Anethrial lands beside Laszlo as he sets down the flame on the other side of the trap. He waves his hand and they vanish. When he recalls them on the way out, this trap will be marked. He creeps forward, another flame bursting forth in his palm.<br/><br/>Laszlo scrutinizes each of the next few pools of darkness carefully, they offer no hidden contraptions. They approach an intersecting corridor, and Laszlo hears the distant echo of boots. He blows out his flam and peers around each corner, two torches are bobbing in the distance. The echo of footsteps grows louder. He examines the floor no traps, dark gray stone. He looks back at Anethrial's immaculate robes, gleaming skin, and golden wings. That wouldn't do.<br/><br/>"We need to change," he says, touching his own ragged clothing. Dark gray seeps out from his palm and fingertips, soaking through the fabric of his cloak like an inkblot possessed. He reaches a hand towards her.<br/><br/>"Now hold still, we haven't much time for this."