Mounted on shelving built into the top of the trunk, rows of glassware, containing sizable amounts of various chemicals and alchemical ingredients greeted Valetni's gaze. Most were clear, but a few had tints of yellow and red. He ignored them for now, he doubted there would be any need for them at this point. He severely doubted any of the hellguard would appreciate him introducing Hydrogen Sulfide, (or any other poisonous gases he could easily whip together from what was stored in this trunk) into the environment. Various Acidic and Caustic agents were of little apparent use to him now, though he had packed quite a few. He felt a small shiver of fear as his gaze rested on a glass jar, similar to all this others, but containing a brownish slurry. No, that would not do at all in a situation like this, he wasn't even quite sure why he had packed something so incredibly deadly.
Instead, he withdrew his unconventional crossbow. He had only eight bolts for it. He had experimented for some time before he had come up with what he felt was the optimal design. Eschewing stabilizing methods that caused the bolt to rotate in flight, improving accuracy, he had simply settled for getting as much penetrating power out of it as possible, resulting in a long, thin bolt formed from dense metal. He took one of the bolts, and holding it point down against the floor, placed the opening of the crossbow over it. He slid it on about one inch before it encountered the spring, Leaning onto it with his full weight. The faint 'click' of the spring catch locking brought a measure of relief to his aching arms, as he eased off and picked up the crossbow, careful to avoid the trigger.
He stood, leaning on the cane with his right hand and the crossbow in his left, the thing was so inaccurate as it was that shooting with his non dominant hand would not make any difference. He acknowledged the presence of the two guards with a nod of his head. He turned, watching the other occupants rouse themselves, those that could. He watched them, his traveling companions and fellow brothers, not saying a word, strangely calm in the frantic situation. Valetni reached back into the trunk, removing several vials and slipping them into the harness he wore under his robes, allowing the front to hang open as he did so, not bothering to retie it. He didn't want any restrictions on getting access to anything, especially not his mask which he took a moment to caress tenderly.
He would prefer to not end up flooding the barracks with a substance that would destroy the respiratory system of everyone in the building, possibly himself included, but when the cards were on the table, Valetni looked out for number one. He locked the trunk again, and, on an impulse that he barely understood himself, swallowed the key, nearly gagging, but forcing the lump of metal down his throat, despite the pain and coppery taste of blood it brought him. One way or another, the contents of the chest were his, and his alone. Either he would survive the night, and recover the key at a later time, or he would be dead, and the chest would remain locked. Anyone attempting to pick the lock would be easily confounded, it was one of the best locks that money, or in this case outsourced alchemical talent, could buy. Personally, Valetni hoped that if he were dead, his killer would attempt to bash open the chest to get at its contents, no doubt imagining some fantastic treasure to warrant such extravagant security protocols. There was a reason that he kept his alchemical ingredients along the top of the chest, any attempt to breach it would end with the destruction of all contents of the chest, and probably the death of whoever was opening it, as well as everyone nearby. One side of his mouth twitched up slightly at the thought, and at the thought of just how clever he was. He would need to share that fact with the others again soon, to remind them of that.
He spared a glance at the drunken shape of the griffin, and the nearby moving shapes of brother Zato, Mary, and Vanessa. For a moment he regretted his selfish, impulse that caused him to take up the glassware that could so easily lead to all of their deaths.
After all, how much would he be able to learn from the griffin if he accidentally offed such a specimen?
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