The Sixth Day, Cell

At Borthan's refusal, the derro breathes out his nose in an exaggerated sigh, but waves his hand in front of him. "Prison is no excuse to live so... uncivilized," his voice drawls. White eyes glaring out into the cell - it is impossible to tell if the glare is intentional or not - he turns his head towards Sarith at the far end.

"Such a sad sap. You would rather be caged with the spiders, I am sure... What did you do to get thrown in here with me," Buppido asks, a faint trickle of venom dribbling down into his otherwise steady and perfectly pitched voice.

The Sixth Day, Work Group

Between the practiced ease of the two ladies in ropemaking, they swiftly work through the pile of silk. Shuushar's ropemaking is slow and ponderous, as he rocks back and forth in his seated position with a calm and content look on his face. He does not seem concerned about meeting the expectations of their captors.

All the same, the task is soon finished and the drow come to inspect their work. They tie the rope around rocks and swing it in the air to test the tensile strength and quality. "And without using your magic this time. It appears I have no excuse to punish you today, traitor," Kronryn takes Faedryl by the arm and pulls her into a standing position. The three prisoners are led back to the cell and unceremoniously dumped inside.

The Seventh Day, Cell

"You should just knock that one out. She sings nonstop," one of the drow outside the cell points at Nilvae, before the trio of prison guards and their pet quaggoth file away. They do not bother to answer the question of her donkey.

Duskryn comes to the door, as everyone gathers around in expectation of food, giving the prime opportunity for Stool to puff out spores upon the cell's entire population. Topsy and Turvy react with immediate suspicion, drawing back from the cloud and glaring at the mushroom. I do not appreciate doing this without our permission, the female gnome's thoughts lash out, chastising the myconid. But we do need to plan. Fine. I am Topsy, and my brother is Turvy. Her brother's thoughts are flurried, wild, and hyperactive.

Spoiler: Insight DC12
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Those with keen minds are able to catch the word Rat repeated over and over in Turvy's mind, which he always snuffs out with a new thought immediately after.


Telepathic introductions are made for most of the inhabitants: Shuushar's smooth thoughts flow clearly and evenly, Jimjar's ring with playful mischief, and Buppido's carry an uncomfortable dissonant reverb despite his polite and formal introduction.

The tray slides in, with nothing but eleven rolls of bread. "Food supplies are running thin," he whispers through the bars. "They may start selecting prisoners soon to... help with the cooking," the scarred and crippled drow chuckles darkly.

There is no introduction from the second of their newest cellmates. Ignorant to the spores' effects, the orc's thoughts are muddled by the poison, but made clear through a mantra echoing out from his mind: Food. In a drunken haze, he grabs two of the dinner rolls for himself and stuffs them into his gaping mouth. He seems prepared to grab more if not stopped.

Spoiler: Stool
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Stool obtains a suit of wooden 'Hide Armor' while wearing the bucket.