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Post by Fromikeable on Oct 15, 2014 15:32:01 GMT -5
... Well, in retrospect... I probably should have seen this coming.
The little idol couldn't have been more than a foot tall, and yet it's tiny, toothy smile seemed to mock Rase in a way only history could. Well, mock and chastise, as if to say, "You didn't seriously expect to find what you were searching for here, did you?"
The Zeltron sighed lightly under his breath. He supposed he didn't, but he had dared to hope juuuuuuuuuust a little.
And all of this effort too. It had been easy enough to locate a little band of mercenaries to accompany him into the less civilized parts of Rodia, and easier still to dangle a few more credits and the allure of treasure in order to drag them far off the beaten path into the hot, humid, sweaty wilderness in search of a practically buried cave hidden under growth and the passage of time.
No, the hard part had been navigating the old Goa-Ato building (the ancient Rodian hunting society formed with their introduction to the hyperdrive) with a pack of relative buffoons riding his heels. Honestly, had these men ever heard the word "careful" before in their life? The temple was uncharted, uncatalogued, and un-mapped, and yet some of these fine, fine gentlemen had already smashed a wall full to the brim with ancient Rodian writing, broken numerous fixtures and small objects throughout their route inward, and had nearly initiated a small cave-in when they had had the bright idea to blow in a door rather than wait for the doctor to open it. Oh, and all by "accident" (and surely not boredom and a total disregard for the historical significance of what they were standing in). Rase made it a mental note to grin extra wide when he left them all without pay standing dumb-founded at the docks.
And all for this little idol. Surely, it was a fascinating piece, and it must have been of some significance indeed. The thing had been placed in its own room all the way in the armory of the old temple-base, and with active traps, mechanical and otherwise, laid in its way. The Rodians had never been stellar engineers, but enough had survived to the point at which Rase had had to guide the mercs step-by-step through them, and it was growing increasingly hard for him not to simply let them walk into one (if only it didn't mean his head as well).
But it surely wasn't the Six as the old account had said, and the more he looked at it, the more the Zeltron was beginning to doubt its potential as anything more than a waste of time.
But now here he stood, leaning over a small pressure plate at the the base of the pedestal upon which stood the taunting idol, his beige sleeves rolled up, his brown pants dusted and ruffled with travel as he wiped a small bit of sweat from his face and focused.
"Unless you gentlemen would like the ceiling to come down... I would advise not moving a muscle." That was a blatant lie; there was no way the room was designed to crush what it was supposed to be holding, but honestly he just wanted them to not do a thing for a change. He glanced back with a brow raised at the pack of them before adjusting his hat downward and slowly leaning in again, taking a small weight from his belt and gauging it in his hand. His other hand hovered closer and closer to the idol, finally stopping mere millimeters away in what could best be described as a surgical maneuver. Focus... one quick, fluid movement... grab and plop... don't think, just move... in and out...
If only he had taken the same attention to the men holding the guns.[/i][/i]
The little idol couldn't have been more than a foot tall, and yet it's tiny, toothy smile seemed to mock Rase in a way only history could. Well, mock and chastise, as if to say, "You didn't seriously expect to find what you were searching for here, did you?"
The Zeltron sighed lightly under his breath. He supposed he didn't, but he had dared to hope juuuuuuuuuust a little.
And all of this effort too. It had been easy enough to locate a little band of mercenaries to accompany him into the less civilized parts of Rodia, and easier still to dangle a few more credits and the allure of treasure in order to drag them far off the beaten path into the hot, humid, sweaty wilderness in search of a practically buried cave hidden under growth and the passage of time.
No, the hard part had been navigating the old Goa-Ato building (the ancient Rodian hunting society formed with their introduction to the hyperdrive) with a pack of relative buffoons riding his heels. Honestly, had these men ever heard the word "careful" before in their life? The temple was uncharted, uncatalogued, and un-mapped, and yet some of these fine, fine gentlemen had already smashed a wall full to the brim with ancient Rodian writing, broken numerous fixtures and small objects throughout their route inward, and had nearly initiated a small cave-in when they had had the bright idea to blow in a door rather than wait for the doctor to open it. Oh, and all by "accident" (and surely not boredom and a total disregard for the historical significance of what they were standing in). Rase made it a mental note to grin extra wide when he left them all without pay standing dumb-founded at the docks.
And all for this little idol. Surely, it was a fascinating piece, and it must have been of some significance indeed. The thing had been placed in its own room all the way in the armory of the old temple-base, and with active traps, mechanical and otherwise, laid in its way. The Rodians had never been stellar engineers, but enough had survived to the point at which Rase had had to guide the mercs step-by-step through them, and it was growing increasingly hard for him not to simply let them walk into one (if only it didn't mean his head as well).
But it surely wasn't the Six as the old account had said, and the more he looked at it, the more the Zeltron was beginning to doubt its potential as anything more than a waste of time.
But now here he stood, leaning over a small pressure plate at the the base of the pedestal upon which stood the taunting idol, his beige sleeves rolled up, his brown pants dusted and ruffled with travel as he wiped a small bit of sweat from his face and focused.
"Unless you gentlemen would like the ceiling to come down... I would advise not moving a muscle." That was a blatant lie; there was no way the room was designed to crush what it was supposed to be holding, but honestly he just wanted them to not do a thing for a change. He glanced back with a brow raised at the pack of them before adjusting his hat downward and slowly leaning in again, taking a small weight from his belt and gauging it in his hand. His other hand hovered closer and closer to the idol, finally stopping mere millimeters away in what could best be described as a surgical maneuver. Focus... one quick, fluid movement... grab and plop... don't think, just move... in and out...
If only he had taken the same attention to the men holding the guns.[/i][/i]