<div align="center">Name: Sawm Sorban<br/>Class/Level: Fighter 3<br/>Wearing: Chainmail and shield.<br/>Location: Mystery Barrel Room<br/>Tagging: All<br/><br/>HP: 39/39 - AC: 19<br/>Passives:  Perception: 13 | Insight: 10 | Investigation: 11<br/>Effects: None<br/>Actions: N/A</div><br/>Grief was not a soldier’s luxury.<br/><br/>Neither, for that matter, was indecision. And so, unburdened by sorrow for a fallen lord-- a fallen friend, even-- and for soldiers that were like children to her, unburdened by uncertainty, Sawm Sorban took stock of her surroundings. She took a quick tally of what was, for better or worse, now her unit, glanced around the room they’d been so unceremoniously shunted to as the others fell to talking. She caught bits and pieces worth following up on later-- what Meris had overheard of their assailants’ intentions, and the intriguing possibility that some third party had intervened to deliver them to safety-- but the words were punctuated now and again by a deep, cavernous rumbling. It was the sound of stonemasonry coming undone, sandstone and limestone and wooden partitions grinding against one another in a desperate-- and failing-- bid to stay intact. The tower was collapsing around them.<br/><br/>She turned to face the others, sliding her longsword-- she’d had it drawn at the moment she and the others had been whisked away from the dark lord’s chamber-- back into its scabbard. That face, so accustomed to smiles as warm as summer sunshine and eyes as kindly as a grandmother doling out sweets, was drawn tight and solemn, the lines of age etched deeper and darker than ever. Just now, softness wasn’t a soldier’s luxury, either.<br/><br/>“This tower’s not gonna be upright for long,” she said, and the words-- Common words, familiar to all-- emerged in the languid drawl of the Spice Isles, emerged like molasses, an accent linked more in the popular imagination with backwater fishermen and drunken poets than with warriors. “We don’t have time to go exploring. We get up to the laboratory, we take what we can, and then we get the hell out of here.” Get out of here, and regroup, reflect, consider how things had managed to go so wrong, and consider what lay ahead.<br/><br/>Because at the moment, Sorban didn't have a damn clue.