In The Cards

I did mention that I hate traps, didn’t I? I’m almost certain of it, but I’m sure it deserves mentioning again. The worst kind of trap, the most fiendish of them all, is the one that lulls you into a sense of false security. Then, just when you think you’re safe – WHAM! You get shot, electrocuted or burnt. Another thing about traps is that there’s something about them that seems to entice thieves into showing off. And while they may act as if they have no concept of the word ‘danger’, even going so far as to spout clever commentary as they work, that sort of thing can be pretty nerve-wracking for the rest of the party.

Excerpt from ‘Ruminations Of A Master Bard’

Past the teleporting chamber was a small and dark room, with niches carved into the walls here and there. Imoen carefully made her way around the room, searching for traps. There were more than a few of them. They were hidden on the floor, in the walls, in the niches where some healing potions had been stashed. Wow, the young thief thought. It must have taken ages to set all these traps. Some of them are really clever too. That one blade trap almost took my fingers off. Whistling softly to herself she moved on to the next trap, a poison arrow one.

“Careful!” Jaheira said behind her back. “Keep your mind on what you are doing.”

“I am,” Imoen said. “Some music helps me work better.”

“I do not think you are being serious enough about the fact that you are playing around with something that could easily kill you.”

“Why should I be? It would only make me gloomy, and it wouldn’t help me work better.” Imoen smiled. “Besides, playing with traps is fun.”

“Fun?!”

“Yep. Once I’ve spotted the way the trap works I can sort of let my fingers do the job on their own. It’s very relaxing, really.” Imoen looked over her shoulder, still fiddling with the trap. Her friends were watching her, all of them looking quite incredulous. “It’s a thief thing,” she explained. “You wouldn’t understand.” She waved her hand along the wall, and then laughed as the poison dart shot harmlessly into the air, two inches away from her face just as she had estimated it, embedding itself in the roof. “See? Wasn’t that a neat trick? No need to worry, I can handle this.”

For some reason this declaration didn’t seem to boost her friends’ confidence at all.

“Suicidal,” Edwin muttered. “Completely suicidal. (I think it must have something to do with wearing leather. Seems that destroys every ounce of self-preservation.)”

“Huh,” Imoen said with a small pout. “You people have no appreciation for stylish technique. There are such a lot of traps here; it would be totally boring to just keep regularly disarming them. A little flourish never harmed anybody. Besides, a really good rogue should always try to do things stylishly.”

“Fine,” Zaerini said. “Just please try to make sure it doesn’t involve you dying stylishly.”

A few minutes later Imoen came across some more writing on one of the walls. “Hey, Yeslick!” she called out. “What does this say?”

The dwarf walked over and peered carefully at the runes. “Know no refuge,” he said.

“Really? I wonder what that means.”

“S-something b-b-bad no doubt,” Khalid proclaimed, nervously glancing at the shadows in the corners.

Imoen ran her fingers along the runes, pleased to see a secret door open in the wall beneath them. “Oh, good!” she said. “I bet there’s treasure inside.” She eagerly crept inside, and then started with surprise as the heavy stone slab slammed shut behind her, trapping her alone in the darkness.

Booger-brain, Imoen thought. I’m a booger-brain. I should have known something like this would happen. It was utterly dark and she couldn’t see a thing. It would really be helpful to have night-vision like Rini does. Except I probably couldn’t see anything in here anyway, since the only hot thing in here is me. Least I hope so. But if there were any monsters they would have eaten me already, so I guess I’ll be fine. If I can get out, that is.

She carefully felt her way along the wall, noticing that she couldn’t hear a single sound from outside. Most probably her friends were still there, but they might as well have been on the other side of the world. Imoen’s lips trembled a little as she realized that there was a very real possibility that they wouldn’t be able to get the door open and that she’d starve to death in here. This wouldn’t be as bad if only I wasn’t alone in here. Well, not that I want anybody else to be in trouble, exactly, but at least I’d have some company. Hm, wouldn’t it be nice if Adahn were in here with me right now? Just the two of us…alone…defying death, surviving against incredible odds and managing to get in a little snuggling time in-between the near brushes with death?

Yes, that was a very nice thought indeed. Imoen felt a delicious shiver run down her back as she developed her fantasy a little further, her predicament entirely forgotten. Yep, that’s just perfect. Exactly like in ‘Thief Of Hearts’ by Araminda Astoria. Where the jaded but basically decent robber Symon Sinister, who has a really romantic and tragically dark past, meets True Love in the form of the young and innocent Feliria Farundel. Well, relatively innocent, for a thief. Oh, I just bet Adahn has some romantic dark secrets too. I’ll have to ask him. Of course, first I have to get out of here.

After a few more minutes of examining the walls Imoen’s questing fingers encountered what appeared to be large statue. A statue of a dwarf, she thought. There was certainly a beard there. And there was something else as well, something that the dwarf was holding in his outstretched hand. A stone, a smooth and round stone. Yes! I bet that’s my key out of here! You can’t keep a clever rogue down…

Imoen hastily snatched the stone. Then she drew in breath deeply in fear as she heard the hiss of poison gas welling out of vents somewhere just below the ceiling. This proved to be a bad mistake, as it made her cough and retch, and the gas burned in her lungs, making her feel like she was about to choke. Oops… she thought.

There had to be a way out. Imoen tried to think, her thoughts spinning feverishly in her head as the gas made it more and more difficult to think. I can do this. I know I can. And then she saw something. Just a tiny sliver of light in the solid darkness, but it was there. A keyhole. Her fingers were trembling as she fumbled to get her lockpicks out, praying she wouldn’t drop them. And then she was at the lock, working furiously even as she tried to hold her breath. This is child’s play for a good rogue. I’m sure I can make it. Just a little more…

Finally, just when she knew she couldn’t hold her breath a second longer, the lock snicked open and the door slid aside, letting Imoen stumble outside, coughing and retching violently as her frantic friends pounced on her with healing spells and potions.

“Have you quite satisfied your suicidal urges yet?” Jaheira said in an acid tone of voice once Imoen had been purified of poison and subjected to a large number of healing spells.

“Um…” the pink-haired thief said. “It wasn’t like that, you know. Not at all.”

“No? Then what was it like?”

“Well…see…I meant to do that. Yep. That’s it. I knew exactly what I was doing. It was all part of my plan.”

“Really,” Jaheira said, and her eyebrows rose. “Now why am I not feeling convinced?”

“But…” Imoen tried, feeling rather embarrassed. “I really did…” And then she suddenly remembered the stone she’d snatched from inside the trapped room and held it triumphantly aloft. She’d spotted the markings on it and had a good idea what it was. “See? Bet you didn’t expect this. It’s a wardstone, see? Like the one that opened this level. I’d say that finding the one thing that’ll help get us all out of here was worth a little risk, don’t ya think?”

Jaheira still looked rather suspicious, and Edwin’s sardonic smile hinted that he wasn’t buying her excuse and was finding it particularly amusing. Zaerini gave them both an annoyed look and then hugged her friend briefly.

“It was very clever of you to find that thing, Immy,” the bard said. “But please, try to not get lost again. I was really worried about you, you know.”

“I promise,” Imoen said, hugging back. “For one thing, you’d never manage without me.”

Once the adventurers were on their way again Imoen tugged at her best friend’s sleeve. “Rini?” she said. “Thanks. I needed that. And you know…I was rather scared in there.”

The half-elf’s golden eyes glittered in the darkness as she smiled in return. “I guessed that,” she said. “But you didn’t want to admit it in front of Jaheira, right?”

“Um…something like that.”

“That’s what I thought.” The bard nodded briefly and her red locks bobbed up and down in affirmation. “Just remember, Immy – you don’t have to pretend for my sake. And don’t you ever get yourself killed because you’re trying to be impressive or I’ll never forgive you.”

“I promise. Friends?”

“Of course. Best friends, always.”

The corridor wound on, past a long series of Fireball traps that fortunately fried the horde of Ghasts that came charging towards the adventurers from the other end. Once the smoke settled the undead lay burnt and smoking on the ground, and the traps were quite harmless.

“Feel no warmth,” Yeslick said as he read another rune inscription. “How very strange.”

“I’d say Durlag had a pretty twisted sense of humor,” Edwin remarked. “What’s next, I wonder? An Ice Storm trap, with an inscription urging us to ‘Keep your Cool’?”

As it turned out, the next thing awaiting was an empty room with a staircase. “Finally!” Zaerini exclaimed, pushing her red hair out of her eyes with a weary gesture. “What ever is down there, it can’t be worse than all those annoying doppelgangers.”

“Want to bet?” Edwin murmured.

Imoen followed her friends towards the staircase, clutching the wardstone nervously in one hand. She couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was something wrong. Something odd about that staircase. And then she saw it. The staircase was a fake one, merely a skillfully painted and crafted illusion of rock. “Wait!” she yelled. “Trap!”

It was too late. Yeslick and Jaheira had already set foot on the ‘stair’, and as they did something clicked in the walls around them. Immediately the door they had entered through slammed shut, as did the one in the opposite wall. Then the walls themselves began to move, pushing in towards the center of the room slowly but inexorably. There could be no doubt that the purpose of this trap was to squash any unfortunate victims that wandered into it to a juicy pulp. The speed of the walls was gradually increasing, and as they came closer Imoen could see brown spots here and there on the walls. She had a feeling she knew what those spots were. Moreover, one of the walls also bore the legend: ‘Can’t take the Pressure?’

“I hate Durlag Trollkiller,” Zaerini said in a curiously emotionless voice. “I really, really, really hate him.”