(Bard) (Chaotic Good)

The collection of weapons and deadly tools here. A veritable armory. You've seen many like this in the Underdark, either stockpiles in the eternal conflict against the surface world, or the political conflicts with one another. You were once deep in such things, having been trained in a number of these weapons, but the appeal has long since vanished.

The desire to destroy, to harm, and kill was not in you, though it took you many years to have the bravery to express it. Your family and the drow community wouldn't stand for such things, seeing your **** as weakness and treason. You fled for your life, making your way to the surface world, and immediately finding that it was for the better. Distrust of you was rampant, but there was so much beauty and wonder here. What's more, it allowed you to create and express yourself, and find your true calling as a bard.

You don't see any means of escape, and dwelling on the past won't help you. Rather than looking at the weapons about, you try to find a secret lever or some kind of mechanism to open up the gate. Curiously, you see that a few layers of brick are different from the others, as if it was constructed from different quarries. In this band, you spot holes or imperfections that seem to travel along. A less studious eye would have overlooked it as poor workmanship, but you see it as the means of your salvation, as it's actually musical notes on a bar graph. You look over the melody, taking in large breaths to prepare. Using your well trained voice, you sing the melody on the wall. As you do, the armory simply dissappears in total blackness, with you seemingly hovering in space. You hear a shout, and the world immediately fills in around you. You're in your apartment home, in bed. The whole thing was a strange dream. Looking out the window, there's a minor scuffle between businessmen. Nothing of your concern, but you're thankful that the noise pulled you out of your slumber.