Deciding to ignore the gnome, Almec turned to his other cellmate. “So, by the sound of it you must be a necromancer. What’s your name?”

Zak raised an eyebrow at Timothy.

“How do I end up with these people…” Zak muttered to himself.

Night Gaunt Posted:

”Adin” he says while still looking at the gnome. “Hey gnome, if you die here, can I have your corpse?”

“I’m not a necrophiliac as you seem to be” he says in answer. “I am a necromancer if you must know and I…” he stops suddenly and stares at the corner of the room with the straw. “There’s something…” he trails off again clearly just muttering to himself now. He get up and moves towards the corner to examine the straw.

“Oh dear, you must be mistaken. I’m not a necrophiliac, I’m just saying that it probably wouldn’t be horrible to have sex with a corpse, if it were a particularly attractive one. I’ll save my pleasures for the LIVING flesh, thank you. It tends to be more grateful. Or, at least, it usually does.”

EDIT: Roll a general SEARCH check on the cell, not anywhere specific, as he doesn’t know of the straw. 10, by the way.

Night Gaunt Posted:

”I’m not a necrophiliac as you seem to be” he says in answer. “I am a necromancer if you must know and I…” he stops suddenly and stares at the corner of the room with the straw. “There’s something…” he trails off again clearly just muttering to himself now. He get up and moves towards the corner to examine the straw.

“Are you… quite alright, sir? Perhaps you’d like a breath of fresh air.”

“Oh, right. Damn that one.”

genericangstyposter Posted:

Roll a general SEARCH check on the cell, not anywhere specific, as he doesn’t know of the straw. 10, by the way.

You peer around the cell. It’s dingy and has the familiar smell that dungeon cells everywhere soon develop beneath the gag-worthy ones of **** and ****. The floors are earthen and might possibly allow you to dig a pbumage out with a spoon in, say, oh twenty years perhaps. The bars are made of rusted iron but still strong despite the number of sweaty palms that must have gripped it over the past few centuries. The walls, on the other hand, are carved from stone and cemented together by mortar; they look sturdy enough to withstand a siege catapult or two.

There’s the **** pit in the corner of the room, and a little bench chained to the wall in the traditional fashion of prisons everywhere. You wonder if it’s the same architect who designed all of these places, or if they hired the same interior designers. Still, whichever it may be, the bench is there as right as rain.

Other than that, there’s nothing really noteworthy in this place. Unless, of course, you really want to dig through the **** pit…

Jason thinks to himself: ‘Oh, my… I’d rather not search through that effluent, but it could be prudent to our escape. If this crazy gnome thinks that we’re going to die, I have a feeling that we just might. I haven’t discounted a hunch, yet.’

Still, he looks around to see if he could find something to dig around in the pit without touching it himself.