Brigit's Flame - February Week 3 - If it ain't broke
I was almost stymied by this one. Thankfully, a colorful character asserted himself and laid claim to the prompt last minute. *grins* Just something short and sweet this week!
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Thrallia growled to herself, roughly pushing an errant strand of auburn hair from her sweaty brow. Her dwarven face was scrunched in concentration and lined with frustration. She was not in her element. Wide, stubby fingered hands hovered over an intricate control panel, inscribed with words in a language she could not decipher. Those hands were scarred and callused from many years of glorious battle, and more used to channeling the divine power of the Luckmaiden, than twiddling tiny switches and dials or manipulating puzzles with dextrous care.
The clash of battle sounded from the other side of the heavy wooden door that separated one half of her party from the other. They had been in pursuit of a fleeing necromancer, hot on his heels, when the door had slammed shut, splitting their party in two. On this side of the door were two heavily armored dwarves, thirsting for battle, and stuck with a puzzle. On the other side of the door, caught in what sounded like a heavy ambush, were the two who were more much more suited to this quandary. Thrallia could hear the twang of Falcor's bow, as the ranger, great in the fray, but much more suited to the open air than these twisted crypts, fought against the unknown foe. The mumurings of Jav, the half-elven mage (who just so happened to be an excellent 'locksmith' as well) were punctuated with the percussion of magic bolts hitting their foe.
Clank-Clank-Clank sounded behind her. Clank-Clank-Clank!
Grimandor paced the length of the room like a caged animal. His salt-and-pepper beard bristling as he growled under his breath, spitting the word 'puzzles' like a curse.
Thrallia rubbed her brow and sighed. “Grim, please stop pacing. I can't think over the sound of your armor.”
“Every minute we waste thinking, is another minute they battle without us. Just flip all the thrice damned switches and get on with it!” Grim stalked over and sat in front of the door, crossing his arms sullenly. There was little Grim despised more than a puzzle, especially one that kept him out of the fray.
Wincing, anticipating the worst, Thrallia threw the switch with the blue light over it, then the green one, then turned the knob with the squiggly letter that kind of looked like the rune for 'privy' only upside-down.
A bolt of energy knocked her onto her armored bottom. Spewing curses that nearly made Grim blush, she picked herself up and studied the control panel once again.
After a few moments, Grim, tired of waiting, stood, brushed himself off, and grinned ear to ear. “Hrumph... You know what they say: 'If it ain't broke...' ”, he paused, squared his spiked shield off in front of him, and charged for the door, “Hit it harder!!”
“This is a magical lock, Grim. You can't just break it. You saw what it did when I got the wrong combination...” Thrallia said wearily, not looking up.
Whump! Clank-clank-clank-clank.... Whump! Clank-clank-clank-clank... WHUMP!
Thrallia looked up as the scream of splintering wood shook the room.
“Door weren't magic.” Grim grinned, covered in dust and splinters of the door.
Thrallia laughed and shook her head. “Leave it to Grim to see the straight way to things,” she thought. She hefted her greatsword, and took up Grim's charge, relieved to be in her element once again, and hoping her friends had held out long enough against their unknown foes.