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Milaniel:
In the centre of the forest of spears, seemingly glued to the roof, is a simple wooden chest.
Manifesting for a moment, she also casts mage hand to push on one or two of the spears, to see how firmly they appear to be attached to the ceiling.
"Someone's been quite naughty," she whispers to herself, smiling slightly, before slipping back through the door and returning to the others.
Milaniel:
As Grakl goes through the backpack he recovered he discovers a few days worth of trail rations, a small coil of rope and a journal together with quills and ink. Suddenly, Milaniel rejoins the rest of you, drifting through the wooden door to hover before the group.
"A peculiar arrangement awaits you beyond the door," the ghost says, looking amused. "A plain room, or so it seems at first, but a chest rests on the ceiling, and is surrounded by vicious-looking spears all around. It looks a trap to me, but I can't prove it." She chuckles. "No doubt one of you will find a way to find out... one way or the other."
Behind you, the high pitched squeal from the room containing the statues abruptly cuts off. The darkened corridor falls quiet, the silence broken by the occasional muffled scrapes, bangs and other noises of Undermountain. Beneath it all, you catch snatches of an almost indiscernible murmur - tantalisingly close, yet faint and indistinct.
The door swings open in the darkness revealing a large rectangular room. It is around forty by fifty feet with a high, twenty foor ceiling. Initially it appears bare and deserted, however in the centre of the room there is a forest of spears jutting from the roof at odd angles. In the centre of the spears sits a small chest, perched impossibly on the ceiling. Opposite the place you came in is another plain, wooden door.
"No time to sleep, We still need run run run, huamns kill us too easy we sleeping..."
"Chest on ceiling? Sound like trap, magic make you fall up...get impaled on spears..."
Sneakily eats some of the food...then hands out a little.
Cenciach looks up from is spellbook in surprise. "Wow, Grackal! I didn't expect you to be able to figure that out!" He seems to mean this as a compliment. "Yeah, I bet you're right. The chest probably isn't that important, it might even be empty.
He hesitates. "Hey, I have an idea! How about you guys all leave the room, then I fly up and take a look? That way, I can fly, so I'll probably be fine, and you guys will be safe!" He grinned a toothy serpent's smile.
OK OK, if we not flee, then let me look and see what trigger trap...
1d20 +9=28
Disable Trap: +16 disable, you roll so it's secret.
Grakl spends a few moments skirting the area beneath the forest of spears. Despite the menacing look of the roof above, the goblin finds no sign of any trap. It appears to him to be safe, though somewhat disturbing to walk underneath them.
"Well then, who's going to keep watch?"
Milaniel smiles, showing teeth. Without a word, she drifts toward the skull that Grakl has been carrying; her form becomes smoky, and she seems to collapse into the brain cavity. As she does so, however, bright green flames ignite in the skull's eyes - flames that move and focus on Saamasal as though they were pupils.
Exhausted, the four of you find places around the edge of the room to sleep as Milaniel's skull keeps a silent vigil, the green flames dancing in its eyesockets casting an eerie, dim light through the room. Your sleep is fitfull and uncomfortable on the cold, stone floor. From time to time, distant sounds echo through the passages and you hear the unmistakeable noises of far off battles and snatches of conversation.
Nonetheless, you are able to rest for several hours, sharing the rations you managed to plunder from the wounded adventurers and healing any damage you have sustained. As a group, you begin to stir. The room you have been resting in has been unditurbed for several hours - given the traffic through this level of Undermountain, that is hardly likely to continue.
Milaniel, having drifted back out of her skull and reformed into her usual humanoid appearance, looks vaguely wistful at the idea of food, and not nearly as shocked by the concept of eating "'ooman" as she should. "Indeed," she murmurs. "Time is wasting, and even I do not have as much of that as I would prefer..."
Turns the pages of the spell book for the little dragon
"Pull down spears, so we can throws them! We got go soon Dragon." Grakl's stomach rumbles. "Me sure could eat some ooman 'bout now." "We must find lower levels."
"Okay, I'm done! Thanks, Grakl!" Cenciach grins. "Alright, you guys go on, I'm just gonna check that chest. It's been bugging me all night!" He flies up to the chest and waits there, hovering.