[center][h1]ℜ𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔱[/h1][/center]
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Their trek through the foul and cramped tunnels was, thankfully, rather short-lived. As the burrows beneath the homestead unfolded, the passage they sifted through opened into a larger, more spacious chamber, connecting identical tunnels. Renault was reminded of the architecture found within Andallia's ages-old cathedrals and chapels; tunnels wrought of cold, hard stone, lit by braziers and torches that carried the sickeningly sweet smell of incense. To some of Erithar's adherents, the perfumed vapors brought a sense of calm and equilibrium - spiritual enlightenment. But others found the stench nauseating; their thoughts and actions clouded like a thick haze that seeped into their eyes, their nostrils, their lungs, and their minds.

But this place, this...befouled antechamber, bearing a lone chest and nothing else. Whatever indulgences may have been contained within were no doubt unholy. Still unable to shake that knowing feeling that they were all being watched, Renault silently gave thanks for the wider space and returned his dagger to his side before drawing his blade proper. His heartbeat quickened in the initial dead silence of the room. Something was off - unsettling. There was no sign here of life or death, and every breath they took seemed to bounce off the walls and echo back in different directions. It was as if they had tread upon the sanctified ground of a pestilent god.

Then they emerged: four acolytes, two senior among them, light-colored fur marking their station. Raising sword-and-shield slowly in those spare few moments before battle was inevitably to start, Renault spoke to the others, barely above a whisper, "We stick together..." De Bray's heroics earlier, while unwittingly successful in the moment, was something that rarely worked twice, and Renault was unwilling to risk the possibility of serious injury down here. Rats were not hunters; but scavengers, marauders. They knew they could not kill in one stroke, so they maimed, wounded. A crippling injury down here was certain death, to be feasted upon alive by these filth-ridden zealots and their spawn. 

Renault decided then-and-there that this would not be the way he dies. 

"Alright, then," he said next, hoping the others had heard his earlier message. "Attack!" The final word, while still hushed, came out in something of a snarl. Leading a half-charge-half-sprint in the direction of their enemies, Renault's injured leg gave him a lopsided, almost feral stance as he lunged towards one of the larger rats, raising sword above head and bringing it down in cleaving blow, hoping to use gravity to his advantage. 

[hider=Attack Roll][url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/18996]16[/url][/hider]
[hider=Damage Roll][url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/18997]5[/url][/hider]