Round 432

Merrin's heart pounds in her chest as she helps Varrika through the tight opening, her eyes scanning the crumbling corridor ahead. The air is thick with dust and the faint, sickly-sweet stench of decay, making it hard to breathe properly. Every inch forward means navigating more treacherous footing—loose stones, twisted metal, and walls that seem to lean inward menacingly. Easy for you to say, Varrika grunts as Merrin offers a supporting shoulder. But my ankle says otherwise.

Merrin grits her teeth, knowing Varrika's stubborn pride all too well. She can feel the dwarf leaning heavily against her, every step a labored effort. Not asking for easy, she mutters back. Just... functional. She guides them onward, one painstaking step at a time, the sound of rushing water growing louder with each passing moment. The corridor opens up slightly ahead—a small chamber, maybe? Or just more doom? Come on, Merrin hisses through clenched teeth. We're not dying here.

They reach the edge of the new space, and Merrin's heart sinks. It's a dead end—or worse, a trap chamber flooding rapidly from multiple points. Water swirls around their ankles now, cold and relentless, rising with terrifying speed. Fuck, she breathes out, more prayer than curse. Varrika, we need to get higher. Now.