Round 675

Varrika's ankle screamed in protest as she shifted her weight, the bone still swollen and tender from the fall. She leaned heavily against the cold stone wall for support, gritting her teeth against the pain that shot up her leg with each tiny movement. The dwarf woman's scarred face was slick with sweat, her breathing labored as she fought to maintain her balance. Across the chamber, Merrin crouched low beside a crumbling pillar, her crossbow trained on the darkness beyond the partially open doorway. The halfling rogue's dark eyes scanned the shadows relentlessly, every muscle in her wiry frame coiled and ready for action. She glanced back at Varrika, concern evident in her expression as she whispered, "Stay close to the wall. We don't know what's waiting in there." The ground beneath them rumbled again—a low, ominous growl that seemed to vibrate up from the very foundations of the ancient stone chamber. Merrin's gaze darted around the room, taking in every detail—the precarious piles of stone, the crumbling walls, the oppressive silence where the Guardian's voice had last boomed its threats. Something was changing. The air felt wrong, thick and heavy, pressing down on them like a physical weight. And then she saw it—a faint blue glow seeping from behind a tattered tapestry hanging on one wall. Her heart quickened. Was it an exit? Or something far more...