Qurrah dropped the body to the floor. Power surged through him, eager for use. He closed his eyes, tendrils floating out from his body. They were extensions of his power, black and deadly. One thief, deep in combat with Brug, was touched mid-swing by one such tendril. He shrieked, his dagger dropping from his hand. Images of the abyss to come swirled before his eyes. Clawing things with bloody fingernails gnawed at his mind. Brug buried his punch daggers into the rogue’s throat to silence his shrieking.

Another thief, fleeing from Harruq’s rage, felt a tendril snake around his ankle. The madness came quick, fueling his already burning fear. He shrieked, seeing nameless fiends sinking teeth into his ankle. He stopped his retreat, dropped to one knee, and began sawing off his ankle with his own dagger. Harruq halted above him, stunned by the sight.

“Kill him,” Qurrah said, smoke drifting from his eyes. “Save him from his madness.”

Harruq felt a pang of guilt, but knew his brother’s words were true. He buried his sword deep between collarbone and neck.

“This all ya got?” Brug shouted, stabbing his dagger into the side of the lone thief that fought the three. The thief hobbled back, grimacing at the pain of his wound. Qurrah narrowed his eyes, remembering the spell Tessanna had cast in the prison. He had prepared earlier in the day, practicing those same words the girl had used.

“ Bleed, ” he hissed in the arcane tongue. Blood poured from every opening on the man’s body. Brug spat on the corpse.

“You got some creepy spells, half-orc, but they’re effective.”

Harruq looked up to Aurelia, relieved by the sight of her unharmed. Bodies of the dead littered the icy floor. Haern approached from the other side, a trail of defeated rogues in his wake.