Round 703

The stone shaft swallowed them whole, a throat lined with ancient dust and the promise of a violent end. Merrin felt Varikka's grip tighten around her waist, a desperate anchor in the plunging darkness. The rope above screamed a death rattle, each creak louder than the last until—SNAP—they were falling free.

The world spun into chaos. Stone scraped past them, debris rained down from overhead, and the air filled with choking dust. Merrin's hands found purchase on Varikka's shoulders, digging in with frantic desperation. "Varikka!" Her voice tore through the din, a prayer more than a name.

The dwarf woman's reply came strained but steady. "Still got the sword! Don't drop it!" The blade gleamed in the gloom, its magical light painting their descent in flickering shadows. Merrin tried to focus on that point of stability as they fell through the tower's guts.

Then, impact. Their feet hit stone with jarring force, sending pain shooting up Merrin's injured ankle. She stumbled forward, barely keeping her balance as she tried to find solid footing in the rubble-strewn chamber below. The air was thick with noxious gas, each breath burning her lungs.

Varikka landed beside her with a grunt, the sword still clutched tight. "That... was less than ideal." Her voice was rough but steady. Merrin nodded, unable to speak past the terror still gripping her throat. They were alive. For now. But the chamber around them groaned ominously, and the rope above had snapped, leaving them trapped in the darkness with no clear way out.