The door to the secret chamber was shoved all the way open. Its adamantine leaves struck the stone walls with a heavy thud, echoes reverberating through the cramped space.
The Nightwind soldiers scrambled inside, unable to contain their eagerness. Some nearly fell amid the jostling, only to be swept forward by the crowd.
Shields and armor clanged together, mingling with ragged breathing and excited whispers they could no longer suppress.
They feared that if they were a moment too late, they would miss their chance to claim the priestesses' heads.
The rewards Quelyn had offered this time were simply too generous. For these lowly male warriors, this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to rise above their station and seize greater power. None were willing to hand their chance at glory to someone else.
Yet the Drow soldiers at the front soon stopped short.
A thick, bloody stench filled the secret chamber, mingled with rotting flesh and something scorched. It was nauseating.
Organs and their contents covered the stone walls. Blood pooled ankle-deep across the floor, the warm liquid seeping through the seams of their elven leather boots, sticky and revolting.
Eight braziers blazed fiercely around the altar. Purple witchfire licked their rims, consuming countless gold and silver vessels. Those precious ritual implements warped in the flames, melting into indistinct puddles of molten metal before vanishing.
This meant Lolth was still accepting the Fryce Family's sacrifices. It seemed the goddess, with her twisted sense of amusement, was still toying with her followers, giving them hope that enough offerings could win back her lost favor.
More than a dozen Drow knelt dead before a statue of Lolth carved from gemstones and obsidian. Their organs had been ripped out, their blood drained, and their skin peeled away to expose crimson muscle. Their deaths had