The Tower's Ascent

[Silky Gooseness]

SILARIEN on FLOOR V with XXVI HP

Shaking off the nasty little voice from the fourth floor with no lasting effects, Silarien shoulders her way through the curtain of the fifth floor to be pinned in place abruptly by a spotlight with the force of a thousand Helluins.

There’s a man speaking - offering a special prize! Silarien LOVES special prizes, but there’s something deeply fishy about this guy. She can’t see who he is - the light is far too piercing, and shadowy shapes - an audience? are moving and shuffling their feet in the background.

do not meddle in the affairs of wizards is the refrain running through her brain, but it’s also accompanied by don’t trust the voices and cash prizes won in game shows are largely tax free

Excellent points, Silarien’s Thoughts. Now what to do?

New black powder: well... everyone loves powder, right? Silarien’s personal favourite is white powder (a taste acquired from her days treading the boards in Mordor). But two thousand orc heads: just heads? Without the orc? Or are orc heads spoken of like heads of cattle?

Silarien agonises over this for a while.

“The powder. No, the heads. No, definitely the powder. Or what about -“

All the while she’s been speaking, Silarien has been dabbing her own white powder on her face (it was chalk, what did you think I was talking about?) and the glare has reduced sufficiently for her to spot the exit.

Once again, Silarien books it.

CHOICE F

[Nerwen Nuke-queen]

Nerwen Meneldur, dwarfette

Floor Two

Wahoo that had been a success! One beast had got lucky and caught her ankle as she tried to run past, causing her to graze an elbow on the side of the wall, but no real harm done. Nerwen took a breather in the recess of the stairs, enjoying the feeling of cold stone beneath her fingers, though it was far too smooth for her personal tastes. The dwarfette straightened herself out, checking her chalk, rope and beard, still feeling a little unarmed and unprepared. With all the enthusiasm of one beard on its way to meet another famous beard she scampered up the stairs and before she realised what had happened and how far she had come, she accidentally found herself entering a long tall chamber with a big conference table in the centre, and high-backed chairs all the way round its sides. Stifling all the throne room and council flashbacks which suddenly invaded her memory, Nerwen cleared her throat, "Thank you all for your time," she said in an authoritative tone, "And thank you for setting up the presentation in advance. I am the spot auditor from Un-dun Dun-Up Buttons and Co Plc and I am here to assess your audit trails, reporting, expenses and" she paused for significant effect "Outside operating expenses in the context of diversification for profit". The dwarfette strode across to the flip-chart and crossed her arms, scrutinised the charts and buttons. "Hm" she said derisively, "Hm indeed. It is clear from these charts that you are relying far too much on this wooden type of button, locally made in Fangorn. It is our opinion that Saruman's portfolio would be more profitable if you diversified, I would like you all to take a moment to consider the button industries of Dale, Osgiliath and even as far as Dale". Nerwen nodded expectantly at them all, waiting for them to start taking notes so she could sneak on up the stairs which were behind the display.

E) Try to explain to the bureaucrats through creative use of buttons how best to diversify Saruman's portfolio for the upcoming quarter, then duck out while they all take notes?
29HP

[Gwai]

4th --> 5th Floor

The fog parted when Gwai lit the lantern, and she held it aloft and she briskly made her way across the room. The voices were fainter, albeit still present, but easier to ignore. She hurried across the large room, and finally emerged on the other side of the fog. The lantern was quickly burning through the wick, and Gwai immediately extinguished it, trying to salvage what was left for one more use, although she hoped she would not need it in the future. She paused a minute and took stock. She still smelled a little iffy from the room full of muck and garbage, but the fog at least had taken a small bit of the smell away. Taking a deep breath and again wishing she had brought snacks, she walked toward a heavy curtain.

Pushing the curtain out of the way, Gwai stopped for a minute, stunned by a spotlight on her,and an overly cheerful man with a long, skinny microphone asking if she was ready to play The Price is White. Gwai's eyes widened. It was hard to see exactly who the man was due to the glare, but she had a feeling it was Blob Blarker! After all, who else could it be? Some Saruman trick? She was never picked for anything fun like a game show! A smile broke out on her face as she waved to the audience and jogged over toward the man, giving him a high-five.

There was polite applause for the audience as Gwai leaned over to speak in the skinny microphone. "My name is Gwai, I'm from Rohan, I'm a cavalry officer and have a small tack shop in the Riddermarket!" she introduced herself quickly. "And yes, I'm ready to play!" she said, rubbing her hands, excited, wondering what the prize was.

The man she hoped was Blob Blarker read off the question, asking if a new black powder was worth more than 2,000 orcs. The audience enthusiasm level rose, and various answers were shouted out, although it was hard to make out exact words, much less see the audience due to the spotlight. Gwai thought for a minute as the timer ticked down. What an odd question! Usually they asked about the price of mithril vests, the newest model of saddle, or sometimes, red cars in cornfield prices. This was tricky, and Gwai was suspecting this was perhaps not, in fact, the normal Blob Barker. However, she seemed to have little choice. Morally, of course, she was sure orc heads were worth more than black powder. However, anyone who was using black powder and willing to cut off 2,000 orc heads probably felt differently. "Well, Blob, er, I mean, stranger, I am going to go with the can of powder is worth more than 2,000 orcs!" she said excitedly into the skinny microphone, looking up to see if her answer was correct as the crowd cheered.

Option A
27 HPs

[The Good Hunter]

Æthelgifu
20 HP

Fifth Floor

Her head was woozy and woobly. Maybe she had been wrong about whatever was on the last floor. Maybe there was something there. She had a headache now, a throbbing, pulsing beast playing drums right behind her eyes. She’d never experienced anything so fierce.

Until the bright lights hit her.

She had pushed through a heavy, rather malodorous curtain only to be blasted on the other side by the brightest light she had ever seen. Her father had told her once not to stare at an eclipse. Was that what was? Her head throbbed. Someone, she couldn’t make out where it was a human or an orc, with a very grating voice, asked her to guess the price of something. The words were too garbled in her head to understand. Black powder? What was that? Beyond the obvious. Two thousand orcs? What?

“Um… well… ah… you see….” She gulped. “It really depends on who the buyer is. Perhaps this buyer does not value orcs whatsoever and therefore seems them as worthless. Then the black powder is infinitely more valuable. On the other hand, what if the buyer has no idea what black power is and gets annoyed and decides to buy his orcs somewhere else? Then neither of the two products have any value.”

Option C, por favor

[Allacan ob Burzum]

Floor Two

There was an awkward pause. A long, drawn-out quiet during which it seemed the room resonated with Allacan's heartbeat, although the faces staring at her did not appear to be able to hear it. A second later, the tremulous voice from the back of the room spoke up with a touch more confidence after her insights. "I'll offer odds of 15/1 for Lothlorien Lilies!" .

It took only a moment for the responses to start rolling in "2/1 on Osgiliath Oliphaunts!" "Place a bet on Fangorn Fir-Trees in the last quarter and we'll offer 10% on the next bet." "Make sure the odds on Taenaran Twins set up for good profits in the next quarter.".

As the wizened group of barterers and betters quabbled for the most profitous investments, Allacan took that as an opportunity to squeeze out of the doorway and hop, skip to the next level.

Floor Three and option F) Toss your rope out in front of you and use it as a pulley and anchor, dragging yourself slowly but safely through the muck

The next floor was dimly lit, and so confident was she from the success of her last endeavour that she strode into the space confidently and without noting the strange squishing noise underfoot. Indeed, she was a substantial distance from the safety of the door behind her when she first noted the awkward dragging of her feet and realised something was most definitely not right.

It was in that moment that the smell hit her nose, and her face paled. Freezing in the spot for a moment, shaking a little, all her warrior courage threatening to abandon her, and took two or three slow, shallow breaths before she was able to face the dreaded horror beneath her.

The dreadful tone of the bile; a grayish, almost stone-like gloop with pale-brown indeterminate lumps peering sinisterly out from the mass of not-liquid about it, was unmistakable! The horrid, healand's heal-all soup, bane of any sperewigend who fell foul of flu or succumbed to sickness. The mere smell of the wretched concoction was enough to spur any malingerers from their bed and back to their duties, and woe to those who moved too slowly and were forced to endure the nose-pinching, gag-inducing, eye-watering disgust of taking a dose of the dreaded tonic. Comparable only to the Bilewitdox of the cavalry, it tasted like it was spawned from the same foul cess-pits from whence the Uruk-Hai were allegedly manufactured. Allacan had long believed the vile concoction must have some abhorrent beginning, and now she had confirmed it; even Saruman's misdeeds in Rohan thus far had not prepared her for this true horror.

She cried out in the closest thing to a scream that she had uttered since she was a girl, and like a wild-thing began desperately clawing out for something, anything, she could grasp to drag herself from the foul mess as it slowly sucked in her ankles and set to drawing in her calves with the implacable certainty of doom. "Help, help!" she desperately cried out despite herself, discovering that even in her wildest nightmares her imagination had failed to fashion so terrible a fate as she might befall now, to be swallowed alive by the toxic tonic, to drown with that vileness entering her mouth, her nose, her ears. She gagged as it crept up towards her knees, her eyes watering already from the fumes and dropped her hands momentarily as though she could somehow push the creeping globule of goo off her, all rational thought lost in her terror.

And then her hand brushed across the rope she carried at her side. With fumbling fingers fuelled by utter terror, she ripped the rope clean away from her belt and desperately forced her trembling hands to fashion a loop. Every moment seemed to have slowed as her brain fired a hundred times faster than normal, fuelled by the adrenaline of knowing there was even the slightest possibility of escape. Her first toss towards the far banister post was short, the second went wide, and she took a few seconds to breath carefully again in an attempt to calm herself against the creeping, chill sensation of the gloop closing around her thighs like the cold embrace of ironic death, swallowed alive by the gruel she had often struggled to swallow. Her breathing only served to make her gag again, and knowing she was about to be overcome by the fumes if not the goo, she tried one last desperate throw.

The rope landed awkwardly about the newel post, and with a couple of quick tugs to one side she was able to convince the loop to drop neatly down and around its ornate nob. With strength fuelled by fear, she dragged herself bodily towards the staircase, grunting and gagging as she felt the dreaded concoction beneath her desperately seeking to suck her down and away. At last, with a long-drawn out sucking noise followed by a squelching pop, the suctioned pressure released and she felt herself finally moving freely again. She did not hesitate or pause a moment to enjoy her liberty, but scrabbled desperately on all fours away across the floor and halfway up the stairway before she finally allowed herself to pause, gasping and panting with eyes still wide and white with fear.

Her hands still shook as she grabbed some of nearby tattered material and used it to scrape as much of the vile substance's residue from her legs and feet. It was with relief she discovered that her beloved sword 'Fire Spanker' was still safely snug in the sheath on her belt, but as fear finally began to fade away, it was replaced with anger. Recollection of all the awful times she had tasted that vile soup, the commiserations offered by so many others who had been subjected to its grotesque gruel.

"You'll pay for this Saruman. If it is the last thing I do, you'll pay for putting that awful soup into the world" she cursed, bracing herself before stepping cold-faced through the next door.

Floor Four

The room was quiet, and open, but after the last room's deceptively dangerous threat she approached this one with more caution. A strange fog didn't quite fill the room, but instead shifted in the central space as though held there by some ethereal tether, shifting and billowing unnaturally towards her. She reached one hand out in a futile attempt to wave the mist away, and the moment her skin came into contact with the eerie cloud she heard the sound of notes being played, and cut off mid-note.

Shuddering in discomfort, she automatically hums the last few notes of the refrain which unfinished, grated against her soul, but before she had completed the set another tune rang in her ears, this one as incomplete as the last, the tune trailing off before its familiar crescendo. Like an ear-worm tugging at her focus, she began to sing the last of that melody only to be interrupted by another half-finished song. She immediately jumped into the work-song to finish it with gusto only to hear the cacophony build as a different tune lifted up, jarring in its contrast in both pace and key. She whirled around, and the vision of musicians drawling out a grim funeral march erupted across her vision, juxtaposed awkwardly with the joyously jarring noise of the tavern group bawling out a drinking shantey over her other shoulder. The mess of melodies and poor harmonies grated against her soul, and she slammed her eyes shut, plugged her ears and dredged from her memories a tune once sung long ago in cavalry halls by an older warrior Wulfric.

"A maiden of such joy and beauty galore
Did capture my eye as I marched out to war
When the battle was over and I came back that route
I found her enlisted and Marshal to boot.

Oh marry me, marry me, my Marshal fair.
A veil on your helm with that bright blonde horse-hair
You can wear all your armour and a bouquet of spears
But don't turn too quickly or you'll chop off my ears.

D) Attempt to plug your ears and close your eyes to block out the things that are scaring you, reasoning that if they cannot contact you, they cannot scare you?


(Equipped with her trusty sword 'Fire-Spanker' and a scrap of paper with a one-use Word of Power (I presume my rope was expended in the escape from the sludge))
26 hit points remaining

@KingODuckingham Congratulations to your and your family - hope wife and baby are feeling recovered and you are managing to get the rest you need. I promise I didn't cheat and read ahead as I didn't read beyond your last post until after I had posted, but if you want to amend the outcome I don't mind.

[Lail]

Sasparilla Banks

FIFTH FLOOR

Though Rilla was relieved to reach the other side of the foggy room, her feet still prickled with pain from whatever had been lurking in the mud on the third floor. She forgot about it all, though, when she stepped through the curtain and onto the stage. "Me, on the Price is White?" she exclaimed, not that she'd ever heard of it, but the audience's attention and bright lights were all overwhelming. Smoothing her skirts, she smiled and became very excited to be the subject of so much attention.

All she really heard was prize. "Oh I want to win a prize!! What's the prize, is it food?!" She jumped up and down. "What an odd question!" she told the announcer. She bit her lip and squinted out at the audience as they called answers out to her. Unfortunately, she could not hear what they were telling her to say, and though she considered answering "$1.00, Bob", that wasn't an option.

"Yes! Yes I think the powder must be worth more than 2,000 orcs!" she blurted and hoped the audience was not made up of those 2,000 orcs...would they be offended? Rilla simply could not face any more orcs today. Or tomorrow, or the next day. Or hopefully ever again.

A) Guess that the can of powder is worth more than the two thousand orcs
27 hp

[Dimcairien Luiniel]

Eómund
FOURTH FLOOR

The rope had worked to get him safely across the mud, though it looked like the rope might be on its last legs. Hopefully it would last until he got to the top of the tower and dealt with the traitor way up there. But now, as he arrived on the second floor, he suddenly fo was unable to see because of a thick, sinister fog. Eómund shivered, because while it wasn't exactly cold, he swore he could hear voices in the fog and perhaps even see things. He had no idea if he was hallucinating or not. "Hello?" he called out nervously, but at the same time he also wanted to curl into a ball and forget everything was going on. Something was not right about this room.

Taking a step out into the fog he wondered if he would ever find the way up to the next level or if he would just be lost in the fog forever. But he suddenly remembered that he had chosen to bring a lantern with him during this journey. Perhaps it could prove useful in dispelling some of the darkness. With that, Eómund took out the lantern and flint and proceeded to make a light, hoping that it would cut through the darkness and show him the way out.

(F)
25HP

OOC: I'll post fifth floor when I'm a bit more awake. Hopefully before your next update.

[Allacan ob Burzum]

(Presuming I survive the previous floor).

Floor Five

She was still humming her tune as she passed through the next doorway into a strangely snug, enclosed, darkened space. She was enclosed only for a moment as the soft curtains enveloped her, for almost as soon as she pushed forwards she found the resistance give way to blinding openness. Her eyes squinted and she caught herself from stumbling and instinctively threw up a hand to block the light even as a charismatic voice called out into the open space. For a moment she feared she might be expected to perform and was grateful she had warmed up her rusty voice a little in the previous room, but just as her eyes were beginning to adjust and she could see the shadowy outline of the container placed before her for her inspection.

Allacan dropped her arm to her side slowly and stood up straight, glancing sideways at the figure ringed in light, posing the query to her in a confident tone that demanded compliance simply through the softness and pleasantness of its tone. Her eyes carefully assessed the scene, the shadowy outline of the figures awaiting her, the details of the gentleman who shared the stage, the curtains, the boards beneath her feet, the nature of the challenge set before her before finally, and with almost a cursory glance to confirm what she already suspected, the jar of black powder.

She feels something come over her, almost like her hands and body start moving in a manner not her own, and she feels herself roll her eyes and [in my best Cumberbatch Sherlock impression] spires her hand in front of her face for only a moment as she focuses into the middle distance before suddenly hearing her own voice exiting her mouth, forming words she didn't believe she was capable of uttering as though the magic of theatre itself has possessed her"You're looking for an answer, yes? High or low? Good. Excellent. Yes. Where shall we start. How about with you? The washed out stage performer and your struggling troupe. The answer is no" she says with surprising speed and alacrity, which appears to catch her co-performer off guard. "No?" He responds, and she replies as though she had paused only sufficiently for him to ask the fully-anticipated question and never intended to allow a moment more.

"You have a penchant for the dramatic, not exactly what is required here given the lack of space, audience and enthusiasm for your act. Your melodramatic movements prove you were trained to deliver speeches to a wider audience and this is not your usual show. You wear a gold chain around your neck; tarnished and aged but significantly richer than the rest of the garb, probably a gift from your troupe's late patron; anyone able to afford such a trinket for a mere player must be well endowed but has clearly not continued to furnish you with funding as exhibited by the rest of your attire. I say 'late' because the fact you continue to wear it shows that clearly the promising relationship you had with this individual ended either amicably or with grief rather than through some discontent. Additionally, and in the true nature of a superstitious thespian you naively believe it to be lucky, hence your continue to wear it during performances rather than pawn it off or safeguard it for sentimentality.

"Your jacket, velvet dyed red with a unique colouring has been imported from Osgiliath or potentially South Ithilien suggests you once had some element of wealth through your own efforts rather than purely patronage, but now it is faded with age and use and you clearly lack the funds with which to replace it with newer garb. It's fitted, but doesn't quite match your form any more; not so much that it wasn't tailored to you or in suggestion that you have lost or gained significant weight but it would instead appear that you have replaced muscle with the looseness of fat, but no so much that suggests you can afford to feed yourself to gluttony, or have any need to exercise because you aren't performing regularly. You've travelled; the dried grass caught in the lace at your wrist isn't local to the Riddermark or Fangorn but is in fact the leafy remnant of a foreign flower, from the Shire to be precise, so not only have you recently begun neglecting the care of your professional robes but you also haven't performed for more than a month, if not years; this particular type of flower is a derivative of the snowdrop which normally blooms in early Spring, so you haven't pulled this out of storage for at least a month, probably more.

"The jacket tells more; the bleaching across the front and right shoulder suggests you once performed in the open air often enough for the sun to discolour it, but the discolouration to the right shoulder over the left implies that you prefer to play on the right side of the stage - as you are currently exhibiting - with your front right shoulder towards the light. This might suggest that you are perhaps vain enough to wish even the sunlight to brighten your face for your audience, except that your blatantly average looks and nervously twitching fingers clearly betray that you are not a self-confident man despite your attempts to portray one. Which means you actually play with the sun in your face so you don't have to see your audience's faces, further indication of your stage fright, and now that you are limited to the confines or a tower you must achieve the same effect of blinding yourself from witnessing the disappointment and boredom of your audience with the use of bright lights instead.

"An untrained eye might believe you have perhaps two, maybe three years of stage experience to your name simply from your stance and attempt at a guarded reaction, except the clear sign of pulled stitching and the careful repair work at the left collar and right sleeve clearly imply that this jacket has been repeatedly repaired and patched. no-one would go to such efforts for a new performer. So it would seem that you have more experience treading the boards than your demeanour would merit, but have failed to succeed in gaining any notoriety, which is supported by the gormless expression you now wear at encountering an individual not immediately responding to your performance with the expected script; you've lost the quickness of improvisation that comes with youth or regular practice.

"With those shaky hands you can't possibly be the maker of that careful stitching, or indeed be trusted with handling any pinch of black powder, so this is clearly not what it appears to be; a one-man show, and you have a number of assistants in the wing; stage-hands, a costumer who doubles as your make-up artist, perhaps even an audience plant, likely sat in the front, right most seat so as to reduce your need to clearly witness the faces of your audience when you collect them allegedly unwillingly from their seat to barter against my guess. Which you will endeavour to do as soon as I have provided you with an answer to your question while you surreptitiously tweak the scales so that they complete whatever reading is necessary to ensure my supposition is incorrect; I suspect we can find those scales in the right-most wing and that they will be marked with grime in such a manner as to clearly show that the weighting has been done any number of times because of the wearing across both sides of the hinge in equal measure on both sides with no deviation. And concluding that this is a poorly sponsored performance by a washed up performing group who have yet to let it sink in to their tiny, simple minds that they would make more money selling their wares and taking up a new profession while they still have the capacity to learn new skills, then my answer to your query is no. No I will not engage in what is clearly a farce of a challenge, no I will not pander to these weak performance before a half-attentive audience, and no I do not intend to waste another moment of my time on your ridiculous display."

Allacan's mouth finally closed and the torrent of words ceased. She was as astounded within as both the performer and the audience appeared to be on the outside, she quickly made a move to step off the stage and towards the stair exit, hoping that the strange spirit that had suddenly overcome her had at least bought her enough of a stunned pause for her to manage her escape before they regained their senses.

E) Go on a long, rambling monologue that never gets to the point, attempting to put everyone to sleep?

(Equipped with her trusty sword 'Fire-Spanker' and a scrap of paper with a one-use Word of Power)
?? hit points remaining (awaiting outcome of previous post)

[Moriel]

Fifth Floor
18 HP

This quest was really not going very well, Gellam considered as he thwacked about blindly with his lochaber, stumbling through the fog. All thoughts of breezing gracefully through this tower like some legendary high-elf of old had been banished, along with all thoughts of glory. At this point, the Fool just wanted to make it through, do the job, and get the fredegar out of Isengard. At last, he was able to drag himself to the next floor, where he shoved through the thick curtain- and was immediately dazzled by the bright limelight and the snazzy voice of the announcer. Now this was more like it! Gellam struck a handsome pose, leaning casually upon the lochaber. Apparently it was some kind of game show, which he had never participated in before, but one type of entertainment was as good as another! “Well now, black powder you say? Black powder could be very valuable if it was the right kind of black powder,” Gellam pretended to consider seriously, while slipping out his tin of powdered chalk, “It could be more or less valuable than white powder like this, you see?” He opened the tin of chalk and quickly dipped a finger into it, painting white streaks beneath his eyes. “White powder can be the most valuable, but more valuable than the heads of two thousand orcs? Who knows!” Light blocking thus achieved, the Fool scanned about for the exit, hoping he wouldn’t have to suffer another beating to get out of this one- or waste too much time talking the announcer into insensibility.

Option F

[Dimcairien Luiniel]

Ok, assuming I manage to get through the fog somehow.

Eómund
FIFTH FLOOR

Finally able to see again, Eómund arrived on the fifth floor to find his way blocked by a giant curtain, but it was quite easy to push his way through it. Entering the room, he was suddenly in a giant spotlight. Eómund quickly blinked several times, trying to adjust to the intense brightness. He heard a voice say something about a gameshow. "Really?" Eómund inwardly groaned, "I hate those things." But, it seemed to be the next step in ascending the tower, so try he must.

The host continued with the question and said, "If you can guess whether this can of new black powder is worth more or less than the heads of two thousand orcs, you win a special priiiiize!"

Eómund stared at what he supposed was the can of powder and quickly tried to come up with a witty answer. "What is value?" he finally asked, before launching into a discourse into the subjectivity of values.

Option C)
25 HP (though I don't know my score from level 4 yet)

[Aerlinn]

Talen
The Fifth Floor

The fog spat Talen pale and trembling out into the stairway. He climbed away from that terrible room as quickly as he could, stumbling against the wall with his arms wrapped tightly about himself. He might have given up then, but there was no way out except back, and undomesticated equines could not have returned him to the fourth floor. Still shivering, he reached the top of the steps and pushed through a heavy curtain.

And squeaked in shock.

The dazzling spotlight drilled into his eyes and he couldn't make heads or tails of what was being shouted at him. " POWDERED ORC OF WHAT? TURN DOWN THAT BLASTED LIGHT!" he yelled back, but it was no use. "I CAN'T SEE ANYTHING YOU DOLT! WHAT ARE YOU ON ABOUT?" Talen waved the fancy decorative buckler around for emphasis, but it was useless.

"GAAAAAAAAHH!" he cried, and in a fit of temper and frustration threw the small shield as hard as he could towards where the light was brightest. It shattered with a spectacular crash and finally the boy could see past the stage to the outline of a door. He ran for it full tilt but couldn't resist hurling a final insult at his tormentor.

"Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of orc armpits!"

(G) 25 HP

[KingODuckingham]

THE RESULTS OF FLOOR FIVE

@Gwai @Lailyn The audience was mostly made of orcs, and they are NOT happy to hear that you undervalue their lives! They bite, tear, and scratch you before you successfully flee the room (prizeless). You lose 4 HP.

@Bïfrøst @Dimcairien Luiniel Your discourse was no doubt informative, but the audience became restless, and eventually attacked before you finished. The host wasn't going to award you for what he felt was a cop-out answer either. You lose 2 HP.

@Lirimaer You attempted to run for it with no way to turn off the light, and suffer a number of minor contusions on the way out. You lose 3 HP.

@Allafyrefleorhtlig Your ramblings succeeded in putting everyone to sleep, host, audience, and even tech crew. Not only do you lose no HP, you manage to snag the host's microphone on the way out and sneak it into your pack.

@Sil @Moriel The winning move was not to play, it seems. Your chalk allows you an easy escape. You lose no HP. Your chalk is almost out though.

@Aerlinn That buckler came in handy! You lose the buckler, but you lose no HP!

Fleeing the spotlight, you come instead to a mysteriously moving staircase that lifts you slowly but surely to...

THE SIXTH FLOOR

This floor is nothing but one long hallway. You walk along it for quite a while--you think perhaps nearly an hour--and are confronted with the sight of the automatically escalating stairs to your right again. You saw no other doors, turns, exits, or anything for that matter along the way, only dank bare stone walls. How could you even have ended up back where you began? You are sure you did not turn at all. You turn around and peer back the way you came. Nothing but hallway. You look forward again. Nothing but hallway, as far as your eyes can see (no matter how keen). It seems this floor has some spell upon it? Do you:

A) Walk along again, but this time paying attention to the ceiling, looking for a weak spot that you can break to move up to the next floor in a less conventional fashion?
B) Retreat a floor to collect the host from previous level, and try to threaten Saruman with his life in exchange for breaking the spell?
C) Attempt to break the escalating stairs, thinking that perhaps their magic is linked to the magic of the floor?
D) [ONLY IF YOU HAVE CHALK] Use your chalk to mark your path as you go, using it to discover the secrets of movement on this floor?
E) [ONLY IF YOU HAVE A SECONDARY WEAPON] Sacrifice your extra weapon to break a hole in a wall so that you may continue?
F) [ONLY IF YOU HAVE A WORD OF POWER] Utter the word of power in order to break the spell that lies on this floor?


And by way of catch-up, some results from the previous floors:

@Queen Nerwen Your creative use of buttons has pleased the bureaucrats! They give you a medal in addition to sending you on your way to the third floor.

@Dimcairien Luiniel Your lantern has burned low, but you made it through floor four and you lose no HP.

@Allafyrefleorhtlig Your rope got you through floor three unscathed, but your attempt to block out the scary sounds and sights of floor four was only partially successful: you lose 2 HP.

If I missed anyone in this update please let me know, I keep double-checking in paranoia but I think I got everyone. Cheers!

[Lirimaer]

Éowine - Rider of the Mark

Éowine hit the door only after hitting every other item in the room. He kind of wanted a lie down after that. The blood dripping from his head was a problem, and he sat on the stairs to the next level wondering if all this hassle was worth it. He had no idea what he was supposed to do if he actually came across Saruman, and he hadn't realised he would be so alone in here. He'd heard other people, screaming and fighting, but seen no one.

It must be foul sorcery, he reasoned, dabbing at the sticky mess in his hairline. Another rider, seeing his plight, would certainly have helped him. An elf might, even, if his need had been dire enough. And yet the only help he'd had was from a jeering Dunlending ... it was quite dispiriting.

As he stumbled wearily upstairs, he wasn't really looking about, so as he found himself in a seemingly empty corridor with no open doors or way upstairs, he thought he must've missed something. He retraced his steps, checking the woodwork and panelling for secret doors, and looking high and low for a hidden entrance.

(A)
20 HP

[Silky Gooseness]

FLOOR VI, SILARIEN XXVI HP

Silarien slides a trembling, chalky hand over her face. The powder clings to her cheeks and gives her a faint, wraithlike luminescence as she stares at the stone walls again.

They stare back, blankly. The never ending stretch before and behind creeps on, into a set of hollow mouths. No way out. No way up.

The Elf fingers her tin of chalk again. There’s just enough left, especially if she scrapes up the dust from her face. Smearing it onto her fingers, she begins to mark the stone, trailing her hand along the wall as she steps forward. This should untangle the spell.

OPTION D

[Dimcairien Luiniel]

Éomund
Sixth Floor

There was just a bit of fuel left in his lantern, perhaps only enough for one more use, but at least he had gotten through the fog without a problem. Ascending to the sixth floor, Éomund found himself in a hallway that seemed to go on and on forever. He kept walking for what felt like hours and didn't seem to get anywhere. "What sort of devilry is this?" Éomund wondered to himself, before spotting a set of automatically escalating stairs to his right, which only confirmed the fact that there was something sinister going on with the magic of the tower.

Not wanting to risk injuring himself on the escalating stairs, Éomund began to (attempt) to retrace his steps and find a way to reach the next level by carefully paying attention to the ceiling to see if there were any weak spots he could utilise and break in order to go up.

(A)
23 HP[/color]

[Gwai]

5th --> 6th floor

This audience was more violent than the usual onset on TV, and as Gwai discussed her answer with the host, the crowd began booing, and some actually charged the stage. Luckily Gwai had her sword with her, so she quickly drew it. What sort of game show was this? It was more like a reality show! She fought her way to the exit, the orcs raining a few lucky blows, but she did manage to dispatch a few of them as she made it out of the exit, and slammed the door behind her. She took a deep breath. She was in one piece, more or less, banged up and a little more worse for wear, but alive, and that was what mattered.

It was too late to go back, so Gwai continued forward. The hallway was long, dimly lit, but at least there were no orcs, fog, game show hosts, or worse yet, bureaucrats. Gwai was beginning to wonder if she was hallucinating as the hallway seemed completely endless. Most likely a fell trick of Saruman's, she decided as she pressed onward. Finally she came upon a staircase. It was moving, and Gwai looked at it, dumbstruck. This was the original staircase! She had a strong sense of direction, and was certain she had been traveling in a straight line for the last hour. She was equally confident there had been no doors or windows.

Gwai thought about her options. She thought about using her sword to cut a hole through the wall, but she worried she may break her sword, and would likely need it later with how things were going. Other options ran through her head, some serious, and some more crazy, such as kidnapping. Saruman probably wouldn't want the host, so that would be for naught, plus there was an angry crowd down there. Finally, she decided to try to break the magical stairs. Perhaps their magic was tied in to the magic of this floor? It was worth a try, Gwai decided.

Option C
23 HP

[Lail]

Sasparilla Banks

FIFTH TO SIXTH

Well, as soon as the words were out of her mouth, the crowd bellowed in outrage and Rilla realized her mistake. The house lights turned on and she saw, well, thousands of orcs. It could have been as many as two thousand, but Rilla had never been much good at guessing how many candies were in the jar, let alone how many angry orcs were yelling at her. "Not more orcs!" she moaned.

All attempts to flee were to no avail. The orcs chased after her and pulled her hair and snatched at her skirts, scratching her legs and though she tried to use her walking stick in defense, she only managed to boop one of the orcs on the nose. It was a rather more affectionate motion than she intended.

After that, she ducked down and managed to scramble out on her hands and knees until she reached a very dark hallway where she collapsed and began to weep. Her whole body hurt where the orcs hit her and she thought she might have broken a pinky finger! What a horrible idea this had been, coming to Rohan in search of a badger burger!

One hour later...
Rilla ran out of tears, or the energy for tears, and stood up with fists clenched. If she found out who was operating this loathsome orc-infested tower, she was going to give them a piece of her mind! In fact, after wandering around the hall and finding herself back in the same spot by a very odd stairway that seemed to...move, Rilla's temper burst and she descended into a full-on temper tantrum that had not been seen since her very early tween days.

"Stupid tower! Stupid Rohan! Stupid - BADGER- BURGERS!" She yelled as she beat the wall with her walking stick. Maybe with any luck she'd beat a hole through the wall.

E) Sacrifice your extra weapon (walking stick) to break a hole in a wall so that you may continue?
23 hp

[The Good Hunter]

Æthelgifu
18 HP

Sixth Floor

Well that hadn’t worked. She had merely tried to explained to those plebian buffoons the real meaning of value but of course none of them wanted to hear it. They threw a jar of tomatoes at her and knocked her woozy. Lucky for her, the frothing masses were so incensed that they couldn’t decide where and how to get her. She vanished into the sixth floor.

She walked. And walked. And walked. And walked. There was something wrong here. How long had she been walking? Surely there was an end to this hallway.

Wait.

Those stairs. Those stairs were the exact one she had climbed to get here. She hadn’t turned, had she? This tower was getting disorienting. There was strange magic a play here. She should have listened to her mother.

There was nothing for it. She had to walk the hallway again. She would be more vigilant this time around. She would watch for any breaks in the pattern, and oddities, anything indicating the real way to get out of here.

Option A, por favor

[Nerwen Nuke-queen]

Nerwen Meneldur (powdered chalk and rope)

THIRD FLOOR

She had successfully distracted the business types enough that they didn't notice she was an imposter and they even gave her a medal for her executive talk and modelling. Nerwen weighed it in her hands as she sneaked her way upstairs to the third floor. Wondering was next, she gently pushed open the door and immediately wrinkled her nose. This floor was a filthy mess. The room completely covered in dust and cobwebs, which were covered in more dust. The place looked utterly untouched for many years. The dwarfette felt herself going a little sweaty palmed at the idea of living like this. There are mounds of muck and unidentifiable rot lying in piles all around her, and was the floor bubbling slightly? She took a tentative step and immediately felt her feet begin to be sucked at as she moved forward. She lifted a foot, with a great sucking sound and it came away without her boot and as she stood there on one leg, Nerwen watched in horror as her boot slowly vanished from view. It seemed the muck had strange qualities because it was also now difficult to move the foot which was still on the ground, even wiggling her toes was difficult. With great trepidation, Nerwen lowered her bootless foot onto the filthy surface and tested it. It seemed she had a few seconds of weight bearing where she wasn't sinking. As often happens in times of emergency, dark thoughts started to encroach on her brain, what is the filth was actually remains? And this was a trap to suck people down for Saruman to deal with later as he wished? What if she was actually standing on decomposing bodies and other matter. Nerwen shuddered. Okay, time to get out of here and quickly. By moving her weight backwards and she managed to get her other foot out her boot, sacrificing them was nothing compared to her life and she could always buy another pair. Then with a grace and agility utterly unheard of among dwarves, she tiptoed, pirouetted, balanced, waltzed and sashayed her way across the filth, spending no more than a few seconds on one spot, towards the next level.


Option B) Abandon your shoes to the muck and attempt to light-footedly dance across the top of the mess?

[Allacan ob Burzum]

Floor Five - leaving

The quiet that fell at the end of her rant was almost eerie, but just as she found herself suddenly back in control of her own functions and opening her mouth to apologise, the silence was punctuated by a snore. She hesitated, only to hear yet another snore erupt, and blinking into the darkness discovered the whole audience had been put to sleep. A disgruntled voice still lingering in the back of her mind commented "they must not be Cumberbatch fans". What the hell was a Cumberbatch?! It was not quite the reaction Allacan had expected given the tirade her tongue had uttered on behalf of the entity that had momentarily possessed her, but she was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. She turned back to the assaulted compere only to find him shaken and speechless, thrusting his microphone forward as though it might serve to help defend him from her words, only moments before he started to topple as sleep overcame him like a spell.

"Whoops" she says, catching him and just about managing to stop both body and falling microphone from creating either injury or noise as they fell to the boards. "I don't think that's quite the way you wanted to 'drop the mic' today" she said as she pocketed the microphone for safe-keeping and lay his sleeping form carefully into the recovery position. Having thus disarmed the room, she swiftly dropped down into the stalls and strode between the rows and rows of slumbering people to a stairway towards the back. A stairway... that moved.

Floor Six

Her dubious wariness of the stairs overcome, she rather enjoyed the sensation of being slowly lifted towards the next level without any expenditure of energy, it was rather like a calm, relaxing ride. Due to its soothing nature, by the time she reached the next floor she was much less fraught with the adrenaline of stage-nerves and thinking clearer. As she walked down the long corridor, wondering at its length and the width of the tower itself and quietly hoping the stair at the other end would also be moving so she could have another floaty ride. Her wish was granted, in a manner of speaking. The stair at the far end of the corridor was moving, but not upwards. That is, it was certainly ascending from one floor to the other, but the floor on which she stood was its destination, not its source. As she stared down the stairs slowly crawling their way upwards towards her, she heard the strange sound of snoring emanating from below. "Wait, what?" she exclaims, crouching down to get a better view of the room below her, which was unmistakably the one she had just left.

She turned around and glanced back down the hallway. Had she somehow become so distracted that she got herself turned about? Surely not?! To be absolutely certain, she retraced her steps down the long, dim corridor, definitively leaving the ascending stairs behind her, only to once again find them to be afore her, waiting at the end of the corridor. "Saruman, you sneaky trickster" she said aloud in frustration, then reached for the scroll in her pocket with annoyance, deciding that this was exactly the moment for which such preparations were designed for. She unrolled the scroll, tool a deep breath, and exclaimed aloud in a voice that suddenly sounded more grated and high-pitched than normal, but with no hesitation in its enthusiasm.

"FLUFFERNUTTER!!!!!"

F) Utter the word of power in order to break the spell that lies on this floor?

(Equipped with her trusty sword 'Fire-Spanker' and the host's microphone)
24 hit points remaining

[KingODuckingham]

THE RESULTS OF FLOOR SIX

@Lirimaer @Frostbite @Dimcairien Luiniel Things are unraveling as you approach Saruman. Your options are more limited, but you have done your best. Falling rocks from the collapsing ceiling you created glance off of you. You lose 2 HP.

@Gwai A clever move! Your instincts were correct. You have broken the spell on this floor, and may proceed unharmed. You lose no HP.

@Sil Your chalk is spent, but something about the artificially smeared material breaks through the illusion, allowing you to find in safety the otherwise hidden door to the next floor.

@Lailyn It cost you a weapon that is now essentially shattered by stone, but you have made it through unscathed.

@Allafyrefleorhtlig Your word of power is now nothing more than a scrap of useless paper, but you have overpowered the spell, leaving you free to proceed unharmed.

All of you, by hook or by crook, have found your way up to...

THE SEVENTH FLOOR

When you first enter the chamber on this floor, you are startled almost out of your skin by what you thought was Saruman. You quickly realize, though, that it is only a lifeless statue. It is astonishingly realistic, however, you have to give the sculptor and artists credit for that. The statue stands in front of the exit, and is impossibly heavy, as you find if you try to move it out of the way. Whether you do or not, after a moment the statue's eyes glow and a mechanical sounding imitation Saruman voice speaks from the depths of the stone, posing a riddle to you:

"COMPLETE THE FOLLOWING SEQUENCE:
1 0
8 3
32 5
128 ?"

Do you:

A) Guess 8?
B) Guess 7?
C) Guess 12?
D) Guess 18?
E) Guess a whole bunch of numbers really fast, hoping to confuse the statue by guessing the correct one somewhere in the middle?
F) [ONLY IF YOU HAVE A SECONDARY WEAPON LEFT] Attack the statue hoping to pierce a weak spot?
G) [ONLY IF YOU HAVE PIPEWEED] Smoke the rest of your pipeweed, hoping it will give you inspiration to answer correctly?

@Queen Nerwen Your light-footedness pays off; you have escaped this floor unscathed!

[Gwai]

6th --> 7th floor

Gwai was a bit surprised when her plan worked, but breaking the magical stairs seemed to do the trick, as she was able to proceed down the hallway that now, un-magically, had an ending point. She was still a bit suspicious, but the next staircase seemed legitimate, and, more importantly, had an end point.

She cautiously existed into a chamber, and immediately gave a start, her eyes wide, pulling her sword out of the sheath in a swift motion, wishing she had brought her bow. Saruman! She raised her sword, but was surprised when he neither said nor did anything. Cautious, she took another step forward, before lowering her sword sheepishly. He was a statue!

Gwai approached the statue, on the lookout for booby traps, but it seemed harmless enough. She looked at it curiously. Truly, a fine artist indeed had made this, as it looked quite lifelike. Unfortunately, it was standing in front of the exit. Gwai tried to shove it out of the way, but it was surprisingly heavy. She tried again, putting her entire body-weight behind it, but she failed to budge the ridiculously heavy statue. She stopped and wiped the sweat off her forehead. Maybe it was magical after all? She regretted that last pastry she had when she had run into the bureaucrats, as she was unable to squeeze behind the statue.

A moment later, however, the statue began to speak, it's eyes glowing red. Gwai leapt back, pulling her sword once more, but the statue merely delivered a riddle, asking to complete the following sequence before spewing out a few numbers.

Gwai was so surprised she couldn't remember what numbers the statue had said, so she had to go through the whole rigamarole of trying to move the statue to trigger the riddle. This time, however, she was paying attention. Hopefully it was a straight forward riddle and not a trick.

B--Guess 7
23 HP

[Lirimaer]

Éowine - Rider of the Mark

Éowine entered the chamber on the seventh floor, and was almost startled out of his wits by coming face-to-face with Saruman the Many Coloured. It took him a moment of foolish terror to realise that the wizard was not attacking, or in fact blinking or breathing. Ahhh, it was a statue, of exceedingly fine make, good stature in fact. The eyebrows, particularly, were enormously fierce and the eyes followed him as he walked around the thing.

Unfortunately, it was guarding the exit, and was as good a barrier as anything he has come across so far. He couldn't squeeze past it, despite being particularly good at that sort of thing.

After a moment of being interfered with, the statue's eyes began to glow, and Éowine stumbled backward in case it did something freaky. A mechanical-sounding imitation-Saruman voice spoke from the depths of the stone, posing a riddle.

Maths. Maths? Number puzzles could bite his behind.

Éowine took out his pipeweed, put a little in the pipe and tamped it down, then staring at the statue, defiantly lit it. Taking more than a few puffs, he could feel himself calming ... ahhh. This was much more enjoyable than maths puzzles.

(G)
18 HP

[Nerwen Nuke-queen]

Nerwen Meneldur (powdered chalk and rope)

FOURTH FLOOR

After the trauma of the mud and filth, Nerwen had been looking forward to a nice easy stage. One with soft grass and welcoming friends would have been very welcomed indeed. However, on this level the floor appeared to be a single, vast, open room. She couldn't see any walls, or even floors or ceiling because of the deep fog before her. She stretched out a hand and as her fingers touched the fog, they chilled and felt a little damp. Nerwen withdrew her fingers. The only way was forward, she didn't want to go back to the mud. Nerwen took a deep breath and stepped into the fog. Immediately terrifying voices and monstrous visions assaulted her senses. Instinctively, she ducked and curled in on herself. Was this a trick of the fog? A manifestation of Saruman's evil magic? Her heart beat raised rapidly, she didn't know which way to turn, what was up and what was down. What if the floor she was standing on was also a fiction? Eyes squashed shut, the dwarfette felt the world beneath her feet as her imagination took hold. She clasped her hands over her ears and tried to breath slowly, not thinking about the fog, which probably wasn't toxic anyway, right? Gradually she unlocked her knees, stretching and releasing some of the tension which had seized her. Releasing her ears very quickly, she shrugged her arms inside her tunic, looping her arms underneath so her tunic was around her neck she then tied the arms around her head, muffling her ears. The screams and witching noises reduced. With her eye still tight shut, she placed one hand over them to make sure she definitely didn't see, and held one ahead of her. The dwarfette then began slowly shuffling across the room.


D) Attempt to plug your ears and close your eyes to block out the things that are scaring you, reasoning that if they cannot contact you, they cannot scare you?

[Silky Gooseness]

Silarien, Floor VII, XXVI HP

The chalk smeared on Silarien’s face gives a weird wraithlike cast to her features. Fortunately, no one’s looking - or ARE THEY?

No, they’re not. That isn’t Saruman. This is just a tribute.

Hesitantly, Silarien grasps the statue by the arm and tries to yank it out of the way, but whatever subtle craft has created it, it’s made of something astonishingly heavy, or perhaps it’s bolted into the floor. At any rate, she can’t shift it, and it seems like a bad idea to break her blade by trying to lever it out of the way.

Anyway, it’s speaking, so that’s cool.

“You what?” mumbles Silarien. She hits the statue on the top of its head. Its voice isn’t nearly as magical as Authentic Saruman, but it repeats the riddle.

It sounds like the kind of knowledge that can’t be gained by a Jedi (whatever that is).

“Uhhh, seven, I guess,” says Silarien, warily. It can’t be that straightforward, can it?

OPTION B

[Dimcairien Luiniel]

Éomund
Seventh Floor

There were some falling rocks as Éomund attempted to break through to the next floor. Though he received a few bruises, he soon found himself on the next level and was promptly startled by a figure who, for several seconds, swore was Saruman. Thankfully, he discovered that it was not the case, but the reality wasn't much better. It was a statue, who in a mechanical voice, that sounded awfully similar to the real Saruman, recited a series of numbers. Éomund blinked. Maths were not his strength by any means. But hopefully he could determine the correct answer and that in correct answers did not equal sudden death. He bit his lip and thought deeply for a long time. At last, he straightened up and gave the statue what he hoped was the appropriate answer.

C - Guess 12
22 HP

[Lail]

Sasparilla Banks
23 hp

Sixth to Seventh
Rilla's tantrum proved to be fruitless. She whacked the wall with her walking stick until the stick broke with a loud crack and splintered into pieces. Hm. Grandmother was not going to be happy about her heirloom walking stick being broken. Not that she knew Rilla had taken it with her...that was going to be difficult to explain when she got home.

But. There was also a gaping hole in the wall big enough to fit a little hobbit like her.

Who was that? She jumped in fright when she saw the statue-thing thinking it was a real person. But at least it was not more orcs! But the old-guy looking quite grumpy whom Rilla did not recognise did not move.

"Oh, it only a statue," she gasped to herself in relief. She stepped up to the statue and tried rubbing his nose like the side of a magic lamp, hoping a mysterious being might come grant her a wish...to get out of this tower and on her way to Rohan!

No luck, but the statue did ask her a strange kind of riddle. It was not like a fun riddle she was used to, but a mathematical one with lots of numbers...too many numbers, in fact. "What!" she replied. "How do you expect me to know that?" Rilla was not fond of doing sums. What was a hobbit to do?

She pulled her pipeweed from her pocket, lit her pipe and breathed in. She already felt better. Wait, what was the question again?

G) Smoke the rest of your pipeweed, of course!

[KingODuckingham]

THE RESULTS OF FLOOR SEVEN (THERE ARE 10 FLOORS AND THE 10TH FLOOR IS A SARUMAN SHOWDOWN IN CASE YOU WERE WONDERING

@Gwai @Sil You recognized the pattern: left result, right exponent, where X is 2 to the right power. Or maybe you just guessed. Either way, the statue grinds sideways, opening the passage upward to you. You lose no HP.

@Dimcairien Luiniel You guessed incorrectly, and the statue instantly shattered into smithereens, spraying sharp pointies at you. You lose 4 HP.

@Lirimaer @Lailorn Your pipeweed elevates your thinking, clearing your mind to allow you to guess the correct answer without even remembering afterward. You lose no HP, but you do lose your pipeweed.

You advance with some trepidation now as you near Saruman, but you are on...

THE EIGHTH FLOOR

You are shocked as, while you traverse the long narrow halls of this floor, a close friend of yours tumbles out of a side passage, looking harried. They spot you and call out for aid. "Someone's after me!" they say. "I've been injured, and I'm not sure what to do! Can you get me out of here?" They look to you desperately, with pleading eyes. Now how did they get up here? Do you:

A) Curse them as a phantom of Saruman and attack without question?
B) Ask them to answer a question from your shared past in order to verify their identity before you decide whether to help?
C) Offer to show them to the stairs down, but tell them you have a mission you cannot deviate from?
D) Offer to let them come along and help you defeat Saruman, sure they can be of great help in a critical moment?
E) Walk on by, ignoring their pleas, afraid to make the wrong decision?
F) [ONLY IF YOU HAVE A TELESCOPE] Use the magnifying power of the scope in order to spot the true identity of this person, be it friend or foe?

And, by way of catchup,
@Queen Nerwen Your plugged senses are a valiant effort, but it seems you were not airtight, as it were. You lose 2 HP.

[Lirimaer]

Éowine - Rider of the Mark

"That pipeweed is something else," Éowine said aloud as he stomped upstairs. He had no idea whatsoever what had occurred down there once the pipeweed had come out. Clearly someone had spiked his stash with some of the wizards' leaf, because no ordinary tobacco did that kind of thing.

It seems rather odd, however, upon arrival on the eighth floor, that a close friend should be up here. Especially since said close friend died of the pox last year.

"Halfrig?" he asked, anyway, just to be polite. "You're looking very well, considering ... everything."

"Someone's after me!" she said, ignoring him. "I've been injured, and I'm not sure what to do! Can you get me out of here?"

"Sure I can," Éowine said, reaching for his blade, and then he stopped, pondering. He removed the telescope from the sling on his back and brought it up to his eye, looking at the figure of Halfrig. "Now what sort of help do you need?" he murmured.

(F)
18 HP

[Gwai]

7th--> 8th Floor

Gwai breathed a sigh of relief as the statue magically moved out of the way when she said the answer. Her mother had always told her paying attention in math class would come in handy someday, although she hadn't believed it at the time. (She still really didn't particularly believe it, this was just a lucky happenstance.) Still, she would take what luck she could get, as she continued down the passage.

The Tower seemed neverending, as Gwai was certain she had walked miles. If only there was some way to keep track easily. Something that could wrap around one's wrist, for example, she mused idly, thinking there might be some money in it. She was jolted from her reverie when, coming down a side hall, was none other than her old friend Seph. "Seph!" Gwai exclaimed, astonished. "What in Bema's name are you doing here?" she asked incredulously, not having seen her friend for some ten year.

Seph replied, "Someone's after me!" she said, tears running down her face. "And I'm injured! Can you help me?" she asked, using her big eyes to good advantage.

Gwai immediately almost stepped forward to help, but something held her back. Was this a trick of Saruman? Or did Seph, like many other Riders, recently return home, and was wandering around the tower lost much like Gwai was Seph was upright and talking, so if she was seriously injured and indeed not a trick of Saruman's, she could answer a simple question, as Gwai thought of a question only a close friend would know. "Just one thing to ask, since this place is tricky!" she said, restraining herself from running forward. "What is my first name?" she asked, hoping Seph would say the correct answer and she would have a companion for the rest of the quest.

Choice B
23 HP

[SidraLockel Eltoran]

Fourth Floor

Sidra breathed a sigh of relief as the bright rays of her lantern parted the fog. The light not only showed her the pathway to the next set of stairs, but it also quieted the spooky voices and the feelings of doom that had plagued her only moments before. Thank goodness for light! As she reached the stairs, she blew out the candle in her lantern. The wick was low, and she didn’t want to waste her precious light! She hoped saving the last little bit of wick would prove useful for any future floors. Replacing the lantern to the crook of her elbow, she walked quickly up the stairs.

Fifth Floor

At the top of the stairs, Sidra stares at a thick curtain that blocks her way. It looks innocent enough, so she pushes quickly through it. All at once she’s blinded by a bright spotlight, and a loud voice is shouting at her. She squints her eyes against the bright light and is able to make out the outline of a man who suddenly seems to appear at her side. Sidra jumps slightly, and takes a step away from the man.

“Are you ready to play? If you can guess whether this can of new black powder is worth more of less than the heads of two thousand orcs, you win a special priiize! What do you think?” The man asks loudly.

Sidra looks from the man out to what appeared to be an audience…though she couldn’t see much more than a vague shape. She gave her head a little shake. This was just too much! To go from spooky voices and fear that froze her steps to this loud, bright floor, with some random guy asking her questions – her thoughts just couldn’t keep up. What was it that he had asked her? Something about black powder? And a prize? She could feel a headache coming on…from the bright spotlight. If only that wasn’t blinding her, maybe then she could actually think!

The loud man and the bright light were just so annoying! She moved her decorative buckler to her other hand, and threw it as hard as she could (like a frisbee) at the source of the light! She heard the sound of something breaking, and the spotlight went dark. Thank goodness! Now that she wasn’t blinded, she could see the exit – the next set of stairs! She moved towards them quickly, hoping the man or audience wouldn’t try and stop her!

Option G
26 hit points remaining

[Lail]

Sasparilla Banks
23 hp

Eighth Floor

Rilla wandered the eighth floor, half-forgotten why she was even in this tower anymore as a wonderful sense of calm fell over her. But she stopped abruptly when she saw an unexpected and familiar face.

"Primula?" she asked, blinking herself from hazy thoughts that lingered on sticky buns and strawberry cake.

"Help, oh help, Rilla, someone's after me!" Primula said. "I've been injured, and I'm not sure what to do! Can you get me out of here?"

"Dearest Prim, did you get attacked by orcs, too?! I know they're terribly frightful and they gave me an awful scare, too." Rilla stepped toward her cousin to hold out a helping hand, but then something made her pause. She narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips.

"But- but I thought you said you'd never leave the Shire! Why didn't you tell me?" she pouted. "We could have traveled together. It would have save me a lot of trouble...I don't understand. Don't you remember what you told me the night I left?" she asked, wondering why and how her cousin had suddenly appeared in this frightful tower far away from home when Primula was scared to even go across the Brandywine River to Buckland! No Primula Banks she knew would ever roam so far on her own, that was for sure. Something fishy was going on here if this tower had taught her anything at all.

B) Ask them to answer a question from your shared past in order to verify their identity before you decide whether to help.

[Silky Gooseness]

Silarien, Floor VIII, XXVI HP

The statue grinds to one side, revealing another stairway up into another narrow, stone passage. Silarien feels the chill seeping deeper into her bones when she hears a familiar voice.

Silarien? Is that you? Help me help me help me.

What?

Help me

It sounds like her old friend, Arien. But it can’t be, can it? She’s gone.

Gone.

The figure stumbles out of nowhere, a hand pressed to its side, despair in its eyes. “Help me, Sil,” it moans. aid. "Someone's after me!" they say. "I've been injured, and I'm not sure what to do! Can you get me out of here?" They look to Silarien desperately, with pleading eyes.

“You - you can’t be real,” says Silarien, wonderingly. Her eyes narrow. “But if you aren’t some phantom, the only way we are getting out of here is up: by defeating the wizard. Want to come with?”

OPTION D

[KingODuckingham]

THE RESULTS OF FLOOR EIGHT

@Gwai @Lailorn You wisely decide to verify the identity of your "friend" and sure enough, it was actually a disguise Saruman put on a Dunlander assassin. They attack you anyway. You lose 2 HP.

@Silarien You invite this 'friend' along, and to your surprise, it accepts. You lose no HP.

@Lirimaer You use your telescope to see through Saruman's disguise. The assassin flees in a panic after dashing your telescope to the floor, shattering it. You lose no HP.

Your steps slow as you realize you near the top. You are actually on the final floor. Above you is the true ceiling of Orthanc. No doubt Saruman awaits you on the roof. For now, you are on...

THE NINTH FLOOR

A trembling man stands at the far end of the floor. The one-room floor is small and cramped, with a low ceiling. Behind him, a final spiral staircase winds up to the outdoors. The man is wide-eyed, enough so that you can see the bloodshot streaks around his irises. He speaks in a high pitch, his voice straining to escape past his tongue.

"D-Don't come any closer. I'm warning you." He is shaking, but holding a long, metal tube pointed at you. There is a gaping hole in the end of it.

"This fire-stick will be the end of you. I've seen it in action. It was horrifying!" he continues. "It'll vanish your very body! Terrifying wizard-magic!" Indeed, he does seem to be terrified. Are you? Do you:

A) Try to talk him down while approaching very slowly?
B) Put your hands up and pretend to surrender, hoping he will approach you instead?
C) Try to attack him, trusting to your wits, speed, and dexterity to overcome his clumsier, slower, less civilized weapon?
D) Try to deceive him into thinking you are an ally come to meet Saruman?
E) Pray for a divine blessing in this moment of import?
F) [ONLY IF YOU HAVE ROPE] Try to lasso his boom-stick away from him at a distance?
G) [ONLY IF YOU HAVE A LANTERN] Swing the light from the lantern into his eyes, blinding him long enough for you to close the gap?
H) [ONLY IF YOU HAVE AN UNUSED WORD OF POWER] Speak the word to explode his boom-stick in his own hands?
I) [ONLY IF YOU HAVE CHALK] Toss your chalk skillfully straight down the barrel of the tube, blocking its entrance?
J) [ONLY IF YOU HAVE A POLISHED BRONZE RING] Offer to trade him your valuable ring for his fire-stick?

And by way of catch up @SidraLockel Eltoran Incredible use of the shield! Everyone is discombobulated enough that you escape easily. You lose no HP.

[Lirimaer]

Éowine - Rider of the Mark

"You broke my telescope," Éowine stood in shock for a moment, then roared, "YOU BROKE MY TELESCOPE!" and picking up the brass remains send it hurtling through the air after the fleeing coward, where it hit him with some force in the head, and if it didn't kill him, at least knocked him out.

Éowine took the time to trudge all the way back and pick up his broken heirloom. This would cost a fortune to replace and, no doubt, he'd have to travel to the great city of Minas Tirith to do it. He put it away in its case and strapped it once again to his back. Its weight was a comfort as he went onward.

A trembling man stands at the far end of the floor. The one-room floor is small and cramped, with a low ceiling. Behind him, a final spiral staircase winds up to the outdoors. The man is wide-eyed, enough so that you can see the bloodshot streaks around his irises. He speaks in a high pitch, his voice straining to escape past his tongue.

"D-Don't come any closer. I'm warning you." He is shaking, but holding a long, metal tube pointed at you. There is a gaping hole in the end of it.

"This fire-stick will be the end of you. I've seen it in action. It was horrifying!" he continues. "It'll vanish your very body! Terrifying wizard-magic!" Indeed, he does seem to be terrified.

Éowine started, then pasted on a carefree expression. "Thanks, man!" he said genuinely. "I appreciate the warning. Thanks for trying to protect me! Are you okay though? The Bossman doesn't usually give his toys to us underlings to play around with - unless he's trying to kill us, of course!" Éowine gave a hearty laugh. "Me an' the boys hate the days we gotta draw straws for whichever new invention he wants to try out - I guess you drew the short straw, buddy? I feel for ya!"

He moved slightly sideways, "Don't mind me, man. I'm just gonna let you do your thing for Saruman, and wait over here. When you're done, I'll go see what crazy nonsense he has for me to do. And in the meanwhile," he took a flask out of his satchel. "I'll have a drink." He paused, as if considering. "You wanna drop? It's the good stuff - an' I don't mind holding your piece while you do."

(D)
18 HP

[Gwai]

Floor 8 --> 9

The person who looked like Seph looked taken aback when Gwai asked the simple question of what her real name was. Instead of responding, he immediately pulled out a dagger, and his appearance melted into a Dunlander. An assassin! Gwai thought, as she jumped backwards several steps, pulling her own sword out.

The assassin was fairly good, but he had brought a dagger to a swordfight. He wasn't able to get anywhere close to her, and Gwai was soon able to lacerate his right arm quite deeply, and he dropped the dagger, running off, holding his other hand over his bleeding arm. From the spray, she suspected she had nicked an artery. She must be getting close, she surmised to herself, pulling out her handkerchief and wiping off the blood on her blade before sheathing it, if Saruman was willing to put assassins in her way. She dropped the bloody handkerchief to the ground and continued.

She slowed as she reached the next floor, the final floor. She suspected Saruman would be on the roof, but she would still proceed cautiously. She carefully pushed the door open, and found herself in a cramped room. Behind him was the spiral staircase leading to the roof. The man looked terrified, shaking, eyes bloodshot with fear (or too much to drink, but Gwai went with fear).

The man warned in a shaking voice not to come any closer, threatening to use the fire stick which contained wizard magic. Gwai was a bit skeptical, but also was loathe to confront anything involving wizard magic, as there was little she could do about it. The man did not look like a wizard, however, and she reasoned that if she could get the firestick away from him, he most likely would have no other magic.

A plan occurred to her. She still had her rope. She could try to lasso the firestick. While it would be unlikely to work with a sharp opponent, he looked as if he were about to become unglued, and she was confident she would at least stand a chance.

She held up her hands at shoulder height. "Just, be careful with that thing, please?" she said in a soft voice, her hand hovering around the rope coiled around her shoulder. He looked as if he was about ready to jump through the ceiling he was so nervous, so Gwai took advantage. "What in the world could that be!?" she exclaimed, pointing behind him. As soon as he turned to look, she shook the rope off her shoulder, looped it, and threw it toward the man's hand.

Option F, use the rope
21 HPs

[Lail]

Sasparilla Banks
21 hp

Ninth Floor

At the ninth floor, Rilla was still shaking from "Prim"'s attack, during which she'd lost her favorite purple polka-dot hat and a few locks of hair, too. Feeling a bit out of sorts, she reached into her pocket for some more pipeweed only to remember she'd smoked it all.

"Augh!" she exclaimed. "I wish I could just get out of this rotten tower once and for all."

She wished that again when she found herself face-to-face with a strange man with an even stranger contraption. "What in all the blooming Shire is THAT?!" she asked, starting at the metal tube.

]"D-Don't come any closer. I'm warning you." He told her, but he was shaking. His words seemed rather more fierce than his composure.

"This fire-stick will be the end of you. I've seen it in action. It was horrifying!" he continues. "It'll vanish your very body! Terrifying wizard-magic!"

"Pah. Disappear?" Rilla said. "I think you've mistaken me for an entirely different hobbit...you see, it was Bilbo Baggins that disappeared. Yes, at his eleventy-first birthday party if you can believe it! Didn't you hear the story?"

The man blinked at her with red-shot eyes. Hm. Clearly he had not heard the famous tale. She took a hesitant step closer. "You don't look to be feeling very well, my friend...if I had any pipeweed I'd be very happy to share with you! But I do have a couple ginger biscuits here in my pocket...we could share some and talk about whatever's bothering you. No need for anyone to disappear!" she said, hoping her generosity would help her out in calming down this very anxious fellow.

A) Try to talk him down while approaching very slowly

[Silky Gooseness]

Silarien, Floor IX, XXVI HP

Arien shrugs and limps after her.

This is deeply weird.

“You... go first,” mumbles Silarien at her “old friend” as they proceed up the next set of steps. No need to let this apparition have a clear shot at her back, after all. If this is a phantom, or a servant of Saruman, perhaps it, too, has a grudge against the old Istari that it wants settled. It’s rumoured that Saruman resists pay rises and unionisation, and has a thoroughly inadequate pension plan set up for his employees, sooooo...

This next room is a small one, attic-like. Silarien’s feet creak on the floorboards. Miss Silverleaf’s (if it really is her) do not.

“Hello,” ventures Silarien cautiously. There is a trembling man at the far side of the room, aiming something at her. Is that a - a bow stave? Or a firework launcher? If it’s a firework launcher, this could be a bit tricky.

She digs in her pockets. No chalk left.

“I certainly don’t want to have my body vanished,” she continues, a trifle nervously. She exchanges a glance with “Arien” before uncoiling the remnants of her rope from her waist. A bit tatty, it’s been used before, but Silarien’s pretty sure it’ll hold for one more use. She fastens a loop into it.

“Would you mind if I took a closer look at this boom stick?” Silarien calls, before casting her rope out to hook the implement in.

OPTION F

[KingODuckingham]

THE RESULTS OF FLOOR NINE

@Lailorn Your approach panics the terrified fellow, and the gun blows you away. There's only one shot though, before you can recover, disable/rush past, and leave the painful incident behind. You lose 5 HP.

@Lirimaer He is momentarily tricked, and by the time he recovers his wits and fires, you are too close, and receive only the most glancing of blows. You lose 2 HP.

@merSILess @Gwai Your rope comes in very handy! You cleanly snatch the fire-stick out of this fellow's hands and he bolts in terror. You lose no HP.

With trepidation, excitement, and a whole lot of nerves, you ascend to the roof of Orthanc.

THE TENTH FLOOR

Saruman himself awaits, at last. He stands, tall but frail-looking, nearly blown over by the heavy winds. You feel them as well. They make it difficult to stand upright without planting your feet very firmly. You squint at Saruman, who nods at you kindly. "Welcome," he says, "You've made quite the mess of my lovely tower to reach me. Tell me, what is your purpose in coming here?" He leans into his staff, trying not to fall to his knees. His eyes dart hither and thither, appearing to assess his safety. Do you:

A) Move toward him, with the intention of helping him up (but also hoping to separate him from his staff)?
B) Yell "YOUR TRICKS WON'T WORK ON ME SARUMAN" and charge ahead with weapon flailing?
C) Tell him your purpose is nothing more or less than his death?
D) Tell him your purpose is to get a Shireload of money from him in exchange for his life?
E) Tell him you just wanted to be his number one servant (but of course you are lying and will betray him at the first opportunity)?
F) [ONLY IF YOU HAVE A TELESCOPE] Pick up your trusty telescope once again to examine Saruman's strengths and weaknesses?
G) [ONLY IF YOU HAVE A SECONDARY WEAPON} Toss the weapon at him from a distance, hoping to score a cheap hit?

[Dimcairien Luiniel]

Floor Eight

Somehow he managed to get up and to the next floor, despite the state breaking into smithereens, a few hitting himself. "Ouch," he winced, hoping that the damage wasn't too extensive. On the next floor there was yet another strange trap, or was it a trap? A familiar-looking figure appeared from a side-door and claimed that somebody was after them. Why a friend would be here it this tower was beyond Éomund's thoughts. This surely had to be a trap, but there was one way to make certain. And he asked a question.

B) Ask them to answer a question from your shared past in order to verify their identity before you decide whether to help?

18 HP
OOC: (Sorry for forgetting about this. I'm really bad at keeping track of some of the game RP threads.
And FWY this is not the same character I play elsewhere in Rohan. This came started before the Cavalry hijacked my character : ))

[Lirimaer]

@KingODuckingham OOC: Do I 'have' a usable telescope? I am assuming I don't after you smashed it on its first usage.

[Lail]

Sasparilla Banks
16 hp

Tenth Floor

Rilla limped up the stairs after that horrible baggins shot her in the leg!! She was hoping now that there might be some kind of zipline down from the top of the tower so she wouldn't have to walk back down all those stairs with this hole slowly bleeding out in her leg.

She stifled a moan of pain, but let out a whimper as the wind nearly toppled her over. She blinked at Saruman. "Gandalf? Um, you look...different than I remember." Had he aged really badly since the last time she saw him? She managed to light what remained of her lantern to get a better look at him. Was it Gandalf? Now she wasn't so sure...

"Um...about your tower...yes, it hasn't been the most welcoming place. I think there are a number of improvements that could be made starting with floor one." She straightened, although she was rather hunched over because one of her hands was pressing the wound on her leg. "I think I could help make it better. If you help with my leg. And some chicken wings would be nice, too. I'm feeling rather peckish after all that." He was looking a bit frail, so she offered to share even though she didn't want to eat with this scary old man. "You can have some, too. Well. What do you say? I think I could make this place cozier than Bag End!"

E) Tell him you just wanted to be his number one servant (but of course you are lying and will betray him at the first opportunity)?

[KingODuckingham]

@Lirimaer OOC: That's right, your telescope is no longer usable, sorry.
@Dimcairien Luiniel OOC: No worries, apparently I completely spaced on the Towers of No Return myself, as I just discovered. You can keep climbing!

[Lirimaer]

Éowine - Rider of the Mark

The trembling man with the fire-stick was certainly not lying about the damage it caused. Éowine was close enough to avoid the blast, but got caught in the kickback as the man fired. The man seemed to be skin and bone, there was no weight to him at all. Éowine took the firestick from him and gave him a drink. "Here, try this. You weren't kidding about the destructive power of that thing, were you?" he added, looking across the room to where there was an impressive mess and hole where some wall had been. "Thanks for not firing it at me, man!"

He left the man on the stairs with the little flask, but he took the firestick with him, finding a place to dispose of it - a dumbwaiter of sorts - so at least that weapon wouldn't be behind him. He continued up the stairs to the tenth floor.

Saruman himself was there.

He was sitting down, but as Éowine entered, he tried to stand, unsteady in the high winds, looking old, older than the hills. He looked frailer than expected, but the high winds were so strong it was hard to stand himself without planting his feet and careful manoeuvring. They made his eyes water too, and he found himself squinting across the distance separating them. He wiped his eyes as he came closer.

"Welcome," Saruman said, and his voice was kind, but the kindness didn't reach his eyes. "You've made quite the mess of my lovely tower to reach me."

"To be fair," Éowine responded, "whoever made a giant trap out of this tower did more damage than I ever could. In fact, I've been more damaged by your tower than it's been damaged by me! And you filled it with killers, which doesn't say much for your judgment of loveliness."

Saruman ignored him, leaning fully on his staff and clearly trying not to fall to his knees. "Tell me, what is your purpose in coming here?"

As the old man's eyes darted hither and thither, Éowine asked, "What are you looking for? Help or are you worried about me? I'm alone. There were others entered your tower with me, but I've seen nothing of them at all, and I was expecting us to work together. Hey look, you look chilled to the bone, let's get off of this ledge and back in the warm. I'll help you." He came close to the Wizard, aiming to insert himself under the Wizard's arm holding the staff and help him inside, also neatly taking the staff from him. "I'm not here to kill you, but you're a danger to others, so I'm afraid you need more careful management than staying here in this tower of sorcery which has got you all mixed up."

"Come on down with me, and we'll see what we can do to put you back on the path to moral rectitude."

(A)
16 HP

[Gwai]

Floor 9 --> 10

Gwai quickly took the firestick out of the man's reach. She looked at it skeptically. It certainly did not look as if it could do any significant damage. The man looked at her for a moment, and then quickly dashed out the open doorway. Good luck finding your way out of here, Gwai thought to herself skeptically.

She slowly walked out onto the top of Orthanc. Saruman was there, waiting for her, looking deceptively frail as the wind whipped through the top of the tower. Gwai planted her feet, trying to keep her balance in the strong winds.

"I apologize for the mess in the tower," Gwai said insincerely. "But it was necessary to find my way up here. My purpose? Why, my purpose is simple.”

She hesitated briefly. Telling Saruman the truth was out of the question. But he would see through a poorly crafted lie.

Saruman suddenly seemed to falter, and Gwai seized this as her opportunity. Reaching out to help him, she also made an attempt to separate the wizard from his staff.

21 HP
Choice A

[Silky Gooseness]

Silarien, The Top Floor, XXVI HP

It’s Saruman!

Or is it? Silarien hasn’t met Saruman before. Or many wizards, for that matter. But he fits the description. Old, kindly looking man. Wisdom oozing out of his pores and so on. A staff, which is definitely some sort of prop to make him look Fragile and Delicate when secretly he’s an ancient spirit of incredible power. Ha ha ha. Silarien isn’t fooled. She exchanges a glance with her “friend”, “Arien Silverleaf”. If now is the time for said chum to either

1) daringly betray Saruman and assist Silarien in her triumphant victory as they cacklingly push Saruman off the top and shout TROLLOLOLOL at him all the way down... what?

2) not unexpectedly betray Silarien by ripping off their full face mask and shouting “ah HA, it is not I, Arien, and also when we were torturing Arien on the rack she said she never really liked you anyway and thought you were stuck up,” leading Silarien to surrender to Saruman in a fit of tears

...

...

Anyway,

it is true after all, Silarien has kind of made a mess of the tower. Deep down, she feels a bit bad. No, wait. Is he trying to trick her? Trick her with his VOICE? She knows that the Istari have their gifts, right, but physically he doesn’t look all that much.

“Your tricks won’t work on me, Saruman!” she yells defiantly, running at him with blade out.

What’s Arien doing? Who knows. You tell me, glorious GM.

Option B: Flail Away, Flail Away, Flail Away

[Dimcairien Luiniel]

Éomund
Floor 9

One way or another, Éomund made it up to the next level, though he was still a little confused about the incident on the lower floor. This tower was indeed a very strange place. On the ninth level, which was a little one room floor, he came upon a little old man pointing and odd looking weapon at him. The strange man claimed that it was called a "fire-stick" and that it would be the end of him if he tried to go any further. Éomund scoffed, such a little thing hardly looked dangerous, or at least, it wasn't as dangerous as a sword or bow in the arms of a soldier. But, it still might not be the best idea to just ignore the item, as it could be painful if it made bodily contact. Éomund pulled out the rope he still had, tied a noose in one end, and attempted to lasso the "fire-stick" and so avoid any unpleasant instances with said weapon.

F) [ONLY IF YOU HAVE ROPE] Try to lasso his boom-stick away from him at a distance?

18 HP as of completing floor 7.

[Allacan ob Burzum]

Allacan, human, she/her
(Equipped with her trusty sword 'Fire-Spanker' and the host's microphone)
24 hit points remaining

Floor Seven:- accepting defeat and fleeing as fast as she can

She was feeling shaken but positive by her progress thus far, but it was not to last. As she entered the next floor, a figure appeared before her; Saruman! She snatched for her sword, but a second later was even more terrified to realise that this was not Saruman, but something even more terrible. An astonishingly realistic stone statue, with wings for extra embellishments. She desperately kept her eyes open and fixated on the creature. Allacan had heard terrifying things about winged statues; something about them moving whenever they not being watched. This kind of magic was far beyond her capabilities, or indeed any Rohir she knew of. Her eyes were already starting to feel dry and it was taking all her nerve not to blink. When the statue's eyes began to glow, she backed away in terror, half tripping over the now-stationary steps behind her. When the sound of Saruman's voice erupted from this terrible stone-angel-Saruman posing a mathematical riddle (it was a deeply-guarded secret that mathematics was her greatest weakness and perhaps even likened to her cryptonite) it all proved too much even for the ex-cavalry-commander-turned-assassin to deal with. She backed away hurriedly, keeping her eyes fixated on the statue as long as she could and then just as she lost sight of it from the floor below, turned tail and fled with all the haste she could muster. If she made it safely from the tower, she would be so terrified from the experience that she would provide only a broken, stammered report to whoever she told of it, but all the same she hoped that someone more capable and brave than she might successfully purge the tower of its great evil.

OOC @KingODuckingham (Thank you for running such a wonderful thread and apologies that I got so behind with all the festival and cavalry business. I hope you don't mind if I bow out given how far behind I have gotten, so I can instead just enjoy reading how others succeeded where I failed.)

[Lirimaer]

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