As if they didn’t have enough reason to hurry before the mystery beastie down in the depths put a real rush on things. All consideration of camping usually implies a desire to sleep. When something with tentacles and teeth breaks the surface just a few floors below you? Well it doesn’t exactly put sleep as the foremost concern in your mind, quite understandably.

Downstairs the THING was swimming up to the door, and repeatedly ramming into it as strongly as they could manage, thus far the somewhat squishy nature of the creature had hindered their attempts, but it seemed the creature had some distinctly octopus like intelligence as it probed the door, seeking out the rusted handle and using at as leverage to force the ancient door open. Whatever was going on here that thing was PISSED, or hungry. (Hard to ascribe a definite intent to the actions of a slavering beast apart from it doesn’t want you near it. For all they knew it could have smelled the calamari Elvira had yesterday,)

They dashed down the stairs towards their goal, carefully leaping a hole that would once have been an elevated floor below, (but that was a long storey.) and dodging what once over may for all they knew once over have been a houseplant, but now held a definite carnivorous attribute, (clue was in the teeth as long as Errol’s forearm, oh and the decoy prey they were waving round. Plants don’t usually lug around a fake person without good reason, and they doubted it was for pollination. Even if it was nobody wanted to be involved there either. What monster plants do with their own stamens in their own tower is up to them but nobody wanted to be involved.)

“I hate this place, I hate this place, I hate this place” Errol muttered as they ran, he was very quickly deciding that after he retired from the guard he was never going to indulge in tourism again, no way, nu-uh. This trip alone already had him counting down the days with more determination than the cliche convict doing their time. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him (as the middle child in any family will tell you when the ol’ survival instinct kicks in that’s pretty damned fast. Also whenever the word wedgie is used, or a weaponised middle name when you know what you did.)

Elvira was inclined to agree, as you can imagine running in a tower while clutching a pike tends to provide a challenge, what with low ceilings, and narrow passages. So far the only advantages were something to jab at things that tried to chomp her, and an improvised vaulting pole when it came to particularly wide gaps in the floor. (She only had little legs that put her at something of a disadvantage when it came to things like long jump, a bloody great big pointy stick was a great equaliser.) But yeah this place sucked, and she would be really glad to get out, even if it wasn’t for the statues that tended to appear seemingly out of nowhere, magic she concluded was by its very nature a dick.

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Mister Tickles was mad, in fact mister tickles was bloody furious. But such complex thoughts were currently replaced by sheer fury. This tower was his home, his tank was here, and yet the intruders were here again. His Master was sleeping a few floors above. But he was always sleeping these days, and Mister Tickles was not going to let some annoying intruders disturb his nap. The Master worked too hard anyway, making the tower nice and wet for him, he didn’t like the dry. Now thanks to their magic this place was really home.

For now though he had to make sure this place was safe, it was why he was made, and he was going to see it through. The door in his path just wouldn’t give, and he had to get up there so he pulled the bit that once let the door move until it tore free from the rotted wood. Then tried again, this time it gave. The next one not so much. Even tearing out the handle just left a hole in the door. There was no way that was enough. But they had to get up there, to save The Master. They just had to. Here’s where several million years of Cephalopod nature and a few decades of magic experimentation really paid off though, as they pressed themselves to the door, and practically poured themselves through the impossibly tiny door hole. Did those intruders really think such a thing could keep him out? Really? They were going to pay for this.

He pulled himself free of the waters and onto the steps using his tentacles to drag himself up. the stairs, hating the dry was never going to stop him. He had a master to protect, and this time he would be helpful, he wasn’t little anymore, and he wasn’t scared this time. He wasn’t going to hide, he was a big monster now and he would prove it.

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Mibbet and the others made it at last to their goal, an ancient decaying office and lab, over in one corner a former wizard long deceased grinned at them in the absence of other possible expressions. Finding what they needed wasn’t going to be easy though. The place subscribed to a filing and organisation system that would best suit a drunk tornado with sticky fingers, and things weren’t exactly in decent condition. So with no time to waste they started to search the offices, even searching the bones of the wizard carefully and gently on the off chance that he held onto some clue.

No such luck though, and he wasn’t exactly the talkative kind. They quickly barricaded the entrance after hearing the thing clambering up the stairs. They had seen enough to know they didn’t want to run into it while intruding on its territory. But time was running out. As the creature slammed into the door.