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.