As you leave the boxing ring, the white lights turn off behind you with a loud and derisive click, and once again you find yourself in orange lit metallic gloom. You continue onward for a few steps, wondering exactly where this long passage leads, stil hopeful that the increased industrialization might mean your at last coming to the end of the dungeon. Given past experience though, it might just mean your close to catching the train to hell or something similarly nasty and ironic, but then again, with the state of the average british train if one did go to hell arriving would probably be a relief.
You are not left to contemplate the inequities of transport for long though, as soon enough you find the passage once again completely blocked.
this door is massive, a huge slab of brazen metal that would not look out of place on a nuclear bunker. Like the grating it covers the entire passage from floor to cieling, in fact the only thing that tells you it's a door and not a complete dead end is the small slot and pushable metal handle set at roughly waste hight.
Engraved across the doors' broard face in flat, industrial letters are the words,
"the gate of grammary"
You begin to wonder what grammary, which your pretty certain is more connected with magic than what looks like a secret government installation could have to do with such a door, when suddenly your interupted by the shrilling of a claxon.
Bright green bulbs begin flashing from around the door as the klaxon settles into a steady spine bending rythm.
Your not given time to wonder exactly why down here green seems to be the colour of danger rather than red, as the deep, ominous tones of a massive voice start to boom out across the corridor and into your skull.
If ever dath Vader were to start playing with voice changing software to see how deep his voice could go, then said recording was played through a 60 foot organ pipe it might sound a litle like the voice that is currently making your teeth rattle in your jaw.
"unauthorized intruder. Enter spell or prepare for termination. Twenty seconds to terminal action!"
As the green lights flash earily on the metal walls You look around frantically for some way out of this. Not only does terminal action sound distinctly unpleasant but you have a nasty feeling that after counting down 20 seconds in that voice you'll need someone to stick your bones back together.
"nineteen seconds to terminal action!"
Your glance falls on the slot next to the door handle. Obviously that's what is needed to somehow enter a spell (though how a spell goes into an electric card reader is something that's a litle beyond you).
"eighteen seconds to terminal action!"
You'd better do something quick, that one felt as if your eyeballs were liquifying!
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The horrible dungeons of dreadful doom.copywrite2011 by Dark.