The party rushed in, swinging their swords and maces and firing off all sorts of spells in all directions. It was complete chaos. Sparks flew, bricks and stones shattered and showered them with dust. Smoke filled the air, metal was heard upon metal, shouts and screams punctured the melee. Limbs went flying, blood sprayed and other bits of bodies, generally unrecognisable, flopped and squelched onto the ancient floor. Their foes outnumbered and dismembered, the party slowed their assault, just as a lone, angry voice could be heard. A female voice. Syra's voice.
"You bloody FOOLS! Idiots! MUPPETS!" She shook her hands at them. "Look what you've done!" Enraged, she was standing in the middle of the room, holding a book and dressed in something unfamiliar. Around her, the remains of two men were strewn all about, dead eyes staring blankly at the group and not even in their original owner's head.
Stamm wiped his blade against a fine drape. "Ungrateful tart! We saved you!" He glowered at her and the rest of the gang joined in his support. "Yeah," said Gothmog, "Without us you'd have been killed... or worse!"
Syra was steaming with fury. (Literally: smoke was coming out of her ears). "You goonish, steaming, pea-brained, war-mongering, loutish, stupid GITS! These poor men who you so carefully dismembered weren't going to kill me!" She waved the book in her hand at them in explanation. "They needed some one to help them rehearse their Christmas play!"
The group looked around. They looked at the little stage in the centre of the room; the painted backgrounds ready and waiting in the corner; the fine drapes ready to be hoisted up as curtains and the rows of seats arranged facing a now very angry Syra. Realisation dawned on Gothmog. "Aaah. Right. RIGHT! I see. Um. Sorry." Everyone else looked at their feet and mumbled various apologies, making sure they didn't catch Syra's eye, who had now put down the book and was looking for something big to throw at them.
Leif clapped his hands brightly. "Since we're here, let's grab their loot and be on our way!" A very heavy mace narrowly avoided his noggin. He turned to Syra. "You're only angry because they must have given you a good part! Come on, let's see what we can grab!"
Do you feel you can ransack the room of two dead amateur dramatists?