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You start from the dark with a jolt. You lie sat flat on your ass, your breeches sodden with dungeon damp and the waft of mildew so thick it coats your throat. You came to this oubliette in search of DUNGEON RESIDUE, a potent magical synovial fluid to sustain the power of a TRANSPECIATION POTION, but..
You wound up in a delicate situation with a ghost stuck in the body of your master. You were to play the part of a fantasy party in hopes of a chance exorcism for the lost spirit, but fell victim to one of the traps along the way with him–and now, split from your party, you’ve just come to from a very long bout of unconsciousness in the dark.
You look about the dark of the room around you and attempt to take stock of your situation. You can’t make out a thing. Your wands–both your DYADIC and THURIBLE (from the assassin)–are gone. Your hood is still a slipshod mess of thread, fallen down to reveal your elven face for all the world to see. You curse beneath your breath–just how long have you been out? 5 minutes, 12 hours, 6 months..?
>Call out for the green knight. Or, anyone. Even Bredbeddle.
>Grasp around the ground for your wand. You won’t manage a thing without it.
>Try to mend your hood, quick. No one can be allowed to see your face.
>[Write-In.]
