Round 83

The air in the chamber grew thick, not just with dust but with something ancient and hungry. Varrika descended the stairs cautiously, her scarred hands gripping the haft of her mace until her knuckles turned white. The ground shuddered again, a violent spasm that sent Halie's torches clattering down around them. Jeane caught two mid-fall, her wings spreading instinctively despite the oppressive magic that made every feather ache.

Halie moved to Merrin's side, her face etched with concern and barely concealed fear. She hovered her hand near the cursed woman's forehead, close enough to offer comfort but not touching—not daring to risk whatever corruption clung to their companion. "Merrin," she said softly, voice steady despite the palpable wrongness of the air around them. "Can you hear me?"

Jeane forced her wings to fold tight against her back, every instinct screaming at her to fly up and away from this place. The magic that coated the walls was thick with death, ancient and hungry in a way that made her skin crawl. But she wouldn't abandon them—not yet. "Halie, tend to Merrin—I can feel the curse spreading through her bond to the sword," she said, voice tight with effort. "Varrika, hold position at the top of the stairs—if anything comes up, we need you ready."

Varrika held her ground, a veteran's instincts warring with the primal fear that wanted to scream from this cursed place. She positioned herself at the head of their small party, mace ready in both hands as she watched the central rune pulse with sickly green light—brighter now than when they first entered, and she could feel it pulling at something deep inside her, something ancient and dwarf-born. The stones around them seemed to whisper, a dry rustling like dead leaves in a forgotten tomb.

The air grew thicker still, and the ground rumbled again, longer this time, a low growl that vibrated through the soles of their feet. Whatever lay below was waking up, and they were running out of time.