Round 753

The tunnel ahead seemed to groan, stone shifting against stone with an ominous scraping sound that raised the hairs on the back of Merrin's neck. She froze mid-step, crossbow half-raised, eyes straining in the gloom for any sign of movement. The air here was different—older, dustier, carrying a faint metallic tang beneath the ever-present smell of damp and decay.

Varikka had stopped too, her injured ankle forgotten as she listened intently. The dwarf woman's hand signaled silence before she whispered, "There. You hear it?" Merrin focused, trying to separate out the constant drip of water from the ambient noise. Faintly, she made it out—the heavy thudding sound they'd been hearing intermittently since the magical portal had dumped them in this collapsing hellhole.

Varikka's knuckles whitened on her mace handle. "Whatever makes that sound," she growled softly, "it ain't friendly."