The rain tapered off, leaving only the steady drip of water from the eaves.
Velin gave Ola little time to catch his breath, leading the Dwarf—who looked as if he'd just crawled out of a mass grave—through a secret passage beneath the Lord's Mansion to a cavern deep below Minas Tirith.
The air was damp, thick with the lingering stench of acid, decay, and sulfur. Glowing moss clung to the cavern walls, bathing the entire space in a sickly green light.
"This stench," Ola sniffed, his brows knitting together. "Smells like a dead rat that's been fermenting in a troll's stomach for three days."
"You'll get used to it."
Velin kept walking, his leather boots ringing out crisply as they struck the wet, slippery stone.
The path ahead opened up.
It was a massive, natural grotto that had been modified by hand into a hidden training ground.
Several figures were already waiting.
CRUNCH.
The sharp sound of chewing echoed through the vast grotto.
