As Sydney pulls Phelypsis backwards, a dark cloud of anger comes to the man's face, his lips twisting in a moment of proud defiance.  He pulls himself up to full height and makes a conscious effort to soften his features, "There is no need to be concerned, magess," he all but purrs out to her with a smile returning once again to his face.  One of his hands moves to the space where the bars once were and he presses on it gently, a twist of magical energy going around his hand but keeping him held back, seeming just barely on the edge of snapping under his push.<br/><br/>Sydney's eyes take in the scene, the minuscule runes along the melted bars, the man behind them, the entire prison cell and she sees the twists and turns of warded magic. This magic is ancient, far older than the man appears to be.  In her mind she counts the curves, the weavings, this net is a terribly ancient one, one of the oldest magic spells she has encountered.  It is powerful, but weakening.  And as it weakens, the man behind it is only becoming more powerful.<br/><br/>He is at least as ancient as his prison, possibly older, it was crafted for him.  She receives psychic resonance, slick, slimy magic that feels reminiscent of the illithids.<br/><br/>The man watches the three Delvers with one of his lips quirking from a frown to a half grin.  "Come now, I have been here long enough.  Why not simply let me go?"<br/><br/>A rumble through the ground, a sound in the caves of shifting rock and moving rubble.  The man's eyes widen and he snarls out a phrase unknown to the Delvers.  "Those bars were connected in with something greater.  I should have known the mind-flayers would not make things easy.  Come!  Quickly!  Release me!"<br/><br/>The sound of grunting, growling voices comes from nearby, then hammers smashing at stone not 30 feet down the hallway.  Danger draws closer.<br/><br/><strong>Delvers, what do you do?</strong>