Denadar’s head had rested in the maw of many a foul and putrid beast before, but never had it rested in anything as revolting as the open crevasse that he was being lowered into right now. He never quite figured out how something as big as an otyugh could grow in the sewers, but hows did not really matter when you were about enter a mouth that somehow contained more boils than teeth.
Denadar considered breaking his vow with Tharros to never flee from an undefeated foe as he frantically tried to remember which magic item he was supposed to use. Was he supposed to click his boots three times while thinking about his room in the Lofty Drumstick? Or was he supposed to take one of the beads off his necklace and disappear in a puff of smoke? Thinking it was the necklace, he pulled off the center bead and prepared to throw it towards the ground.
“Denadar, you incompetent fool, the blast from that fireball will kill us all!” yelled Sif from somewhere off down the tunnel.
Oh, Sif was alive, Denadar thought. Well, he certainly couldn’t run with an ally still standing, but he would have to thank Sif later for reminding him that he was wearing that fireball necklace thing.
“Don’t worry Sif. Tharros rewards the brave for making small sacrifices,” said Denadar.
“You don’t understand! The gas in here will…” Sif tried to yell out, but Denadar had already thrown the bead into the gaping cesspit of a mouth.
No one really knew why all the sewer grates in the city belched fire on that particular Highday, but it didn’t really surprise the residents all too much. The common folk simply believe that things like this just happen when you have enough mages gathered in one place.