Emmaline landed on top of Amal with a decidedly unladylike squawk, driving the breath out of the thief. She sneezed violently as dust and grit rained down on the pair of them in a steady stream. Above them lightning could be seen flashing across the mouth of a small shaft. They found themselves in an ancient dusty corridor. Stonework that was worn smooth by the passage of ages surrounded them. The style was strange to Emmaline's eye, though she wasn't a scholar of architecture. 

"You know, for two people with a flying carpet, we sure fall down alot," Emmaline complained, rolling onto her back and staring accusingly up at the shaft above them.

"Well I suppose it is what I get for not just running away when I had the chance," Emmaline went on, she ought to have just left whoever was pursing them mired in mud and ridden on. Now they were stuck down a hole without their horses.

"Where would have been the fun in that?" Amal asked, pushing himself to his feet and ensuring no bones were broken. Emmaline followed suit, her staff appearing in her hand, a soft golden light emerging from its golden head to illuminate the darkness which extended off in both directions.