It Liga Burns!

The battle is over and the four Mace-hand-maidens lie slashed, smashed and broken but still weirdly upright on their bronze rods and rails. The newly rescued and fiercely flaming Dijonn dims down slightly to preserve the remainder of his already mostly used-up torch, allowing Liga Bur to relax his slightly singed but rigidly straight arm and unsquint his eyes against the heat and brightness. 

With now no immediate threat, the alert Elves, Arowe and Rifkin search the dank, moss covered walls for any hidden mechanisms or traps, while Fortu and the three Scarborough soldiers stand guard. Liga Bur though, takes the opportunity to learn what he can from his newly acquired 'servant'. Dijonn's bigger than before but his burning form is completely translucent with no physical body beneath his Orange flame and when he speaks, his voice is like the hiss and crackle of burning logs and sticks.

"I've been imprisoned here for what feels like a century by the vile Lord Urdurel. His son passed through here perhaps a week ago but ignored me, even as I pleaded for his help. Like Father, like scum, I suppose!"

"How could I tell? They looked alike, although the son seemed strangely older than his father. Actually, in hindsight, it has been a long time. Perhaps Lord Urdurel is long dead by now..."

"This Tower. 'Dulcetta's Tower' was named after his first wife and enchanted and booby-trapped by Gnomish arcane engineers, before being transported here... Wherever 'Here' is? It's a prison for Hetzabah; Lord Urdurel's second wife. Punishment for murdering his first wife and his teenage daughter; Lamenta."

As soon as Arowe finishes sabotaging all the secret mechanisms he'd found, he signals the all-clear and Liga Bur uses Dijonn's fiery light to lead them all up the steep, curving, stone stairway. The Gimlet-eyed Halfling leads them upwards, rather than down after heeding Dijonn's fearful warning of "The horrible Wetness" below. 

As the Party slowly ascend, centipedes and beetles scuttle into cracks in the stonework and several small black rats scamper away from the noise of the heavy, armoured footfall and the light of Dijonn's searing flame.