<span style="font-weight: bold">Xarces</span><br/><br/>The chamber is broadly circular, and large enough that, in the dim light, you can only just make out the far wall. If there is another door, stepladder back up, or tunnel leading further down, its disguised by the dimness, the moss and the puddles.<br/><br/>Swiftly, you feel a pair of soft, feminine hands that can only belong to Vesele take your middle tail, whilst Katina’s own single tail entwines itself about your last free one.<br/><br/>You notice, too, that there’s one fewer girl in the chamber than there should be.<br/><br/>“Ishidora thought we should split up,” Katina explains, “and I decided to let her. She said she’d try and disguise where we’d gone…” she blinks her wide, cat eyes. “Luck is all we can wish her now.” [OOC: I thought of a good idea too late to foreshadow it properly - sorry].<br/><br/>Puddles, stained with the same greenish glow, cover much of the cracked and aged red-brick floor. Moss covers most of the walls and roof, and long, sticky strands of living goop dangle from above, dripping liquid onto the floor. After a few moments, it becomes clear that the frequency of the drip-drip-dripping is gradually increasing...<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">Cyra</span><br/><br/>Bypassing locked doors, and dismissing open ones that lead only to the barest of closets or preparation rooms, brings Cyra swiftly to the kitchen, Anita trailing helplessly behind.. Checking an number of doors identifies one that leads down a flight of stone stairs, barely broad enough for her to pass… but as she begins to do so, she hears a noise from behind her. A swift glare at Anita is answered with a terrified shake of the catgirl’s head, and anyway, the sound seemed to come from one of the kitchen’s cabinets, on the opposite site of the room...<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">Resha</span><br/><br/>It’s easy enough to slide a sheet from beneath the skeletons, and the seedpods lie ripe and ready on the vines, separating easily at your merest touch. The room yield half a dozen of the bulky things, nearly a full load for your makeshift sling, and enough to satisfy the present needs of the tribe, if not its wilder desires.<br/><br/>The secret ‘passage’ proves to be no such thing, opening instead onto a secretive workroom, a rush of foul, stale air speeding past you as you expose it. Books line the walls, dozens if not hundreds of them, from which you get the sensation of darkest magics, magics that live and move and hunger within the pages. Besides them lie various unmentionable potions and ingredients, scattered throughout cabinets and across alchemical workbenches, and its impossible to tell whether design or the passage of time has rendered some of them so foul-smelling. Is that vial supposed to contain crystals, or would it once have been some liquid potion?<br/><br/>In the center of the room, curled within the confines of a binding-circle still lit with the fading glow of an active binding, and, apparently, fast asleep, lies a pretty, red-skinned Demonette…