A few low grunts from deeper in the room told the rogue that
he was not alone. To Clint’s right stood four muscular humanoids with gray,
scaly skin and eyeless sockets in their faces. They snarled and brandished
greataxes.
Ahead of the elf, behind a statue, a swollen horror that
might have once been human fixed its empty eyes on Clint, and broke into a
sloshing trot. Distended veins sprawled across it livid skin. Scraps of rotting
cloth were all that covered its blood-bloated body. It lurched forward toward
the rogue raising its massive fists.
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