Round 61

As the ground trembled beneath them, Silra and Sister Hale stood firm, their weight distributed across the glowing pressure plates like a delicate dance of intent. The runes on the sarcophagi shrieked louder with each vibration, their ominous pulse beating in time with the earth's rhythmic tremors—THRUM-THRUM-THUD—a countdown to something ancient and wrong being fully awakened by their presence. Gravedigger Renn's legs gave out beneath him, his body trembling as he collapsed against the wall, his terror-smell intensifying the air with a noxious tang that seemed to seep into every pore.

Sister Hale's eyes were fixed intently on the plates, her silver holy symbol casting an eerie glow on the walls as she adjusted her stance fractionally, feeling out the response. The ground pulsed beneath them, steady now, deliberate, and whatever was buried down there was still; measuring their Intent through pressure, passing some test they didn't understand, or waiting for permission to fail completely. Silra's movements were precise, each step calculated despite the growing tension in her shoulders, as she moved across the plates carefully, trying to discern any hidden meaning in the ground's rhythmic tremors.

Gravedigger Renn's convulsions grew more violent, his voice barely audible over the sound of the runes shrieking louder with every spike of fear from his body. Sister Hale's hands fluttered over her holy symbol as she sought to soothe Gravedigger Renn's distress, but her own eyes were locked on the pressure plates, her expression a mask of caution and concern. The air was heavy with the stench of terror-smell, and whatever was buried down there was definitely measuring their Intent through pressure, likely deciding whether they were worthy of response or just more prey.