Round 68

The walls breathed with a rhythm that matched Merrin’s heartbeat, casting shadows that writhed like tormented souls across the ancient stone. She stood frozen, hand instinctively moving to the crossbow at her hip, eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. Varrika’s voice cut through the tension, low and dangerous. “What is this place?” The dwarf warrior stood near the center of the chamber, her gaze fixed on something only she could see—a dark figure emerging from the shadows, perhaps, or some vision only visible to those lost in a trance. Her hand rested casually on the heavy mace at her side.

The air hummed with magical energy, thick and oppressive, making it difficult to breathe. The runes on the walls pulsed with a sickly blue glow, casting eerie light across the chamber. Serrine’s face contorted in pain as she clutched at her head, her eyes rolling back in her skull. “Serrine!” Merrin cried out, taking a step towards her friend before stopping, afraid to move too quickly in this unstable tomb.

Varrika’s mace suddenly flared with light, illuminating the chamber in harsh white fire. The runes on the walls pulsed faster, brighter, and the humming noise grew louder, a constant, maddening murmur just at the edge of comprehension. The dwarf warrior’s eyes narrowed as she scanned the room, her grip tightening on her weapon. “Something’s coming,” she growled. “And I don’t think it wants us here.”