Borik was like a lightning made flesh. The darkness didn't bother him. He had a nagging feeling like what he was doing was wrong, somehow. But how could it be?
The mobs are here.
He had heard the voice of his guild master, weak from the fight with the traitor Jean, whisper. Jean had not believed that the guild master was down there with them, unlike Borik himself and Andors. He had let loose an arrow barrage at him, and it had been all that the two berserkers could do to shield the guild master with their bodies.
Jean didn't want to believe that the guild master was locked in the tomb. He had tried to shout at them to step away. Called the aged elf, the dungeon core of shadows. But Borik knew better.
Now, more traitors had gathered outside the tomb.
This is a mutiny.
