"You'll be fine in a few moments."

"Yes, it's temporary once you're out of the cloud. Anyone need healing sooner than later?"

"I would certainly be grateful, Select, it did manage to scratch me as it was dying." She licks her lips.

"You don't have it spontaneously?"

"Unlike clerics, we shamans are not granted the power to exchange our prepared spells for healing. I usually prepare a Cure, but since I was traveling with you I chose to prioritize spells that would be less redundant. I do have a healing potion, in case you find yourself... indisposed."

She inclines her head at the comment about shamans; Camellia herself is incredibly suspicious, but her account  matches what Anevia's heard about Sarkoran practices.

He nods. "Light or Moderate?"

"Moderate, if you do not need your second-circle spells too dearly to spare it."

"It is impossible to know how many I will need. - how many of the arrows are recoverable?" he asks the archers.

"Two of 'em are good as new. The other four have seen better days." (The ones in the latter category are damaged badly enough that a typical Worldwound fort would consider them completely unusable.)

Sixteen left of twenty.... about how many rooms are they going to pass through on the way up...

His proprioception is having some issues with this question but it's definitely at least two just to get to ground level, if he goes straight through the door leading upwards. Maybe more, exact layouts aren't the sort of thing it's best at, but there are at least two distinctly cave-like spaces below the-place-where-the-ground-is, plus some additional tunnel-like spaces.

He blows the Delay Poison on a Cure Moderate. Does Seelah have more injuries than before?

No, she's holding steady.

She curtsies. "You have my thanks."

"We may be almost halfway through. Ser, let's get you a Cure Light."

But what if someone else needs it later — he's third-circle and presumably knows what he's doing.

"Thank you."

She gets what would have been an Abundant Ammunition; they do not seem likely to be specifically constrained on arrows, at least not of the kind that he can replicate with the spell.

He gets his Detect Fiendish back up, and proceeds.

The door is locked. (There are no fiendish presences detectable within fifteen feet of it.)

"Any of you a bit of a burglar?"

"Me."

"I am no petty thief, Select, but some of my experience with mundane traps may be more broadly applicable."

"Well, you can have a try if she," what kind of rank is 'head of counterintelligence', "doesn't manage it."

She sits down by the lock. "Can I get a Guidance?"

"Guidance." Bap.