You look around for the blind elf, but he’s no longer anywhere to be seen within the cell. The gnome, however, has resumed his usual catatonia and is curled back into that ball he so favours in the corner of the room. Save for the occasional sob coming from him, the place is as still as a mouse.

Strange. You could have sworn that, just moments ago, you could still hear the footsteps of the guards above you.

Timothy can finish picking lock to their cell, if you so desire, but otherwise there is no other visible exit to this place save either down the corridor or back into your cell. Yeah, sure, find the catacombs, but the bloody elf didn’t exactly tell you how you can get there, did he? Well, the ball’s in your court.

genericangstyposter Posted:

He picks the lock with REAL lockpicks, this time (10). “Alright, alright you little kobold. Shut up, I’m coming.”

The lock slides open smoother than bumered grease. Damn, but if it doesn’t feel good to have real tools beneath your fingers. With a soft click, the final tumbler falls into place and you turn the lock, causing the latch to hang open. Hold on… Something doesn’t feel right.

You look at the lock in your hands carefully. It isn’t a #3 pin-and-tumbler combination, though you still managed to get it open in near-record time. It’s a Puzzler & Son’s reverse-configuration. You haven’t seen one of these for years now: which is fair enough, given how they haven’t made any for years. Puzzler went out of business decades ago when New Stanford Co. began mbum-producing their “Standard locks” for half the price. The lock in your hands, however, is definitely a Puzzler’s. Bartelville, being the backwards hick town that it is, is still outfitted exclusively with their locks, and they were amongst the first puzzles your inquisitive fingers learnt to unravel.

You take an even closer look around you. While nothing appears to have changed, something certainly has. The stone, for instance, is slightly different, more aged and dirty, and the iron bars on the cells more pitted with rust than it was just a few minutes ago. Even the air, now that you think about it, smells different. The smell of **** that was prevalent has since disappeared, replaced by something more earthy. It is the kind of smell that you would bumociate with a tomb; air that has not been breathed by anything alive for the past few centuries.

Jason looks around to see if the scenery changes, as well. This is most certainly not normal.

“This is not right.” says Zak, paranoid and for good reason. “We’d better let the gnome out… we need all the help we can get.”

Zak chuckled. “I figured. Just that last time I came to a dungeon… a lot like this one, in fact… it was with about a dozen soldiers like me. Only half of us made it out.”

Zak held the Black Kestrel ready, and it glinted in the dim light along with his armour. “I could use some payback.”

Where to, ladies? Available exits: behind you, down the corridor.

Zak chuckles at Jason’s crack. If there’s one good thing about a Rogue besides their usefulness, it’s their sense of humour. He then turns to Cenbuma. “All right. Voaer, scout ahead. There’s no way of telling what we’ll find down here. And you, Cenbuma, stay behind me and watch your back. I probably have the best chance at taking anything we find down here, but we’ll all have to work together if we want to see daylight again.”

genericangstyposter Posted:

”Let’s still take the gnome with us. We don’t know how… useful he’d be.”

Truth be told, he had a hankering for some midget bum, and if there wasn’t going to be a female for a while… well… he had a way of convincing people. Besides that, the more of them that are there, the more likely Jason wouldn’t get eaten. So, as he always says, and as he says right now, “The more, the merrier.” He grins widely. As he’d already unlocked the door, he swings it open.

“Come on. I’ll scout a bit ahead with the gnome. We’re in some sort of dungeon. That means checking for traps, and sneaking around, and whatnot.” He spits on the ground for good luck.

The moment the door swings open, the gnome looks up at you, eyes wide in horror, and bolts from under your arm all this while screaming his head off. You make a lunge to grab him but he dodges you with the speed that only the truly terrified can manage. You curse softly under your breath. There goes any chance at “sneaking around”, you expect. On the up side, any traps down that corridor would be disabled by his mad rush down the path…

Strangely enough, despite the antiquated feeling of this place, somebody still took the time and effort to lit this expanse of the corridor. Which can only mean that there’s still someone living here. That, or the torches have magically remain lit for the past few months.

Welp, so much for the gnome. Party order, I bumume, is going to be Voaer, Cessana and then Zak up the rear?

Alright, sure. Let’s just get moving.