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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Unsung" data-source="post: 6648649" data-attributes="member: 6781406">Bix gulps, and it occurs to you to wonder where anything it swallows could possibly have room to go.At that moment, a loud crash from downstairs rocks the whole building. That seems to make up his mind for him. "Urk-- oh gods-- follow me," he mutters.A small, slightly damp drawstring pouch levitates off one of the shelves and pulls close to the scaly, spherical body. Bix edges through the small crowd that is the party, out of the dirty apartment and into the ruined hallway.The beholder makes some faint unhappy noises as you pass by a dead man around the corner. It looks to be one of the smiths you saw earlier, with that other modron. An older man, but still brawny, with a bald pate and a thin white beard. His leather apron is smeared with blood. A line of neat puncture wounds, like you might get with a pitchfork or a trident, are punched in his chest, just below the neck.Bix hovers by a slat door, not latched and not entirely closed. "There's a portal in the courtyard through here," he says softly, and leans up against the door as if to listen through it.Even without being next to the door you can hear some muffled voices and the snapping of dry twigs underfoot.</blockquote>