next to the door, passing the rogue and muttering: "Seriously, give him the cape so we can get moving. I already miss the sounds of battle."

With that he took up residence next to the door and swung his hammer around to a more usable position. Just in case.

Hoping my new cloak wasn't the key (so found of that dramatic billowing), I removed it and neatly folded it and stuffed it onto the perch that was the throne.

As the billowing cape is stuffed into the throne next to the wizard, all 4 of the runes suddenly flash brightly, then go dim. A deafening grinding noise is produced from the vicinity of the east doorway, and chunks of ancient rubble begin to fall from the ceiling. The stone slab rattles up and down — its mechanism attempts to pull it into a recess beneath, but something has blocked the way. At long last a great CRACK! emits from the floor beneath, and the slab teeters back and forth before slamming into the room with an earthshaking thump.

Beyond the open but dust-choked doorway lies a 20-foot passage terminating in a dead end, with the a large trapdoor set into the floor.



Incredibly minor puzzle solved after much deliberation: 250 XP (50 apiece)