For decades this door has stood. Once it was the back entry to a nice bakery, before hard times had put the owner out of business. For years it languished , sheltering the occasional rough sleeper in this alleyway, or taking a coat of ugly paint from the occasional attempts at renovation the locals went through. All that changed three years ago, when the property was purchased and expanded by Acquisitions Incorporated. Since then, this once-mighty maple portal has been beaten, bashed, kicked, smashed, prised, burned, bludgeoned, and hacked. it has been defaced, disassembled, even once defenestrated. Its lock has been picked innumerable times despite never actually being locked, and once, only once, did someone actually turn the knob. It's been a rough three years for this door, but there has always been one more pot of glue, one more<em>Mending</em>spell.<br/><br/>Until now.<br/><br/>Roondar, though he might not know it, was the last foe this storied door would ever face. When he rapped on the wood, the hinges rattled and creaked... and his final bash on the bottom caused something to crack. The door wobbled, teetered, and ultimately careened, falling off its hinges inward, to crash against the stone floor, sending shards and flinders of wood everywhere. Alas, the door was no more.<br/><br/>Do not weep for the door. It feels no love nor pain; it is but a door.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Beyond the doorway it is dark; there's a bit of dust in the air, though that might just be from what the door kicked up. Upon entry, there is a<em>FWOOMPF</em>noise as a pair of torches light up in<em><strong>GREEN FLAME</strong></em>behind a table... smaller fwoomps light up other torches of a more normal color, providing plenty of light for the four of you to operate by.<br/><br/>Just ahead of you is a table, with a stack of liability waivers; or at least it used to be a stack; papers are scattered every which way, the ink wells upended, and splashes of black ink are dried everywhere.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Perception DC 15</div><div class="spoiler_body">If you check around , a few of the "ink splashes" actually appear to be tiny four-fingered clawed handprints.</div></div><br/><br/>Not far from the table is a metal turnstile that blocks the entrance to the next room. Atop the turnstile is a large coin slot that says "ADMIT ONE" around it, same as the tokens you received. A cheap wooden cutout of Jim Darkmagic stands next to the turnstile, holding one wand at about gnome-height. A speech bubble says "You must be this tall to participate!" At least his wand<em>would</em>be about gnome-height, if it weren't broken off and rammed through Jim's knee. A black twirly mustache is painted on Jim's face<br/><br/>There's a faint smell of urine in the air.