FH: Obstacle Overcome

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 5 AM – The Waterworks]

> “I could,” the silver haired elf mused out loud, “likely hook my
> grapple and silk rope to the farther of those bridge supports, and
> then use that as one end of a safety line if the bridge should choose
> to dump me into whatever is below.”
>
> “I would rather,” Finfin objected, “that whoever volunteers has a
> ready way to escape. A fast Dimension door, or some such.”
>
> “Or I could simply fly over and carry one end of the rope,” Laurelin
> replied.
>
> “Well, yes, that too is possible,” Laquendi agreed.

The plan was put in motion, and the elven priestess, an end of
Laquendi’s rope in hand, clicked the heels of her soft boots together,
and spoke an Arcane command word. Tiny wings sprouted from the boots,
and Laurelin steadily flew into the chamber, carefully staying over the
bridge lest anything attempt an attack from below. Back in the hallway,
the Abbot anchored the other end of the silken line. Between his mass,
particularly when in full harness, and his magically enhanced strength,
he would easily be able to hold tight should the priestess suddenly lose
flight.

And a moment later, the rope was secured, tied off against one of the
more distant bridge uprights. It might not have been a knot that
Laquendi would have chosen for herself, but it appeared to be
serviceable enough.

Once the line was secure, the elven priestess continued her flight,
hovering over the walkway that surrounded the central pillar. Carefully,
she flew over to each of the bridges on either side, just far enough for
her personal “Con Light” to just reach the far end. There were alcoves
at the ends of each bridge, though only the alcove to the east had an
obvious door. She was even able to peer around the back side of the
central pillar enough to observe that there was a fourth bridge, this
one heading due north at the “12 o’clock” position, and a northern
alcove at the far end with a door of its own.

Soon afterwards, Laurelin was back with the rest of the Away Team in the
relative safety of the doorway.

All of the team members looked from one to the other, now pondering
their next step. Finally, Laquendi suggested, “I am the obvious
candidate to make the first crossing. I knew I should have been born a
dragon…”

Tramma perked up her ears at the comment. “That would be the ideal title
of a kobold lament! Is that something you thought of yourself? Or heard
from a kobold? And if so, where?”

“Songbird,” Lomi interrupted. “Focus.”

“Oh, right,” the silver haired bard agreed.

“Now,” Laquendi continued, “it WOULD be safer if somebody had a second
rope for me to borrow as a safety belay line.”

All three of the more “experienced” adventurers looked from one to the
other. And all three shook their heads. Finfin, in particular, looked
rather chagrined at the deficiency. “It apparently has been far too long
since I last participated in routine field operations,” he lamented.
“And it appears I have allowed myself to become rather sloppy in my
preparedness.”

Tramma, too, looked a bit sheepish. “I’ve got all sorts of tools of my
trade,” she offered. “Stage makeup, sheets of music, blank and
otherwise, instruments… but no mundane tools.”

“Which is why I do,” Lomi added, and sighed fondly at her old pal. “Me
and Pilinde always take it in turns to carry the sort of stuff Songbird
here should carry. And today, it is my turn. I’ve got a rope.”

“Should we ever have the chance,” Finfin stated quietly, “would you be
willing to come with me to an Adventurer’s Supply Store and help me
assemble a Deluxe kit? It seems I am badly out of practice.”

Lomi chuckled. “I could!” she agreed. “Or you could buy what we have out
of stores we carry in the Show Wagon. At a reasonable markup, of course,
for being out in the field.”

“I will clear the financial details with Mithi,” the elven officer promised.

Meanwhile, with Lomi’s help, Laquendi had secured the second rope around
herself, and again, Abbot Kenobi held the far end, ready to play out the
slack as Laquendi advanced. And taking her loaned light coin with her,
she extended her “poka pole” and carefully stepped through the doorway
and on into the southern vestibule.

Nothing happened, which was not surprising. “The first real danger,”
Laquendi mused out loud, “will be on the bridge. Classically, once I am
past the point of no return, it will ‘teeter-totter’ and dump me. The
question is, will that happen in the first few feet, or the last?”

As best as she could, she probed the near end of the bridge’s planking
with her pole… but it seemed steady enough, and gingerly, Laquendi eased
herself onto the bridge.

Nothing happened, and the silver haired elf continued her advance. By
the time she was half way across, she commented, “Another classical
variation will be for the side supports to suddenly give way, tipping me
sideways off of the bridge.” But this, too, did not happen, nor did the
bridge tilt in the other direction as the elf approached the far end,
her hand never straying from the previously rigged silk line.

Now, Laquendi was on the far side of the bridge, staring dubiously down
at the nearby lip of the walkway surrounding the central pillar. “If
this was determined to send me into the drink,” she continued to think
out loud, “the entire walkway would plunge downwards as soon as I put
weight on it.” Some solid thunks with the poka pole showed that the
footing seemed quite solid, and if it was going to suddenly drop away,
it would require more than some stout pole taps to trigger this
particular trap.

“An alternate,” the elf quietly mused, “would be for the walkway to
suddenly move inwards, forcing anyone on it to crash against the inner
pillar before being dropped below.” But stout pole taps showed no hints
of the outer edge of the walkway having any “play” at all.

“Or,” the elf continued, “for the inner pillar to somehow be able to
expand and sweep those on the walkway overboard.” But similar stout
tappings of the pole against the inner pillar showed no hints of any
such capability.

“And of course,” Laquendi continued, unperturbed at the lack of results,
“the whole assembly could defy expectations, and crash upwards, sending
the unwary skywards to be crushed against the ceiling, and not dropped
into the drink below.” She repeated her probes with the poka pole, but
could find no signs of any “play” or signs that the walkway could move
at all.

“Ooo!” Tramma exclaimed from the safety of the doorway. “Ooo! I’ve got one!”

Behind her, Lomi sighed, and quietly mouthed, “Miss Know-It-All.”

Tramma, meanwhile, was blissfully continuing her thought. “Maybe the
walkway spins along the inner pillar, rather than moving up and down!
That way, the centrifugal force would throw anyone off and into the drink!”

Laquendi continued to carefully probe the walkway as she mused quietly,
“Centrifugal force is a FICTION, and is merely centripetal acceleration
observed by a non-inertial reference frame.”

Tramma shrugged. “I bet it’d feel real enough to someone caught in it.”

That, Laquendi could not fault. Instead, she continued to probe both the
walkway and the nearest parts of the two distant bridges, as much as her
safety line – and her anchoring people’s patience – would allow. And
soon, the dusky elf was back in the southern hallway with the rest of
the team.

“If there ARE any traps,” Laquendi admitted, “they are both very
selective, and beyond my ability to find. Which does not mean that they
do not exist.”

That was beyond dispute. Now, it was Laurelin’s turn to once again put
herself forward. “I’ll go first, she suggested. “Being able to fly will
help.”

And Laurelin’s experience was the same as Laquendi’s. Nothing untoward
happened when the elven priestess once again crossed over the bridge,
this time walking, rather than flying. Nor was there any drama on the
central pillar’s walkway, or on any of the other bridges.

Soon, working in relays, everyone had crossed over, with someone
suitably large and strong – and sometimes several someones – manning a
belay line as each person crossed. And eventually, all were at the
eastern vestibule, where the “northeast passage” was expected to lead
off towards a rendez-vous with Crumble, the forlorn and huge rust
monster, Gnarkill, the elf hating Troll, possibly Ecru, and who knew
what else.

And a floor mounted valve, a near twin to the one that Laquendi had
operated to gain access to this room of bridges, lay before them, along
with a sealed metal door.

Making good on her standing offer, Laquendi, after a quick examination
of the valve, gave its wheel a careful spin. As with the previous two
door valves, the adjacent door slid open with a metallic screech. The
way to the Northeast Passage was open.