Azof and the Cult of the Scorpion Goddess

The girl from the temple –

The girl from the temple wasn’t running alongside Azof anymore and that meant the – the thing from the tunnel had probably got her. 

Azof spurred himself on to run, harder.  He’d seen the size of those pincers.  That girl was gone.

It was hard going.  The tunnel walls and floors were made of  – a kind of a very sharp material that was once spewed from all out some volcano: Azof didn’t know what you call it, but it cut like glass. 

He had the clothes he stood up in but most of his kit and all of his armour and one of his boots were gone.  All of his stuff was back where he’d left it, back by the girl’s bed in the main chamber where they’d been before the thing -

Azof didn’t want to have to think about the main chamber too much.   Why’d he have to go and get himself undressed?  

Sparing a quick glance backwards over his shoulder, Azof saw that the passageway behind him was lit with a faint but growing, bluish phosphorescent light and at that moment the high-pitched chittering buzz that had been filling his head since he before started running escalated sharply and became a painfully acute shriek.  Azof staggered sideways, clasping his hands to his ears – hands that he now noted were also shining slightly in the dark – glowing with that same peculiar colour, a dead-cold eldritch blue.

Even taking into consideration that he was an Orc, Azof wasn’t an especially weak or craven sort, and yet he moaned with a deep thrill of fright when he realized that meant he must have the damned stuff in him, too.