Ungimros waved his hand dismissively when he heard Balen's words, and pocketed a couple amethysts. Those alone would afford the sap elf a quiver of decent arrows, or one very fine missile. He shelved that thought before giving the room another once-over, and then returning to look out the way they came.

The passage was quite black again, the magelight having progressed into the library. Ungimros had walked through it on edge, with his weapon drawn, like everyone else. Mostly the tension had excited him; wondering whether something would swing an axe for his head. Before that had been lifting the old Nords' stone coffin doors, which had provided similar worries, albeit with daggers and fangs. Now that they were in this small room, the only fantasy Ungimros could conjure was the prospect of ambush. This would be an excellent spot for a mage or alchemist to throw some fire and roast the graverobbing party alive, or for corpses to use the tight space against them, or to simply lock them in the tomb.

These ideas were less exciting, and it didn't take too long for Ungimros to grow satisfied nothing was sneaking up on them, and thus bored of his watch. Keeping an eye on the hall, and an ear on the party, he reached out his hand, starting spell it into another plane before he reconsidered. The purple light that had briefly shone died out, and Ungimros felt the magicka he'd used to make the connection returned to him. This was perhaps not the best time to frivolously spend his energies.

He gave the hall one last scan, before returning fully to the room. "Looks clear behind us. Does this room lead anywhere?"