The Blood Regent's Descent
The Blood Regent's Descent The heavy stone doors to the Grand Atrium of the Fallen groaned in protest, a terrible, grinding sound that vibrated through the soles of Helena Brightwater’s boots. As the ancient seal broke, the crypt exhaled. A wave of dead, freezing air rushed over the party, carrying the suffocating stench of desiccated myrrh, dry rot, and the coppery tang of century-old blood. The temperature plummeted so sharply that Helena’s breath plumed into white mist in the absolute dark. "Stay close," Eldorn Mossrunner murmured. The wood elf druid stepped forward, his polished oak staff humming with a latent, verdant energy that felt entirely alien in this tomb. Helena adjusted the thick martial arts belt around her waist, her calloused hands settling into a loose, ready stance. Behind her, Quelista Silvermoon raised a silver-framed crystal orb. The high elf diviner’s violet eyes dilated, adjusting to the darkness through an arcane filter only she could perceive. ...