We (a man of status, not three kobolds trying to fit inside one trenchcoat) were taken to a surface fortress of great luxury: The House Royal. As befitting our status after conquering “City Hall” in an honorable duel, we were taking by a large metal chariot driven by a serf to afraid to even make eye-contact (Krak still pulled the fedora low, lest our disguise be spoiled).

The metal chariot hissed and sighed as it deposited us before the doors. Not just doors – enormous gates of glimmering glass, so clean they might as well be invisible walls. At our approach, the gates opened themselves, acknowledging our superiority. The minion-driver bowed and fled, taking his chariot with him.

Inside lay a realm of unnatural beauty and dread. The floors shone like polished beetle-shells. The air smelled of distant spices and perfectly filtered despair. Strange surface music floated in the background – different from the street ritual, but somehow no less discordant.

We were greeted by another Royal serf, impeccably-dressed and smiling warmly: “Welcome to The House Royal, Mister Trench. Penthouse suite. Courtesy of City Hall. Please follow me.”

Following, we were taken to a vast room covered in mirrors and playing the same peculiar music as before. Before we could get our bearings, the room moved – Klok reached for his pipe, Klik made a threatening hiss, Krak stared at the serf trying to show no fear. It was a test of stability and we shall prevail.

Suddenly, the movement stopped and the doors opened. The serf lead and we followed – she produced a small rectangle, calling it a “key”, and waved it in front of a glowing box on the wall. With a ping like nails scratching glass the door opened. The serf lead us in and excused herself, quickly escaping to the “elevator”.

This “Penthouse” was vast – far larger than Lair 2B. It had windows from floor to ceiling, walls that were suspiciously dry and furniture that was suspiciously soft. As we explored this new lair we saw many other wonders: a self-refilling water bowl, a large lair shining pristine white and housing some kind of angry cold spirit, and the one thing we did recognize – a very large, very flat TV covering almost an entire wall.

Extracting ourselves from the Coat of Camouflage we immediately set ourselves in front of this fabled device. Krak started shouting commands at it. Klok waved his pipe menacingly. Klik, ever cautious, beseeched Amma Zone for aid. When the ritual ketchup packets were scattered in front of it, the TV turned on.

The lights dimmed. A booming voice declared we were entitled to complimentary service. No further compliments were spoken, but the ritual succeeded anyway – perhaps we’ll spend our time here investigating it further.

Rat Tail Ratings:

• Krak: 5/5 – “We have conquered the floating fortress. The ritual of television is ours now.”
• Klok: 4/5 – “NO FOOD. BUT MANY TRAPS. COULD BE WORSE.”
• Klik: 5/5 – (Currently spreading ketchup in a warding pattern on the walls)

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