Immersive Ink

Franklin is no match for a wizard! But if it comes to a fight, Franklin will attempt to break the spellcaster's concentration with a well-timed sling shot.

Wiglaff looks around to make sure everybody is ready to fight if necessary. Assuming so, he'll knock politely on the door and then step to the side in case of lightning bolts or what-have-you.

The chanting stops. A few seconds later, a strong, melodious voice issues from the door itself. "A party of adventurers. What business have you with Timn the Enchanter?"

Vesh is intrigued but wary. "Do you think he might be a friendly sort like the other wizard we met or could this be a ruse?", whispers Vesh to the others.

"Seems friendly enough, and he already knows we are here," Aldbane says. "Timn, we wish to speak to you about this dungeon level, may we come in?"

Franklin keeps his guard up and waits to hear the door's reply to Aldbane's question.

Grampus grumbles to himself and those next to him,"Wizards make me nervous...., but if he's friendly he might be helpful otherwise we may be in for trouble here."

Catweazle's eyes light up. "A thaumaturge! A magister! An enchanter! Mayhaps one who knows the secret of the talking bone, or even electrickery! And perchance might be willing to share his knowledge, eh, Touchwood? But what if not, eh, that's the quandary, young owlface. Hist! Tche! Tche!"

Wiglaff waits patiently for the enchanter to respond to Aldbane's query.

Seem to be a lot of magic-users on this level!

The door opens silently onto a 40' square room, with 20' north of the door, and 10' south of the door. The furnishings look luxurious, and sitting at a desk, idly toying with a bejwelled staff, is a middle-aged man with black hair and goatee. A magic book is opened on the desk in front of him. "Greetings friends. Do you have things to buy or sell?"