Omaar lounged on the blue-tipped grass beside the rocky path, drying his cloud-like hair and pulling a small black wick from his pouch—a common fire-starter, no bigger than a toothpick, used by travelers across the continents. With a deft strike against sticks and logs they'd gathered he sparked flame. The fire crackled to life, casting a warm glow over the field. Tengune returned from his bath, grey fur still damp, and paused, his eyes catching the flames. For a moment, the flicker pulled him back—before he shuddered, forcing his gaze away, the weight of it tightening in his chest like a vice. He reached into his bag, pulled out a worn book, and flipped to a marked page while unwrapping a piece of lionel meat.
"Wait," Tengune said, his voice low, halting. "I want to try something."
"A pause for something worthwhile, I hope?" Omaar smirked, raising an eyebrow.
Tengune placed the meat over the fire and wove three glowing runes, their jagged shapes drawn from the tome's ancient script, pulsing with faint mana as the meat lifted, trembling above the pyre. The runes shimmered, channeling the fire's energy in a delicate dance he'd studied but never mastered.
"You're going to blow us up," Omaar teased, leaning back with a grin.
"Quiet," Tengune snapped, his focus razor-sharp as he wove another set of runes, their forms coiling like serpents. The campfire surged upward, engulfing the meat in a swirling blaze. "I need absolute focus."
"With those unsteady hands, I don't doubt it," Omaar laughed, slicing his own meat with smooth, precise cuts. "But why bother? Normal cooking works fine."
"I've never been fond of heat," Tengune murmured, his voice somber, a shiver running through him as the flames roared, their heat too close to the cracks in his mind. He pushed the thought down, deep where those feral voices couldn't reach. "This book says a skilled mage can surpass even your cooking— in lands afar magic is commonly used in culinary practices."
"Doubt it," Omaar scoffed, his smirk unwavering as he tenderized his meat. "You'll never get it if you only heed the teachings of scripture"
"Books hold the wisdom of those who've walked before us," Tengune argued, shaping his hands in precise signs, the runes responding as the flame danced, growing in fury. "It'd be foolish to ignore them."
Omaar eyed the blaze warily. "That flame's too hot for that meat. You're scorching it."
"I said quiet," Tengune barked, his claws twitching as he wove another rune, its glow unstable. "I know what I'm doing."
Omaar slipped into the shadows, silent as a specter, his grin barely visible. "Wait, where did he—"
BOOM.
A violent explosion tore through the night, sending Tengune tumbling and scattering mach beetles into the undergrowth. The blast ripped through their camp, turning their safe haven into a symphony of flame. Tengune's breath hitched, the fire's roar searing in his ears, an unbearable wail. His heart pounded, breathing quickening as the flames only grew, but Omaar's sharp smack to his shoulder snapped him back.
"You going to put it out?" Omaar cackled. "Or are you trying to burn the whole forest in your stupidity?"
Tengune grunted, scrambling to douse the flames with dirt and water from his canteen, Omaar joining with a sigh. When the last ember died, they collapsed onto half-charred logs, Tengune staring at his pathetic lump of meat, charred to a blackened husk. Failure. The taste of ash lingered, its charred form a deformation he had seen far too often.
"That's why I don't deal in magic," Omaar smirked, swiping another black wick to spark a new fire. "Too many variables for simple tasks. Go on, eat up—bet it's delicious."
"Focus on your own food," Tengune pouted, biting into the meat. The flavor was acrid, bitter, like gnawing on charcoal, coating his mouth in gritty residue. He forced it down, refusing to give Omaar the satisfaction of a grimace.
"Watch and learn," Omaar gloated, settling his meat atop the campfire and cooking it with practiced ease, adding spices that filled the air with an enticing aroma. His smile was soft, almost tranquil, as he focused, the firelight glinting off his dagger. Tengune watched, nose flaring, trying to feign indifference. Then a sly thought struck. With a subtle rune, woven so quickly Omaar didn't notice, Tengune sent the flames surging into a pillared inferno. Omaar cursed, yanking his meat free, only to reveal a deformed, charred lump matching Tengune's.
Tengune howled with laughter as Omaar glared, his eyes sharp enough to cut stone. "You little—" Omaar started, then sighed, collecting himself. He sat beside Tengune, and under the starlight, they ate the worst meal of their lives, the silence broken only by their grudging banter.
A new morning graced the world, and as the first light touched their eyes, Tengune and Omaar packed their gear and set off down the rocky path. The forest thinned with each step, its dense green fading into sparse trees. Tengune glanced back, a pang of loss tightening his chest—a wound that lingered like smoke in his lungs. He turned forward, jaw set, no home to return to anyway. Omaar's gaze stayed fixed ahead, his eyes sharp with dreams of wealth glinting in his eyes.
At a fork in the road, a weathered sign read Jenton Pass, three paths branching before them. Tengune unfurled his map, its worn edges crinkling. "We're just outside the forest now," he said, pointing to the southwestern corner of the central continent. "If we keep this pace, we'll reach Wellinggrid by tomorrow."
"Good. Let's make haste," Omaar smirked. "Enough loitering."
Tengune traced the sign's runes, their etched spirals glowing one by one under his touch, powered by mana-infused wood carved with a distinct set of runes that hummed faintly. He glanced at the map, then pressed the northeastern rune. The sign spun sharply, pointing down the rightmost path. He dropped a sunflower seed into a small hole at its base, where it vanished.
"What's the point of that map if you're wasting seeds on these stupid signs?" Omaar scoffed. "You'll need those for the tolls."
"No reason not to use every tool we have," Tengune replied, starting down the path. "It'll keep us on track in the long run."
"You put too much faith in bug-eaten signs," Omaar grumbled. "I just hope Wellinggrid has an inn. I'm tired of sleeping on dirt."
"Feels like it suits you," Tengune teased, smirking.
"Die," Omaar sneered, but a smirk tugged at his lips as they trudged on.
The grasslands stretched like an endless ocean, blades tipped with vibrant hues—blue, red, gold—swaying to the wind's gentle tune, a dancing rainbow. Herds of greenmoles, stout creatures sniffing for wood, roamed the plains, while baskwings soared overhead, their leathery wings glinting in the clear blue sky. After hours of walking, they reached an abandoned keep, its crumbling walls towering yet scarred, as if time and war had clawed at its stone. Tattered banners—drab green and black, marks of imperial pride—littered the courtyard, flapping faintly in the breeze. The keep stretched long and tall, its eroded grandeur undimmed, but to Tengune, the ruins whispered of a charred husk, a flicker of destruction that churned his stomach. He shifted uneasily, claws twitching at his side.
"Was this always here?" Omaar asked, eyeing the structure.
"Must've been," Tengune said, his voice low, trying to shake the keep's unsettling echo. "It looks like it's seen a thousand battles."
"It's huge, but I doubt there's anything worth taking inside," Omaar smirked.
"With some restoration, this keep could stand strong again," Tengune said, though the words felt hollow against the ruin's weight. "Why let it crumble to waste?"
"Who knows, but it's not my worry," Omaar replied, peering into the courtyard. "If it's empty, others are steering clear for a reason. We'd be wise to do the same."
"Are you going to be a coward on all our adventures?" Tengune mocked, forcing a chuckle.
"It's called avoiding pointless risks, fool—something you clearly can't grasp," Omaar shot back.
A shout cut through their banter. "Oh, thank goodness!" They glanced around, seeing no one. "For pity's sake—down here!" They looked down to find a dwarf, her blue eyes wide as she met Tengune's gaze. "By the forge, what are you?" she yelped, scurrying behind a courtyard wall.
Tengune's face fell, a sigh escaping him, but Omaar gave him a light pat on the back. "I suppose you're a dwarf," Omaar snickered. "Never seen one before—so small and meek."
"I'll have you know this dwarf can defend herself just fine!" she snapped, stepping cautiously into view, her hand on a whip at her side. "And I fully intend to if you don't keep your hound away from me!"
Tengune's claws flexed, a surge of annoyance rising at the word, yet he steadied himself. He swallowed hard, forcing a smile. "Please, I mean no harm. I'm a beastman, name's Tengune."
Her eyes widened with curiosity, overtaking her fear as she darted closer, studying him. She stood three to four feet tall, with long brown hair, curved round ears, and a topee hat atop a light brown safari jacket, trousers, and black boots. A backpack, musket, and shield hung across her back. "Sure enough, you're a beastman—caniform body, standard enough. But those heads… do they talk or move on their own?"
"Not really," Tengune said, laughing sheepishly as he edged back. "They've been dormant all my life."
"Fascinating! I've never seen a beastman like you," she said, ignoring his discomfort as she leaned closer. Her eyes darted to Omaar. "And you—hair like storm clouds. You two are a strange pair."
"Back off, dwarf," Omaar growled, hand steady on his dagger, his smirk sharp. "I'm not some fool who'd underestimate your tiny frame, meager as it seems."
The dwarf frowned, glaring. "Not a nice fellow, are you?"
"Pay him no mind," Tengune said, his voice tight, slightly edging in front of Omaar. "We've been on edge lately."
"I get it," she said, pulling out a small book and jotting a note. "Forgive my earlier words—my luck's been sour recently, as I'm sure you can imagine."
"What happened?" Tengune asked, ignoring Omaar's sharp glance. "Maybe we can help."
"You wouldn't believe it," she cried, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. "I went west to gather supplies in the forest for a quest here, but my poor Harrison and I were attacked by a rogue rabbiddo. I had to abandon my sweet boy as the beast tore into him—"
"Spare us the succubus tears, dwarf," Omaar cut in, rolling his eyes. "What are you doing here?"
"You need to work on your manners," she huffed. "I'm Hayzel, adventurer extraordinaire, and I'm on a guild quest concerning this keep. You two may be able to assist me actually."
"What could the guild want with an abandoned ruin?" Tengune asked, his unease lingering as he glanced at the keep's shadowed walls.
"Not abandoned," Hayzel corrected. "This was an Aetherion stronghold until the Malevian Inquisition cleared it a century ago. Now savage gnolls have taken it, and someone's paid the guild to have it cleared. It's a D-rank dungeon—simple enough for my skills."
"Then why need our help?" Omaar taunted, stepping closer to the entrance for a better look.
"My dear Harrison crossed the great soul ocean," Hayzel said, her voice catching. "I'm without backup. But with you two, we'd clear it no problem. What say you?"
"I say it's been a displeasure," Omaar smirked, turning to leave.
"Wait!" Tengune called, grabbing his arm. "We should help her."
"No," Omaar snapped. "I'm not getting caught in this mess."
"Think about it," Tengune pleaded, his eyes burning with determination. "If we're to be adventurers, we need to take on quests. This is manageable."
"And what do I get? Bruises and a pat on the back?" Omaar argued. "We're wasting time."
"Abandoned or not, those gnolls must've hoarded loot," Tengune countered. "You'll get your fill."
"One of these days, your heroics will get us killed," Omaar growled, stalking back to Hayzel. "Fine. One condition."
"What's that?" Hayzel asked, arms folded.
"1,000 psyche, and all the dungeon's loot is mine," Omaar declared.
"1,000? You filthy scoundrel!" Hayzel laughed. "You think I'd pay that?"
"Then go back empty-handed," Omaar said, his gaze cold as steel.
Hayzel paused, glancing at Tengune's disappointed frown. "Fine, you blackguard," she muttered. "I don't have that much coin on me, but I'll pay after the quest, once we're safe in Wellinggrid."
"Deal," Omaar smirked but brought his voice low and close. "Betray me, and you'll fetch a fine price as a slave."
"I'd be the best," Hayzel shot back, shrugging. She set down her backpack and handed each a small vial of red potion, its glow faint with alchemical mana. "You two look rough. You'll need these."
Omaar inspected his with a keen eye, while Tengune drank his, the potion's warmth mending his battered body to prime form, far surpassing the bitter brews he'd crafted. "This is incredible," Tengune said, awed. "I'd love to know the recipe."
"After we're done," Hayzel said, slinging her backpack on and starting toward the keep. "The entrance is just past the courtyard."
Omaar drank his potion, tossing the empty vial to the ground, its cracked glass glinting in the sun. The party of three stepped into the shadowed maw of their quest.
Dungeon: Old Aetherion Keep
The three walked down the stone-floored path toward the courtyard, gnarled trees entwining crumbled barracks, forges, mess halls, and medical wards on either side. Tattered banners, emblazoned with Aetherion regalia, chimed eerily in the soft breeze. The cracked floor, strewn with rubble, remained passable, though Tengune sidestepped a fallen beam, his claws scraping stone. "You said you've never met a beastman like me before," he said, curiosity piqued. "You've met others?"
"Of course," Hayzel affirmed, jotting notes in her book as she scanned the abandoned stronghold. "I've met plenty on my travels."
Tengune hesitated, kicking aside a loose stone. "What are they like?"
"Sorry? You've never met your own kind?" Hayzel asked. "In fact what's a beastman like you doing here?"
"No, I was sold here as a slave when I was young," Tengune muttered, clutching his tome, head low.
Hayzel sighed, glancing at Omaar, who walked with hands in his pockets, disinterested as he stepped over a cracked flagstone. "Not an uncommon fate for beastmen who stray from home," she said. "Despite the stigma, beastmen are a friendly bunch. Their homeland, Bellary, is an empire in the western continent's deserts. They've got a wild love for adventure—their culture's built on it. That's why so many leave the dunes to explore. You'll find plenty in the guild."
"Maybe I should go there, see it for myself," Tengune said, eyes bright with hope.
"If anyone would accept you, it'd be them," Hayzel smirked, clambering over a toppled pillar. "So, elf, any questions for me?"
Omaar ignored her, studying the Aetherion architecture—grand yet ominous, as his mother had warned.
"Come on, Omaar, you must have one," Tengune urged, nudging his shoulder.
"Fine," Omaar relented, scratching his head as he thought. "I've never seen a real musket before. Where'd you get it?" Tengune's face slackened, disappointed by the dull question, as he hopped a scattered pile of rubble.
Hayzel pulled the musket from her back, its frost-rune-etched barrel shimmering with a chilling aura that prickled the air. "This I got not too far from here," she said, presenting it proudly. "A fine work of engineering from the Empire of Eldurado, on the northern end of this continent in the land of eternal rain."
"Hey! Our path takes us there," Tengune pointed out. "We think they've got a port to the guild."
"You're right," Hayzel nodded, vaulting a low maw. "It's a city of unmatched technology, built with golden bricks—every one! Their bustling port's the fastest way to the guild island."
"My father told me about that place," Omaar added, kicking aside a broken shield. "Says it's a haven for tricksters, thieves, scammers, and gamblers. A merchant's paradise."
"He's right, too," Hayzel laughed. "I had the best and worst time of my life there."
"Isn't your father from there?" Tengune asked, earning a glare from Omaar.
"Yes," Omaar muttered, pouting as the three began to close the distance on the courtyard.
"You're Elduradan?" Hayzel gasped, squeezing through a narrow gap in the rubble. "That explains your attitude, though you lack their golden freckles."
The three reached the courtyard, its scene a shock of recent carnage. Torn by fresh battle, the ground was strewn with gnoll corpses, scattered arrows, and broken weapons, smoke curling in the air. The keep's entrance loomed behind a sturdy steel gate. At the center stood a statue of an elf in imperial regalia, head high, gripping a sleek, arm-length weapon of metal and resin—a narrow barrel, curved handle, and levered block, its dark form carved with precision. Tengune sidestepped a shattered blade, unease prickling his fur. Beyond the statue, a green-skinned figure stood, back turned, foot planted on a gnoll's corpse, his pierced ears twitching at their approach. He smirked over his shoulder, then faced them, tall and muscular, long black hair whipping in the wind. Blue eyes gleamed above tusks framing a sharp-toothed grin, his green skin clad in a cloud eagle cloak adorned with its head on his shoulder, a Fengoat skull belt, and a fur-split skirt adorned with bone trophies. Baggy trousers tucked into booted sandals, cloth wraps on his arms, and a thin curved blade hung at his side.
"Kuthati," Hayzel growled, planting her feet, ready.
The orc's grin widened, puffing hot air through his nose. "A crude insult," he said, eyes sharp with anticipation, hand on his hilt. "But I've seen dwarves crumble fast." Hayzel halted the boys, sweat beading on her brow.
"Don't touch your weapons," she warned, voice low. "I've crossed paths with orcs aplenty—by their barbaric customs, gripping his blade means a challenge. Ignore it, and he'll back off."
"You know our ways, dwarf," the orc snickered, sizing them up like prey, his voice calm yet loud and commanding. "Your stance is firm, but your eyes betray fear."
"What's an orc doing here?" Hayzel asked, on high alert.
"Challenge," the orc replied, glancing at the keep, as he circled them, strolling across the courtyard unbothered.
"Excuse me?" Hayzel said, brow raised.
"I thought this keep held worthy foes," he said, shrugging. "But I found no challenge here."
"Then there's no need for a fight," Tengune pleaded. "Why not join us if our goals align?"
The orc's gaze fixed on Tengune, puzzled. "What manner of beast are you?" he asked, studying his frame. "A furrling, but… off."
Tengune's claws dug into his palms, the slur slicing like old taunts, his fur bristling as he bared his teeth slightly. "What's it to you, orc?" he growled, voice edged with defiance yet straining for calm. "You're not here for pleasantries."
"A mere observation," the orc chuckled, unfazed. "A thorough one would mean cracking those heads open."
"Your veiled threats ring hollow," Omaar smirked, circling from behind, dagger drawn, stepping over a dismembered gnoll. "But your senses are dull."
"A silent move," the orc said, elated, striding toward Omaar, hand steady on his blade. "Are you fast enough to strike?"
"Maybe," Omaar shrugged, standing firm. "You guard your back well."
"Get back, orc!" Hayzel yelled, grabbing her musket, its frost-rune-etched barrel glistening, and aiming it at the orc.
"Will you prove yourself a warrior, elf?" the orc asked, ignoring Hayzel, his eyes locked on Omaar. "Or do cowards speak for you?"
"I answer to none," Omaar said, hand on his dagger, smirking, standing firm as the orc reached him. "But I'm surprised you're so eager to die."
The orc grinned eagerly. "If I fall here, so be it—true strength never falters."
"Is that sword your only strength?" Omaar taunted. "War's a business, like any other. Your blade won't save you from strings in the dark."
"Coin won't shield you in the sweet dance," the orc laughed. "It tests courage, soul, conviction—that struggle that binds us mortals, that's life."
"Watch out!" Tengune yelled as an arrow sliced through the air, deflected by the orc's sharp whack with his sheathe. The gates creaked open, revealing gnolls on the ramparts, winding up arrows at their general's command. A massive gnoll strode out, larger than the others, his hyena-like frame draped in tattered fur rags over shoulders and waist, brandishing rusted weaponry. The gnolls cackled their war cry, rushing forward. The orc's eyes lit up, gripping his blade toward the horde.
"A bout of strength, then!" the orc roared, striding toward the gnolls. "A contest, elf—who slays the most vermin?"
Omaar sauntered up, twirling his dagger. "Why compete when I'm already better?" he sneered.
"I'll cover the rear," Hayzel assured, taking aim with her musket. "Tengune, flank them." Hayzel focused on the rear up on the ramparts, pelting their archers with musket shots.
Tengune nodded, sprinting to the side, but froze, Tengune hands rattled as he weaved flaming runes, his hand engulfed in screaming embers but kept his eyes away, he would not fail again. He refocused, his hands aflame, and unleashed a fiery clap that engulfed a cluster of gnolls in embers. His eyes locked on a charred gnoll corpse, its twisted form so rancid form he almost threw up. A gnoll charged, catching him off guard; heart pounding, he wove more flaming runes, blasting the beast with a scorching burst, singeing its fur as he shook off the memory.
"Burning runes!" the orc laughed, cleaving a gnoll in two. "Beastman magic is rare." He glanced around, noting Omaar's absence, then saw gnolls dropping swiftly, struck by unseen blows. A gnoll's axe caught the orc's block, shoving him back. He puffed his nose, smiling wide. "Good, very good," he said, advancing. "Come with any strategy, attack in any number, fight with everything." He charged forward as Omaar observed from the shadows, his measured, precise slashes with each dodge and parry efficient, overpowering the gnolls with ease.
Omaar, careless, was spotted by a gnoll, its axe slamming down. He blocked, skidding back beside Hayzel. Arrows rained from the ramparts, but Omaar smirked, grabbing Hayzel's collar and hoisting her like a shield.
"What are you doing?" Hayzel cried, raising her shield to block the arrows. Omaar tossed her aside like garbage, vanishing into the fray. Gnolls rushed her as she stumbled, cursing Omaar, but Tengune blocked a club's blow, the impact jarring his shoulder. He swung his staff, sending the gnoll flying, then wove runes, grabbing another's face and blasting it with point-blank flame, scorching its flesh.
The gnoll chief confronted the orc, shattering his blade with a heavy swing and sending him crashing into the statue, a deep slash across his chest. The orc rose, eyes locked on the chief. "Are you the strongest, then?" he said, marching forward, fists clenched. "Test your strength against mine."
"Rip him apart!" the chief barked, but his gnolls edged back, fear in their eyes.
"It speaks," the orc smiled, facing the chief. "But I hear your heart squirming."
"Damn cowards," the chief roared, swinging wildly. The orc wove between strikes, punching his torso, sending him reeling. The chief charged, biting into the orc, but he grinned, clamping the gnoll's face, gouging an eye, and tearing a chunk of snout. A knee to the jaw shattered it completely. As gnolls moved to aid, Tengune unleashed a wave of fire, scorching scores, forcing their retreat into the keep. Hayzel picked off stragglers with musket shots.
The chief, jaw dangling, tried to rally his archers, only to find them gone, half their corpses slumped over the ramparts. Omaar appeared in his peripheral, too late to react, cleaving his neck with a casual swagger as he bled out. The orc puffed his nose as he turned to Omaar. "Twenty," he said, raising a brow.
"Twenty," Omaar muttered, dusting himself off.
"An even score," the orc laughed, balling his fist. "Yet you dodge my challenge."
"Still itching for a fight?" Omaar sneered. "There's a rabbiddo west of here that might sate you."
"Is that so?" the orc said, intrigued. "Join me, elf—you're worthy if you match my measure."
"As I said I answer to none," Omaar said. "You'd join me."
"An impasse then," the orc chuckled, turning west. "May we meet at odds, so I test your will against mine." He paused, glancing back. "Your name, elf?"
"Omaar," he replied.
"I am Primo," the orc said, exiting, leaving the trio amid the torn battlefield, the keep's gates wide open. The three collected themselves amid the courtyard's grim aftermath, the air thick with the acrid stench of blood and smoke. Gnoll corpses sprawled across the torn ground, their hyena-like maws frozen in death, rusted weapons scattered like broken toys. The elf statue loomed at the center, its sleek weapon glinting faintly under a haze of ash, while the keep's open gates beckoned with an eerie silence. Omaar leaned against the cracked statue, wiping his dagger clean, as Hayzel glared at him, her boots crunching on bloodied gravel.
"You should be more careful around that orc," Hayzel warned, her voice sharp. "Nothing good comes from their kind."
"What's it to you?" Omaar deflected, smirking. "If he's after battle, why not point him at our enemies?"
Hayzel scowled, setting down her backpack and tossing each a glowing red potion. "Keep these for later," she said, her tone curt. "Orcs don't reason—they'd burn the world before compromising."
Tengune pocketed the potion, his claws lingering on the pouch as he frowned at the charred remains of a gnoll nearby. "Surely he could've seen reason," he said, voice tinged with the weight of choking smoke. "He didn't seem mindless, just… proud. I know what it's like to be judged before you speak." His tail twitched, he thought for a moment, but he straightened, eyes hardening. "Still, he's dangerous. We can't trust someone so quick to threaten."
"You don't know orcs, Tengune," Hayzel snapped, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. "I've seen their raids—villages razed, no mercy. Overconfidence against them is a miscalculation often proven swiftly."
Omaar laughed, stowing his potion. "I don't care for your grudge against green-skins," he said, tilting his head. "Proud or not, they're simple of mind, even foul bate would catch them."
"That's your mistake," Hayzel shot back, stepping toward the gates. "Thinking orcs are stupid will get you gutted."
"She's right, Omaar," Tengune said firmly, his gaze flicking to a toppled gnoll banner smeared with blood. "I want to believe in peace, but Primo's words were all blades and blood. We need to stay wary, or we'll end up like these gnolls." He gestured at the carnage, his voice earnest yet cautious.
"You're both too soft," Omaar said, grinning as he pushed off the pillar. "I'll do as I please. If Primo's useful, I'll use him. If not, I'll outsmart him."
Tengune shook his head, eyes ablaze under his glare. "You can't outsmart someone who doesn't play your game," he said, anger creeping in. "He's loyal to his own code, no? I'd rather avoid him than risk a fight we don't need."
"Forget it," Hayzel cut in, her voice firm as she faced the keep's shadowed entrance. "We've a task to complete. Stay sharp, or this place will claim us too."
As the three began to enter they began to hear a low distant humming.
"Do you hear that" Heyzel asks
"Yeah though I can't tell where it's coming from" Tengune cautions
"I'll wager it's coming from the keep," Omaar pondered. "Let's go." The three stepped through the gates, the courtyard's blood-soaked ruin fading as the keep's dark halls swallowed their steps.