71
Aching with battle fatigue you step back from your dead foes and wipe their foul black blood from your eyes. You have won the first clash of arms but it is a hollow victory, for the whole area swarms with hundreds of their kind. Their feral eyes glint maliciously in the pale blue mist as slowly they advance once more. To stay here would be suicidal—there are so many that you would eventually be overwhelmed by their sheer weight of numbers. Reluctantly you are forced back to the Grand Sepulchre and the three tentacled horrors that command its entrance.
