darkcoven

Costel peered into the gloom before him, the flickering light of his torch seeming all too scant in the stale and noisome air of the space in space in which he now found himself. Having lowered himself through the black aperture in the hilltop that had appeared, seemingly while he and his fellow cutthroats had slept, it was soon all too apparent that this was no hastily dug hiding place or simple sinkhole, but a well made space of astounding skill and craftsmanship. This was clear to Costel, despite being able to make out little in the way of detail, as the walls seemed square and clean, except for what seemed to be complex carvings of some sort at first glance, and the space seemed completely dry. In fact, it seemed too dry for any subterranean structure within the eternal damp of Morgulia and Costel licked lips suddenly grown chapped as much from the seemingly unnatural dryness as from the nervousness that caused his heart to pound in his chest and ears with alarming