<div class="floatright">(http://i.imgur.com/bpyFI3z.png)</div><br/>Shuushar happily blubs away to himself as the group talk. The big toad didn't speak common but from the nature of him he didn't seem like he'd be much use anyway. Laid back to the point that even a lashing from the Drow wouldn't crack his dream like drift through life. He would likely be no happier out of prison than in it.<br/><br/>The guards rarely let you work in more than a pair but thankfully the bridge between you and the post where they make Mikhail polish armour gives you plenty of warning of when they're coming. Two drow with crossbows are nudging along with their feet a pair of deep gnomes. Wiry creatures with darker skin than Fumbledog and patches of hair, Turvy was mostly bald on top and muttered constantly to himself in a dialect similar to common but not similar enough to really be intelligible. His sister Topsy had a more messy mop of hair and did speak Common, translating for her brother whenever she felt what he was mumbling was actually relevant. They were a skittish pair but protective of each other and when Turvy gets a kick from one of the drow guards that causes him to stumble, Topsy goes right for a good old bite on his leg.<br/><br/>The drow is quicker and catches her with a boot to the stomach pinning her to the ground and fumbling for the keys on his belt. Unlocking the cell door he slides Topsy in and Turvy gets tossed in after her the pair bouncing off the far wall before coming to stop. The drow lock the cell and dusts off his boot, "You'd be lucky to get a taste of this leather" he said in elvish, with a sneering laugh through the bars. "Try that again and you'll go to the spiders. You're all only worth something if you know your place."<br/><br/>Topsy licks back her hair as she straightens herself out, a bump like that was nothing for a hardy deep Gnome and gives a guttural cuss in undercommon as the Drow leave back over the bridge.<br/><br/>"Idiots. Don't understand a word that comes out of them" Topsy continues to no one in particular in Common, shuffling up to the wall with Turvy and checking him for cuts.<br/><br/>"They take any of you out mushroom picking?" she asks casually "Were making us eat a bit of everything they picked, but we're used to fire lichen while their poor sensitive tongues can't handle anything spicy. One of them's still got their tongue running under the Waterfall, we'd have probably got lashes if the others hadn't found it so funny."