Emmaline rushed along behind amal, casting her eyes back to see the flickering witch lights in the eyes of the skeletal creatures rising from the floor and clawing their way out of the walls. Dark Magic hung in the air, oily and bitter to Emmaline's magical senses as the Winds fluttered in corrupting discordance. Ahead of them more of the creatures were rising, bony fingers scraping across stone as they struggled to raise themselves. Iron scrapped against stone as ancient weapons, were gripped in boney hands.

"Run!" Amal yelled and Emmaline complied, skipping and jumping over the half roused dead. Pausing once to swing her staff in a glittering golden arc that shattered the rib cage of a creature directly in her path. They passed under a stone arch and into an ante chamber where a door of black iron hung from vast stone lintels. It was covered in dust and strange runes which Emmaline couldn't decipher and in the center was an intricate brass locking mechanism, filaments of metal running out like spider webs in all directions. Emmaline's throat was dry but she wasn't panicking. After witnessing the procession of Settra's unholy legions in the half remembered tomb city, a mere walking corpse was only alarming rather than marrow freezing.

"Dead end," she announced as Amal began to examine the door barring their passage. Emmaline turned and lifted her staff begining to chant and draw upon the winds of magic. Her eyes began to shine as threads of golden light extended from the arch way to form a net of glittering golden filaments, that hummed and pulsed like the strings of a strange instrument. The first skeleton stumbled into the net and shattered like a clay pot dropped from a great height, pieces of smoking bone scattering back down the corridor. Emmaline flinched slightly but maintained the spell as a second skeleton duplicated the act.

"Any luck?" she called through clenched teeth.