Round 641

Merrin's head swam as she clung to the stone wall, the noxious gas making every thought feel sluggish and distant. Varrika stumbled nearby, her injured ankle making each step a visible agony. The halfling woman's grip on reality felt tenuous at best—was that movement in the darkness ahead? Or just the poison working its way through her system?

"Stay close," Varrika grunted, her voice strained but steady. "We can't afford to separate now." She shifted her weight, trying to redistribute the pain in her leg. The dwarf woman's scarred face was set in a grim mask of determination, but even in the gloom, Merrin could see the sweat beading on her skin.

The sound of rushing water grew louder, a constant reminder of their precarious situation. They needed to find higher ground—fast—but with Varrika barely able to walk, every step felt like an eternity. The noxious gas made thinking difficult, but one thing was clear: they had to keep moving. Together.