Turn 156
    Three years worth of game turns! Somewhat more than that in actual years, but this is a milestone, I think. Thank you all for coming along. :-) Sorry this one is so late. I hope the holidays were good to everyone.

    * * *

Upstairs:
    Lynden manages to cut off the goblins before they can reach their apparent goal, a modest door to the right of the forbidding altar. They squeak and wail in dismay at the sight of additional pursuit closing in, then fling themselves on the floor in an attitude of begging for mercy. The two are unarmed and apparently unarmored, dressed only in tattered clothing.
    Taken aback by the goblins unexpected action Lynden positions himself between them and the door but angled so that he can keep the door in his field of vision to ensure that he'd get a few seconds warning should the door begin to open. "Be quiet," he commands, "And Gerik may yet forgive you." Before he raps each one over the head with the butt of his mace. The second one squeaks in dismay as his comrade is rendered unconscious, but his attempt to bolt is cut off by Emmett's arrival, and he is soon in the same state.
    "I was gonna do something similar," Emmett nods. "OK, stay together work our way up." He looks over at the dwarf and lowers his voice "I said we were going to come in and make a lot of noise to cover the others. Am I missing where we're not doing that?"
    Behind, Pham finishes binding the wounded prisoner and looks around the otherwise-empty room apprehensively. For all the stories he's heard, he's never actually been in one of Hextor's temples before, and he's not quite sure what he should be feeling. After a distracted moment he shakes himself and trails over to join the others.
    "I believe that door will lead into the tower," he points. The temple proper is a long, narrow, and high-ceilinged room, with high windows on both long walls. Their line is interrupted near the end farthest from the altar by the intruding curved wall of the tower, from which other windows look down into the chamber. There are no lights, nor any sign of movement.

    * * *
    Downstairs:
    The room appears untrapped, which makes sense if it is used with some frequency for, it would appear, some sort of record-keeping. The same cannot be said for the boxes; too much fiddling with the locks and something will happen, certainly magical and most likely unpleasant.
    "Anything they protect this carefully is something we want to see," ibn Hassan remarks quietly, studying the locks without touching them. "I hope they left the keys behind somewhere."
    Although it is probably safe to move the boxes, it will be difficult to get them across the hole in the floor. He studies the locks to get an idea what kind of keys to look for, then holds a whispered colloquy with Valarin, who agrees with his assessment. The two make their way back across the gap with great care and listen at the other door. The noise is louder -- it sounds as if an argument may be going on -- enough to determine first that the speakers probably aren't human, and certainly aren't speaking any variant of Common, and second that they are some distance away, probably not in the next room.
    Aware of time's passage, and with it their invisibility, Val opens the door cautiously. The space beyond is clearly someone's private chamber, a sort of hourglass shape separated by a hanging between bedchamber and receiving room, both appointed in severe luxury, playing up a contrast between silk and velvet and rough stone, gold and ebony and plain brick. The voices are clearer here, but obviously coming from beyond another door, and now can be discerned to be goblin voices.
    Their remaining quarter hour is all but gone by the time the two locate a pair of gold keys in the false bottom of a hidden compartment of a chair upholstered in black-embroidered black silk. In the meantime, the goblin argument seems to die down into relative silence. No one approaches the room in which they are so quietly busy.

    * * *
    Meanwhile, back at the _Distraction_, Yestin supervises the finishes touches on the cannon mounting -- it shares the swivel turret on the weapons deck with Emmett's ballista, and a lot of juggling was required to ensure that the latter probably won't catch fire the first time the former is fired.
    Hiro has watched without comment, but with an occasional frown. Inez and Nyala are alternately watching, playing cards, and wondering where the rest of the crew has gotten to.
    "If Emmett's involved, probably getting into trouble," Inez sighs. In his pen, Cadin squawks in his sleep, perhaps agreeing. "I swear, that man...."
    "I believe it is a peculiarity of the sex, not the individual or the species." The elf studies her hand with apparent disdain, though Inez has learned better than to think she can read that habitually icy expression.
    

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