[center][h2][color=82ca9d]Irian Sinewell[/color][/h2][/center][hr]
Lirrah's explanation wasn't doing much help in clarifying the situation as well as he would have wanted, but the reality was quite inherently absurd to begin with. And her panicked response was doing more to get him more worried about her than his comrades fighting inside the tomb, all intensifying as Irian knelt beside her as her legs gave out. His chest tightened in response to Lirrah's own spasming heart, lending her back a supporting hand. Possibilities began to reek in his head if the witch she mentioned had placed some sort of curse on her, or a disease had rottenly found the time to emerge, or just a common panic-induced incapacitation. He had dealt with the third one many times before in his own compatriots, but Mayon had mercy on his soul if it were the other cases, because he couldn't.

An indecisive sigh weaved through his clenched teeth.

[color=82ca9d]"Got it. Don't worry, take a deep breathe, everything will be alright."[/color] Irian gave a gentle pat on Lirrah's shoulder before standing back up. [color=82ca9d]"You can recount that if you're still worried. I will be right back."[/color]

It was worse than described. The cacophony of clashing steel with unsettling clickers of whatever made up their ghastly peels caused an instinctual rush of chill up beneath his own. And there were way more than just the one large one described. He came in just in time for these little hyper-demons to pop up from the debris. 

[color=82ca9d]"What a horror show."[/color] Irian mused, readying a glowing arrow aiming straight at the closest target to him, the tip bursting at the seams with magical undercurrent; the explosive arrows ready to bust open these hollow dolls. The shot would be fired at the joints, before two more were readied at the same time, reserved for any opportunistic ones attacking the main party.

[@Octo]