Round 598

Varrika’s scarred face contorted in pain as she shifted her weight off her injured ankle, the stone floor of the ancient chamber cold against her palms. "Merrin," she hissed through clenched teeth, "this place... it feels wrong. The air itself is pressing down on us." The dwarf woman's eyes darted around the gloomy space, taking in the ominous carvings that seemed to writhe in the flickering torchlight. "And what's with those... things on the walls? They weren't moving before."

Merrin, her wiry frame tense, had already begun a slow circuit of the chamber’s perimeter, her rogue’s instincts screaming warnings. She paused by a particularly intricate carving—a grotesque creature with too many limbs—and ran her fingers lightly over its surface. "I don’t like this either," she admitted softly, "but we didn’t come all this way to turn back now. Besides..." She gestured upward with a jerk of her chin, where the sound of shifting stone echoed ominously through the air. "...sounds like our time might be running out up there too."

Varrika nodded grimly, favoring her injured ankle as she moved to stand beside Merrin. "Aye, you’re right. But how do we proceed? I’m not exactly at my best here..." She gestured down at her leg, then back to the yawning darkness beyond the threshold. "And whatever’s waiting in there... well, we’re hardly in a position to fight it off if need be."