Round 45

The air in the pit grows colder still as Jeane lies trapped below, wards barely functioning now, air thin and cold pressing down on her. The sound of Halie's holy symbol flaring to life is a desperate beacon in the darkness. She calls up, "Halie? Varrika? Can you hear me?" Her voice echoes faintly off the stone walls, carrying a note of rising panic barely controlled.

Varrika crouches at the pit's edge, crossbow aimed but not yet fired, finger tightening on the trigger as the skeletal horror emerges into view. Its eyes fixate on Halie with malevolent hunger—damned thing wants her for a snack. She mutters under her breath, "Thought we left these things behind in the catacombs." The air grows colder by the second, ancient evil seeping into her bones and making her skin crawl.

Halie cannot see what's happening below—not in this darkness—and she doesn't like being blinded while holding the edge of this hole with one hand and grappling a skeleton with the other. The stone under her feet feels wrong, too cold for this time of year, and the air is thick with something foul that makes her skin crawl. She needs to get her holy symbol back out—it's still in her pack—and try to bless herself or this pitiful undead thing clutching her. Maybe then she can speak a word of strength and...