Dean quivered, his back against the wall and the feeling of a woman pressed against him and his Knight. He’d never been particularly fond of Donovan in a romantic light, but with the drow female between the two of them perhaps he could…<br/><br/>The threat of movement jerked Dean from his amorous thoughts as cleanly as an arrow leaving its nock. One instant he was thinking with his cock, the next with his dagger. Had their new “friend” shown even the slightest inclination to commit violence, Dean would have eagerly followed. Then again, Dean was all dark passions: murder, lust, hunger. Those needs drove him in almost every waking thought, with few exceptions and pulling on his powers, the abilities ‘lent’ him by Donovan only made him worse.<br/><br/>When the coast was finally clear, Dean moved in front of the door and went down into a graceful crouch, leanly powerful legs holding him steady effortlessly as his nimble fingers flew to one of his pouches, lifting the neat rods and picks he’d use for this particular job. Waving them in the air, he murmured a few words (ironically enough they were in Undercommon and basically translated into “pierce the magical veil”). The picks glowed faintly as he brought them into alignment with the lock. They’d been specifically designed to bypass – and not trigger – such wards. In truth, those picks were the specific reason he and Donovan had spent time with the drow – the crossbow had been a parting gift.<br/><br/>A few seconds and neat flicks of wrist later and the door unlocked. His job done, Dean stepped aside and looked back at the drow and Donovan, waiting for either of them to take the lead into the room beyond, a slight smirk of self-satisfaction on Dean’s face the entire time.<br/>