Bryn winds up entering the chamber last, falling into the middle of the room.  She tucks the sunrod into the top of her pouch-- out of sight and glow-- and draws her blade lazily, as if by habit.  "We should fan out.  We go that narrow path like ducks after mama and we'd be liable for skewering.  But I'm not the self-proclaimed warlord," she muses, "So I'll go near the front if I can."  Religion (1d20+9=19) (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2656632/)