When the Ven'Thur shed his form, revealing the dread of a skeletal form that stood at the pinnacle of might in this new world, a distinct presence had filled the entirety of the cavern. It was like death personified, causing the air to chill, to almost feel as if it had solidified into creeping tendrils that snaked across the skin, around the neck to constrict breath, sinking into the heart and making it race.
Even the mind controlled beastwomen and criminals could not suppress their survival instincts, and they all shivered in unison as they huddled behind rocks, tables, anything they could find some solace in. Azhar could resist it, his adventurer's heart having been tempered through the forge of countless life and death battles.
