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Chapter 5 by CrusaderofTruth CrusaderofTruth

Heroes. Wonderful.

Take your 'Quest Trinket' and fuck off!

Hoping to keep your carefully woven pattern safe from a potential fire, you quickly grab the 'Magic trinket' or whatever the fuck it's called, and chuck it into the entrance, scurrying back into the tunnel. Thankfully, you hear the footsteps stop, but it is followed by some grumbling. After a short pause, there is a cluttering sound, a complaint about something called 'Inventory limitations', then the footsteps recede. You poke out to see if the coast is clear, and you spot a weird wooden contraption on the ground. The rogue must have dropped it.

It wasn't unlike anything you had seen before. Some of the rogues who came here had one, it was supposed to... how did it work? They just pointed it at something, and it shot out a piece of wood with a metal tip, usually killing a poor hapless spider in one shot, if it hit.

Overcome with curiosity, you grab it with a pair of graspers and bring it inside. You fiddle with it, and toy with it, and wonder how it works. Through some trial and error, you discover a part of it can be pulled back, until it clicks and can't move any further. Through further trial and error, you discover that by pulling a little metal pin in the bottom, the entire contraption springs and goes back to the way it was. But where was the wood and metal? Was it not complete? Was it broken? Or maybe, you needed to put something into it.

Mind spinning with newfound curiosity, you look around, and grab a small twig, and slot it into a little hole that fits, surprisingly. You pull the pin, and the twig flies into the air. Not straight, but spinning, because, obviously, it is not the correct thing to put into the hole. It doesn't even have any metal. But the principle is clear. An object is launched by compressing ****, then releasing that **** all at once.

Suddenly, a brilliant idea surfaces. A wonderful, marvelous idea.

Acting quickly, suddenly terrified the idea might suddenly fly out of your mind, you begin to work feverishly, tearing down the delicate patterns, lashing together several strands of webbing into a tight net, and quickly grab a large stone, and stick it into the web. Then, straining with every fiber of your being, you slowly pull yourself backwards, every step agony, until you reach the back of the tunnel. Slowly, carefully, you create a lace of webbing that sticks the net to the back of the tunnel, and you loosen the stone ever so slightly.

Then, work complete, you wait.

Does anyone ever come?

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