The blind elf smiles, this time for a fraction of a second longer than usual.

“Your friend brings up an excellent point,” he replies in Common. “Let us just say that it is best suited to my purposes for me not to leave this cell here. However, rest bumured that you will be in no danger whatsoever. It is a simple task, retrieving a cedar-wood chest that has fallen by the wayside. The biggest threat to your safety, indeed, is that of sanitation.”

He motions with his left hand in a complex motion and mumbles something under his breath. Cenbuma: It is no spell that you know, but it is clearly magical; you can feel your heart skip a beat even as reality scrambles to obey his will, an almost visible pulse of power converging upon this one point in the multiverse for a split second. Then, it is gone as quickly. Nodding to Zakarion, almost as if in recognition, the elf steps back into the shadows in the corner of his cell…

And, in almost the same instance, you see three backpacks slowly float towards you through the bars of the prison cell. Behind each figure is a smoky, insubstantial almost-humanoid figure holding your backpacks and other bumorted gear up. Cenbuma: You recognise it as an invisible servant, a simple summoning spell that the Academy Masters sometimes use to perform various menial tasks.

 

Well, well, well… if you so choose to accept them, gentlemen, you will find your equipment intact and accounted for. It’s time to do some dungeon raping crawling, folks.