Rantic Dragore looks at the room. "Cozy. Nice sound effects too," he says very quietly to no one in particular. Then on a normal tone he addressed the disembodied voice, speaking to the anvil, mostly because it's centrally located in the room. "Greetings. May I ask what it is exactly that we should be carefull of?"
"I'm pretty sure that voice was a kind of benignly omniscient metaentity of the kind referred to in literature (which, by the, way, I'm talking about only vicariously, as I am numbered among the nonliterate) as a 'Dyyem', or 'Diiem', or 'Diem'. I don't know much about them except that they have something to do with carp and/or carpiness, and that most of this discussion belongs in an alternate universe -- sometimes called a different thread." Berz glares inexplicably in the direction of the anvil and tries desperately to wrap his mind around the actual visible size of the room.
"Ah am." "Naethin'. Jist answein' th' dwarfs question." "Ah hae nae idea whit ye ar talkin' abit." The room is 15'x25', with the long side running east/west. Thought I had put it in there. "Welcome tae th' first o' many shrines tae me ye will fin' in thes dungeon. Ah am Krong, god o' Magic, Strength, an' Artifice. These shrines waur placed tae aid adventurers in slayin' Dredmor. Each of ye may lay one item oan th' anvil, if ye choose. Ah micht bless th' item tae help ye, Ah micht curse it tae make ye overcome th' challenge. Ye ne'er can teel. Och, thes is th' lest time ye will hear frae me. Ah am a busy god, ye ken."
Sorry for the late reply, today sucked for me, and this is the first chance I have had to be in front of my computer.
Swig elbows Berz in the ribs, just enough to push him out of the way. "Told ya. Doubters." Without hesitation, he unstraps a pair of leather bracers from his wrists, and places them on top of the anvil. He lets them sit there a moment, muttering under his breath -- possibly praying -- then retrieves them and puts them back on. His ministrations finished, he sits down for a minute, adding the room to his ever-growing map.
"I want a turn!" Hort takes the time to remove his brown vest, and then take off the chainshirt that was under it. Once it's off, Hort drops the heavy shirt onto the anvil.
"Hmmm." Dragore takes his crossbow from his back and puts it on the anvil, takes a few steps back and waits.
The sound of flowing water surrounds you all for a moment, then there is a loud sound like thunder, and the Anvil cracks in two. Everybody have their items back and in place?
I grab my crossbow from the Anvil and sense some magic on it. I turn blue! My skin is blue! I let go of the crossbow to better look at my hands. I turn dark grey again... "Phew," I sigh, and pick up the crossbow again. I turn blue! "Ah... darn it." I wait some moments if I feel anything else effecting me adversely, then shrug and return the crossbow to my back, trying not to ogle at my hands too much.
My gloves that I had removed to wipe the sweat of my brow (?), I put them back on. ((Think before type... think!! Darn it.))
"Well...I can see why they put THAT behind a no-see-um door. Nice way to start a delve. What's next?"
