The tunnels stank of rot and chitin dust.
Reidar stood at the front line where the main passage widened into a chamber carved by claws rather than tools.
The ceiling stretched thirty feet overhead, draped with cobwebs that glowed faintly in the torchlight carried by some survivors.
The Razorwing Skitterers had made this place home, and their presence showed in every scratch mark, every dried husk of previous prey.
The Chittering Tunnels themselves were a claustrophobic nightmare, a network of damp, narrow passages carved deep into the earth.
The only light came from the glow of the torches and summoned creatures everyone conjured thanks to Reidar, plus the occasional flash of a spell when they were not in combat.
Reidar had multiplied the raid members' fighting force tenfold. The two hundred survivors were now the core of an army that numbered over two thousand.
The enemy, though, was strong compared to the average survivor.
