[color=#007FFF][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]		    scanned the room, his sharp azure eyes narrowing a twitch as he spied the bones and identified their likely nature. Multiple piles…all the same beast…or several? His brow furrowed, eyes narrowing a shift further.

Ophelia stepped forth, followed closely by Gerlinde, but Farren didn’t move for a moment still. The silence.

It stretched and he felt an odd tension in the air, in his own muscles. He stepped forward, [color=#007FFF][b]“Be ready,”[/b][/color] he uttered, before the other two were too engrossed in the etching on the wall. Farren, for his part, took several more steps deeper into the room, not following the ladies of their party, but walking perhaps four strides forward into the space before he stopped. The sheer [i]size[/i] of the place boggled the mind, making his senses [i]swim[/i] when he tried to stare in a straight line. Much of the space seemed to fade into a murky mire of off-black, while far off points of eerie blue lantern-light steadily glowed against the distant walls further out.

Circular, it seemed…. Strewn with bodies, or at least with the remains of a Darkbeast like Paarl had been. Yet…likely larger still.

And this place, the Labyrinth, the Interstice, was a dangerous one, always spoken of with a certain wary reverence that he was swiftly beginning to understand.

[color=#007FFF][b]“Something’s wrong,”[/b][/color] he said, his tone even, wary, eyes scanning, senses stretched for any sound or scent or any other sign of–...of what?

Danger? Something else?

His eyes cast across the nearer walls as he turned in place, only ever putting his shoulder facing the pillar at the room’s center, keeping it in his left periphery as he turned clockwise. What had made the etching? Surely they weren’t a native part of the room’s design. They seemed too…rough compared to the rest and…almost fresh–or at least fresher than the rest of this place. Even the air here [i]felt[/i] ancient, [i]smelled[/i] stale, like stone, dust, and the long slow drying and powdering of Old Blood.

The Old Blood.

Farren turned again, swiveling counterclockwise until he laid eyes on the skull fragment of the Darkbeast, trying to [i]really[/i] focus on it as he drew in a deep pull of the stale air. Was there a hint of something voltaic in the air, a scent of decay that was too fresh, perhaps? Did the skull shift faintly with the unsettling not-life that Paarl’s undead remains had, did they crackle with unnatural lightning?

Something was off.

The question was, could he sense it…?