Thoren walked through the dark trenches for hours.
The atmosphere was thick with tension. Every step he took echoed off the narrow walls, and every echo seemed to draw the attention of things he could not see. His hand rested on the hilt of his weapon.
His eyes moved constantly, scanning the darkness ahead, the darkness behind, the darkness above.
The undead Horn Lizard King and the undead Scorpion King flanked him.
The trenches twisted and turned. Sometimes they narrowed until he had to turn sideways to pass.
Sometimes they widened into cavernous spaces where the ceiling disappeared into black.
Sometimes they branched, and he had to choose a direction with no way of knowing which was right.
Still, he kept on walking.
Hours passed. Or what felt like hours. Time had no meaning in this place. The darkness was constant and the silence was constant and likewise the tension.
Then, suddenly, Thoren realized the darkness around him was different from before.
