"Here she comes…" Ludwig said, his voice steady, yet the quiet weight beneath it betrayed the readiness of a someone who had lived through this moment too many times before. His legs shifted subtly, bracing his stance, the leather of his boots creaking against the mossy stone. Oathcarver lifted into position, the metal humming faintly as it caught the scattered light of the fire spells still burning in the chamber. A deep breath uselessly filled his undead lungs, laced with the smell of scorched bark, blood, and something older, rot perhaps, or the scent of magic turned sour.
