Don't Rock the Boat

 Sylen’s brow peaked in the middle, and he tried to hide an uncomfortable grimace; he didn’t want to insult the mage, but it seemed as though Uwe’s powers were… relatively useless, particularly here.

 “That’s alright,” he lied, and cleared his throat. “We, uh— we can figure something out.” He pursed his lips, tried to make it a smile; he wasn’t sure it was working.

 He looked down and tightened his grip on the crowbar, practicing a swing a few times. “Not sure if you noticed, but that mage’s ability seems to be changing one material to another,” he mentioned, eyes focused on his invisible target, as he swung for its knees. “Upstairs he had a bunch of objects made of… unique materials. Ones they weren’t intended to have. Like the stone chandelier, for example. Or the gold cloth down here.” He nodded to a nearby shelf; on it, a collection of what appeared to be silks, each one pure gold, lay dangling over its edge, the fabric so delicate that light still passed through it, despite its metallic nature.

 He wagged the crowbar back and forth in one hand, brainstorming. If the crowbar was turned to stone, or wood, he could still use it; it was more the weight of the thing he would have to worry about. If the mage turned it to glass, however, or gold— the weapon would be useless.

 He looked down at his hands, tightening his knuckles. He supposed that if all else failed, he’d at least have his fists to act as his weapons.

 Sylen looked to Uwe. “Alright. I think our best course of action is to sneak out— fighting as a last resort.” He emphasized the last words carefully; he didn’t think Uwe would want to fight in the first place, but Sylen wanted to reiterate it anyways. “Once you get sight of the outdoors, you could use your— your wind illusion, maybe, to send a signal, if need be.” He moved toward the basement door, palm resting on the handle. “Ready?”