DM: Feysteps

Gryffin shrieks in pain as the glaive rises, pulling itself free from the meat of his shoulder. He turns to see Lloyd straining at the bars, the muscles bulging, and the veins in his face etched in purple.

The wizard, however, calmly clamps a hand over his shoulder wound and simply stares at his companion. One second he was trapped within the bars, the next moment he feysteps and is standing amidst them.

The glaives stop, lazily arching back into their upright position. Something clacks, like heavy stone on heavy stone. There is a sound of steel on steel, as if the trap resets itself.

Lloyd grips his friend in an embrace.

“I thought we were going to lose you!” The young warrior states while the rest crowd round Gryffin.

Overlooked at the stairs, Orik resentfully looks at affectionate exchange between the two friends.

You are back where you started, with two of your numbers once more wounded.

Rhonna becomes aware, for a second, of something watching you thru the bars and from the far end of the corridor. It flits back into the shadows, appearing to disappear into the northern-most room, and is gone.