He had watched cautiously it was not yet the time for action, his years lent him that instinct. His hope the others would provide some semblance of an explanation for their shared plight seemed fruitless, each seemed as confused as he had been upon opening his eyes. His fingers still idly raked the earth beneath him, stopping as they found purchase in a softer, gooier substance. He glanced down curiously, his eyes having only just adjusted to the light, and a sight of a mess of worms greeted his eyes. Wherever they were, it was indeed a strange place.

The drow woman had seemed pre-occupied with some unseen presence since her awakening, the poor disfigured creature and the lupine man more interested in one another than their predicament, so the old man turned his attention to the dragonkin. He watched as it looked over the pedestal that formed the center of their prison, its eyes lighting up as they focused on the light at its top. Something of interest perhaps?
Before the old man could rise and inspect this apparent discovery, the mongrel snapped into action, lunging unexpectedly and tearing the torch from the pedestal, its light sending shadows dancing around the room in unexpected ways. The kobold seemed almost taken aback, beginning to speak before the sudden retraction of the column interrupted whatever thoughts were had. The whole it revealed was filled with inky blackness, and the old man's eyes could not pierce its mystery.

"I shall make the climb down first," the kobold said to the group, "Unless someone else desires the honor?"
The old man nodded, standing and making his way to beside the hole. His proximity provided no further revelations about the darkened pit, save the presence of the ladder that hung precariously as if over a waiting mouth.

"Perhaps our torchbearer would be so kind as too accompany you?", the old man asked with a rye smile at the creature that had dislodged the lamp in the first place. "My old eyes would appreciate the help."
(OOC: Will wait for some light to make its way down then will follow.)

"Perhaps our torchbearer would be so kind as to accompany you?"
The rat turned from his vista over the now-gaping hole and looked at his accuser. The old one was leering at at him with what looked like a smirk across his wrinkled face. Looking him in the eye, the monstrous thing spat into the hole and watched the yellow phlegm fall until it disappeared into the inky darkness. "Feh. Age before beauty, you gnarled old oak. Or maybe you can't uproot yourself from that spot?
A shrug was the only response from the naked, bearded man. He seemed oddly at peace with the idea of being the next to descend, and began to move toward the hemp ladder. The mongrel thrust the torch toward him. "You think you can see in the dark, ancient one?"

Rheumy blue eyes met the mismatched but sharp eyes of the rat, and the old man seemed to brighten for a moment. "Henh. I can." He snapped his arm back and cast the useless torch into the abyss. It fell for far too long, and the tink it made at the bottom was fainter than he had anticipated.

A word rang in the mongrel-rat's mind like an echo in a cavern. Cast... one who casts... caster... He stood in silence for a moment as the echoes found a home. It was a thought, a half-formed memory without face or identity, but once it took root there could be no doubt. Almost inaudibly, he whispered his revelation into the darkness.

"My name is Castor."

The darkness hung thick about them now, the only source of light having been flung to the floor far below. Castor found he was perfectly at home now.

SIFSIHLAN JOR! Udos z'klaen elgg ol!
The drow beside her screamed in rage and the words called forth a twin fury of her own. Her yellow eyes blazed with untamed fury as the wretched creature leapt up to reach for the dangling key. Faster than thought, the dark magic that was hers alone snapped though her, twitching at her fingertips and begging for release. She was more than happy to oblige, and made ready to release a dazzling torrent of light and shadow that would hold the vile creature to her will. Helpless and captivated his death would be an easy pleasurable thing. A soft hum of pleasure escaped the dark elf's lips as visions of a slow death danced through her head.

Action did not follow thought, for just as her being began to release her hex, the pedestal before her shuttered and sank into the ground. Rage forgotten, she stared in rapt wonder at the pit of darkness that opened before her. A low, throaty moan came from within her as she stared into the welcoming darkness. It filled her with ecstasy and desire, calling her home. Captivated by the sweet void, she peered into its beautiful depths to find a strange symbol scrawled onto the floor amidst illegible writing. It was yet too distant for her to read, but soon she would be home in those black depths, and then she would puzzle out its meaning.

"I shall make the climb down first," the kobold raised voice and it pulled her attention back to her fellow captives. "Unless someone else desires the honor."

She needed no prodding, any escape from the nasty torchlight was a welcome thing. The others around her all seemed just as focused on the pit, but she noticed an apprehension in the aging human. Could he not see in the dark? Is that why humans loved the light?
His words confirmed her suspicions, "Perhaps our torchbearer would be so kind as to accompany you? My old eyes would appreciate the help."

Old eyes indeed. She had never seen such an aged creature before. Fine lines marred his skin and wisps of grey were threaded through his hair. He moved with a slowness that spoke of the weight of years. It was so very odd. The man must have lived for countless millennia to have been so touched by time. It was unnatural.

A mix of apprehension and respect filled her eyes as she gazed upon the clearly ancient being before her. The drow beside her, however, was not so filled with wonder.

Gi Nyx, ussta ssinssrigg uk shiu'ta tlu naubol mzil taga natha dalhar. Rivvin dro lu'el wun jal jhal natha kristass d'l'sol. Ka uk zhahen 'zil zhuanth 'zil dos, uk orn'ia tlu zil takar 'zil natha inlu'thi wun l'sssiks. Ulu dro whol folt natha bista draeval morfethe tiuin rosin dubone ssran ol.
She nodded, an indisputable truth rang in those words despite how unnatural such a thing seemed. The awe that filled her gaze quickly faded, and she haughtily snapped her focus away from him. She had no desire to look upon a creature so pathetic that time alone would kill it. Although, she wondered if she could actually see him age before her. Curiosity piqued, she turned to gaze upon the human again and waited for a new wrinkle to draw itself on his face.

It was then that the vile rat drew her notice yet again. His ugliness assaulted her eyes and she lightly hissed as he waved the horrible glowing torch closer to her. Was the mongrel mocking HER? It seemed, however, that he was more interested in taunting the aging, night blind human, and that pleased her greatly.

"You think you can see in the dark, ancient one?" The rat voiced his question as he thrust the torch into the human's face. "Henh. I can."

He flicked his arm backward faster than seemed possible for such a creature, and let the wretched light drop into the depths before them. A blanket of blessed, cool darkness wrapped around them and she threw back her head and laughed with rapt joy. For this she would forgive the mongrel his many offenses. He had returned the darkness to her.

Sai... Siyo ussta ssinssrigg, nindol zhah ssinjin. H'uena 'sohna ussta ssinjin Nyx, udos ph'deimah.
A lusty, wicked grin painted itself across her face as she nodded to the other dark elf. Only in darkness was the true nature of the drow revealed, and now wrapped in its embrace she found herself filled with sadistic glee.

Another laugh left her lips, beautifully musical and horribly cruel. "Do you miss the light, old man," she placed a mocking emphasis on the words as she silently moved closer to him. "Why not climb down to fetch it? Perhaps it'll let you read all that writing on the floor?"

((OOC: Drow Translations:

NASTY RAT! We must kill it!

Oh Nyx, my love, he can be nothing more than a child. Humans live and die in all but a blink of the eye. If he were as old as you, he would be as shriveled as a grasshopper in the sun. To live for such a short time makes being born hardly worth it.

Ah.... Yes my love, this is sweet. Once again my sweet Nyx, we are home.))

His lips curled into a snarl. Every time the rat-thing spoke, he was seized by an urge to kill it. If it gave him half an excuse, he'd try.

He felt an inexplicable urge to jump to the old man's defense, but held his tongue. That man was not his friend, and indeed could still prove an enemy, or worse, a were. His hands twitched reflexively to blades not present at his side, though he didn't notice.

Deciding he'd had enough of this room, he made preperations to climb down.

(((OOC: Will assisst the old man if he requires it. If not, will just climb down at the first spot in the order not yet claimed.)))

Down a hundred rungs of well aged, yet surprisingly sturdy hempen rungs, lay a room that at first glance could best be described as a foyer, as if it were the entrance to a grander structure. The floor directly below them, lit aglow by the discarded lantern, showed a perfectly illuminated depiction of a pentacle. Surrounding the circle in the common tongue, was a message, or perhaps a warning. It read simply, "safety within, danger without."

Leery eyes scanned the room, instantly picking out the remains of three lost souls, picked clean to the bone. One rested in a chair, face down upon a wooden table. Another hung from a sturdy sconce. The last lay bitterly broken, with a sword through his spine. This one stood apart from the others because his bones were glowing florescent green. It lit up that corner of the room.

With regards to the room, it was rectangular, and differed from their point of origin in that the walls were constructed by square stone blocks. The whole room was crafted, and likely well, before it was lost in time. Dust covered all things, but what could be seen were the doors that rest in the centre of all four walls, made of thick looking wood, with ornamental lions heads for handles. Beside the table that was the resting place of the one who'd passed, lay another table with bowls and jars scoured across the face of it. A stack of yellowed old tomes lay haphazardly beside it, piled nearly to match the height. On the opposite wall, flanking the doorway, were a rack of weapons, or to be more specific, a rack of spears.

On the short walls there were two coat of arms. One of a dragon, and the other a wolf. Across the dragons crest rest a mantle, that shimmered finely in the twinkling light of the lantern. Across the crest of the wolf, was a sword, longer than the standard fair, with a fair sized hilt to match. Green and gold banners flanked the coats, depicting the images of unrecognizable heroes... Or perhaps villains?