"Alright." Theo said, falling into step behind Michael. He didn't stay where he was, but then, in this dark and spooky basement, who could blame him? "This is very weird."
The organ was an old thing, but Michael and Theo both came to a stop in front of it, looking at the giant contraption. Then, even as they watched, one of the keys pulled itself down, and the basement resounding with the organ's dusty sound. Another key pulled down, and again there was a blast of sound, joining its partner. A third key, and a third sound.
There was a creak of machinery, and the space in front of the old organ suddenly fell open, the trapdoor concealed cunningly beneath the dust of ages. It was a huge old trap-door, a dozen feet to a side, and Michael and Theo plummeted downwards, down the old elevator shaft, into the darkness. Theo screamed, and then there was a sudden and ugly crunch as the two of you hit the ground. Theo screamed again, this time in pain rather than terror, but at least he was alive to scream. With the same creaking sound, the trapdoor shut itself, and Michael and Theo were engulfed in the darkness.
Michael takes 2B damage, which he heals within a few turns. Theo is less fortunate, and takes 3L damage.
"What, the, hell." Theo whimpered. Michael, blessed with much better night-vision than the human, could see that Theo had fallen into a small wooden footstool, a sturdy-looking thing. He was clutching his side, and his face was a grimace of pain. "I... broke something. Oh god, argh..."
"By the clack-smack-cracking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes." The voice sounded, somewhere up above Michael. The werewolf couldn't tell how far he'd fallen. Twenty feet? Thirty feet? The walls of the shaft were wood and dirt, carved deep into the London soil, but there were doors set into the walls, one of them at ground level, others higher up. All of them were firmly shut, except for a single door open, perhaps twenty feet above Michael's head. That one was open, into further darkness.
"You're used to getting what you want, aren't you, handsome. People just love your charisma, your face. They eat your words up like the rats eat the cheese in a trap. Oh, boss, where do you think you are?" This was no ethereal whisper on the wind. It was the voice of something with a body, something rasping and damaged and hideously wrong. "What's a breather like you doing calling my name?"