*The vallorian is dying slowly. He won't last more than a few moments. The one Darthallys pushed into the vat seems to have dissolved. The racks of weapons stands ready for inspection. However, it becomes clear that taking these weapons along will be like taking along a tangle of snakes. The swords either seem to writhe towards you, eager for blood, watch you with eyes, or drip with a caustic green substance. Arrows have tiny fanged maws at their tips. Sheilds have eyes and fanged mouths on them, tentacles, or strange orifices. Armor crawls with worms, or seems to be made of beetles. All of them seem to be fractious, as if they can't wait to feast upon your blood.*