It's a fantasy role-playing game.

DM: You are Tiberius Stormwind, a dragonborn sorcerer . You are the member of the famous group of adventurers. Previously, you spends some time training Lockheed, his pet pseudo-dragon. As the party finish breakfast, you casts his teleportation spell.
DM: Okay, so all of you who are going, you leap in. You're staying and you're staying, correct? And you're staying. All right, Keyleth, Percy and Vax. All of you guys step in and all of a sudden there's a familiar whoosh of some sort of dark transference, you feel as if gravity for a moment doesn't exist and your feet find purchase on some sort of a wooden floor. The room is dark. You glance about the immediate vicinity, and for those of you who have low light, there's very little you can actually make out other than the fact this is a basement of some kind, and you are amidst a bunch of sheet covered crates.
Player: Light! (whoosh)
DM: As the light fills the room, you look around.
Player: I cast it on Lockheed. On his tail.
DM: All right! Lockheed begins trying to shake the light off the tail, so it moves around a little bit.
Player: Oh, Bensvelk! That means "good" in Draconian. Bensvelk. And I feed him a treat.
DM: (chuckles) All right! You look around the room, there are about six or seven of these crates immediately visible to you. They have sheets put over them, they're different sizes, some sort of storage room. There is a staircase that leads to the floor above.
