Round 44

The central rune pulsed again, its sickly green light painting the chamber walls in shades of decay. Varrika felt it first—the air growing heavy, thick with malevolence that seemed to press against her skin like a physical weight. She shifted her grip on the rope anchored around Merrin's waist, muscles tensing as she braced herself against the creaking wooden beam.

"Hold steady," she grunted, eyes fixed on the halfling woman peering into the darkness below. "We don't know what this thing does to us yet." The air tasted wrong—like copper and decay—as the stone itself seemed to suffocate them. Whatever curse protected this chamber, it wasn't sleeping anymore.

Merrin squinted through the hazy air at Jeane, her brows furrowed in concern. "Gas is getting thicker," she muttered, reaching for a waterskin. She took a quick swig, hoping to clear her throat of the acrid taste. "Aye, something's stirring down there alright." Her hands twitched, eager t...