21 Almsberth 459
Elessar froze. It wasn’t any particular sound that gave it away… at least, nothing that the paladin could make out. The group had paused at an intersection deep in the castle’s lower halls. Kiernan was muttering a quick prayer nearby, sealing the cuts Basil had earned opening a door down the hall. Elessar felt the slightest pang of guilt after suggesting that the swashbuckler proceed through the door first, following his expert pronouncement that there weren’t any traps. He or Charmalina could have handled it better; the swordsman just wasn’t as hardy or nearly as well-armored.
The paladin focused his attention away from the priest, however, and watched the darkness at the far end of the hall. Narrow doors lined the corridor, suggesting that it must have served as some sort of servants’ quarters. But the far end of the hall was lost in darkness, beyond the reach of their magically-enhanced vision. And something… something waited in the darkness. He couldn’t see it, couldn’t really sense it… his mystic gift from the goblin’s artifact back in Eresh was virtually useless in this place, as very few of their opponents radiated any sort of life energy. Quite the contrary… Elessar was finding it increasingly difficult to see the living dead, even the one’s who had solid bodies and swung real steel.
There it was again… just at the edge of his vision. And it was big.
Elessar blinked. It was charging.
An undead bulette guards the inner halls. After it is vanquished, the heroes settle in for the night in the servants’ quarters, waiting for the following day when the pump will have built up enough pressure to operate the lift to the uppermost floor.