The Brass Muster

A polished brass desk bell stood upon the oak console beside the leather volume. Its dome curved like an inverted iron shield, crowned with a spring-loaded plunger. I approached with measured tread. Grounding the staff of my standard firmly against the timber, I stepped onto the bell's fluted brass rim. I reached upward and tested the plunger knob with the pommel of my sword. Firm spring resistance. Bracing my boots, I threw my weight downward in a disciplined thrust. The mechanism yielded with a sharp click. A resonant, silver chime echoed down the corridor like an alert horn. I held my post as the metallic vibration hummed beneath my boots. The signal line is operational.