Day 15 of the Scorchpaths trek.
Clayton clung to the volcanic ledge, the Earthcore Nexus's pulse a relentless drum as the Behemorph stampede roared below.
The sound of the stampede felt like the rumbling growl of some primordial horror, a Behemorph maybe who just woke up from a millennia of slumber.
The vibrations of the earth seeped under their skin, making their bone weak.
Torren's face was tense.
Lorn closed her eyes and muttered a prayer. Kaelin cursed.
Clayton's Shedskin cloaked his Verdant Lord aura as a scavenger's rags, Regalia of the Verdant Warden in bow form ready for bone or root arrows, Thornshade Dagger humming at his hip.
Like the others, he was also tense, as he dealt with the constant paranoia that something would stumble upon their hiding spot.
The tension among the team of adventurers was palpable.
Their Mycoglyph-etched pagers flickered, strained by Nexus's chaos.
