Round 166

Varrika's heavy footsteps echo through the crystal chamber, each step sending fresh tremors through the already unstable ground beneath them. The dwarf woman's scarred face is set in a grim mask of determination, her grip on the massive mace unshakeable despite the obvious exhaustion weighing down her shoulders. She moves forward with deliberate caution, her dark eyes scanning every facet and shadow for hidden threats. The ambient energy here feels wrong—like the air itself is alive with barely contained power that prickles against exposed skin and makes teeth ache just slightly.

Merrin crouches low beside her, crossbow aimed carefully despite the tremor in her hands that has nothing to do with the shifting terrain. Her quick dark eyes dart constantly between Varrika's tense form and the impossible geometry of crystal formations surrounding them. The halfling woman speaks in a low voice, barely more than a rumble, "By the Ancestors, what manner of place is this? Something the ancients built... or something they found?" Her gaze sweeps across the room once more, taking in the dizzying patterns of light and shadow thrown by every facet.