Wasting no time, the half-orc peered around, planning her route. The short sprint left little cover, so she focused on speed and evasion. Taking a deep breath, Grim darted from the wagon, shielding vitals as she raced for the threshold.
A few bolts whistled past but miraculously none found their mark. She dove through the open door
Inside, the peace was contrasted starkly, a thin layer of dust- or perhaps ash on top of the simple living adobe. The group could hear no sounds, nor see anything with their vision that pierced the darkness. Still, there was something malevolent about this apparently abandoned and innocuous place. There were no stairs in this area leading up to the 2nd and 3rd floors where the crossbow bolts were being fired from. The refuge of the deserted home offered stark contrast to the chaos raging just outside. Sounds of combat and portals opening carried from the alley, followed by renewed shouting. But within the dusty chambers, all was still and silent.
That is until seemingly out of thin air, an aura of magical darkness flushed through the center of the room. As if emerging from the very shadows themselves, A towering figure manifested in the center of the chamber. Its large form, standing an imposing eight feet tall, bore an eerie, humanoid resemblance. Humble brown robes, unadorned and flowing heavily, concealed most of its body, and an oversized hood, cast deep in shadow, obscured all facial features. Amidst this shroud of mystery, only those unsettling, glowing pink eyes gleamed with a menacing presence. Izek immediately recognized this as the watcher from outside.
The mysterious figure, with its simultaneously malevolent yet oddly non-threatening presence, formed a solid shape before the group. The voice that resonated from beneath the hood was impossibly deep, carrying an otherworldly quality that set everyone on edge.
"I WANT TO MAKE A DEAL" it intoned, the words hanging heavy in the air. The situation was tense, and the group was acutely aware of the power this figure seemed to wield.
