Sylvia was prepared to engage in a bloody brawl against the vermin wielding a warpick, analyzing all manners of attack and how to minimize the injuries she would receive. However, the massive axe-wielding orc was wildly swinging nearby, causing chaos and confusion within the ranks of the rats. 

The warpick rat staggered back along with the rest of the Skaven, driven back by the wildly swinging orc. Sylvia let out a breath. For now, at least, she was safe. She looked among the corpses of several fallen warriors beneath her feet.

[i]Surely, they wouldn’t need their things in the afterlife.[/i]

Among the first things she found was a few gold pieces, good to spend on shops after they got out of the rift. 

A curiosity she had found on one of the Skaven corpses was a small, glass bottle topped with a cork. The inside was filled with a sick, nearly luminescent liquid. Just looking at it nearly made her retch. Certainly, this was the poison the Skaven coated their weapons with. To think that this stuff was inside of her body a few minutes ago. 

Her wish for some better armor was fulfilled, as she found a set of plate gauntlets from a smaller dwarf, of course, dead as well. Surprisingly, as she slipped on the gauntlets, they fit surprisingly well around her slender forearms. They were a bit weighted, but at least her hands wouldn’t be cut off. 

Another curiosity was the hilt and a bit of blade of a former sword, now broken. She didn’t know why, but she felt compelled to keep it with her, despite its initial perceived uselessness. Who knows, maybe someday it would turn out to be some hidden relic of a time long past. Or it could have just been junk. 

The best thing she had found, in her opinion, was the last. As Sylvia picked through the remains of the dead Dwarves and Skaven alike, she found a flat, wide blade, the shortsword of a former Dwarf. As she picked it up, she almost cut herself, as the blade was surprisingly light, almost too light; a weight comparable to her dagger. She grinned, imagining the bloodshed she could wreak with such a special weapon. She had decided to name it the “Feathered Blade” for both its weight and its shape, which reminded her of a bird’s feather.

To her right, she saw something peculiar: The party’s guide, Siph, had disappeared into the Skaven breach, all by himself! The torchlight faded as he went deeper into the darkness. Like a true assassin, Sylvia stalked towards the breach, walking cat-like through the darkness. The absence of light wasn’t much of a problem for her, as she only had to follow the light casted by Siph’s torch. 
[i]
Now, where could you be going?[/i]