Yep. This continues from where the last one left off.
Magus sat down on his cot to sleep, then jumped back up shouting “Guys, I know how we can escape!”
Everyone else just glared at him and She Who Can Not Be Pronounced said “Look, the joke wasn’t funny when Abda did it, and it isn’t funny now.”
“No, seriously this time! Quick, everyone check under the beds!”
“What, are you afraid of there being monsters under them?”
“Yes, but that’s not important right now! Something I remember reading in the imperial building regulations! There has to be at least one emergency exit in any given room!”
“You read those?”
“I was bored, okay! Anyway, what’s under the beds?”
“Nothing here,” said Petrov.
“There’s a portal to R’lyh under mine but I think it would be best if we leave it shut,” said Abda.
“And there’s an entrance to the sewers under mine!” said… Look, do you have anything more pronounceable I can call you?
“My friends call me Ærin.”
“You are not my friend.”
Look, I’m running out of options here. It’s either Ærin or Patsy.
“Ærin it is.”
Magus turned to Ærin and said “Look, can we get going here. There’s not much time until the guards realize what’s going on.”
“What do you mean by that?” responded Ærin. “This is a fantasy setting. The cops are called insecurity guards for a reason. There’s one question during the interview and it’s ‘what is your name’. If you get it wrong, you’re hired.”
“Still best not take risks,” said Petrov.
Magus walked over to the cot, plugged his nose, and jumped into a liquid that if called mud would offend thousands of perfectly innocent swamps. A series of splashes behind him showed that the rest were jumping down as well. However, all was not well. He had three companions, but he had only heard two splashes. Someone was missing. He turned around through the ooze, took stock of his companions and said “Where’s Petrov?”
“Up here manling!”
Magus looked up, fearing whatever celling crawling monster had Petrov in his grip. Instead he saw Petrov clinging to the celling by his beard.
“What… how…,” said Magus, too shocked for words.
“Well what did you zink beard was for! Decoration?”
“I can’t believe you get shocked over such a little thing,” said Ærin. “If you weren’t a wizard I’d think you were some kind of plot important orphan raised by a bunch of hillbillies out in the sticks.”
“Why can’t I be?” said Magus. “My parents are dead; my foster family is dead; and my foster father died right before giving off a prophetic revelation. It fits the cliché perfectly!”
“Because you’re a wizard! Wizards make prophesies, not fulfill them.”
“Well then maybe it’s time for a change!” Magus walked onward toward the light at the end of the tunnel, filled with hope, and left the sewer for a better or at least less smelly future. Or at least he would if it weren’t for all the bars and things. Again. For some unknown reason there were bars over the place where the pipe drained out in one of the tributaries of the river Ankh.
“Dammit!” swore Magus. “Who in their right mind puts bars on the exit of a sewer? Are they afraid of the smell escaping! Don’t want it in their nice disgusting river?”
So, yeah. What do you think?