Caves of Madness

Tarmen had seen caves drain the strength from some of the toughest people he knew. Men and women that had killed the worst the surface could offer reduced to quivering fools in the depths.
He had always believed himself immune to such frailty, like some unspoken bond between him and Zinheim protected his sanity.
In these spore ridden tunnels however, fighting off the voices of madness and barely staving off death, he finally understood what they had gone through.
Every moment without daylight made his soul heavier, as if the earth was taking sweet pleasure in squeezing down on him ever tighter.
Having the Arbiter by his side was a welcome stability through all of this and he held onto her like a lifeline. He couldn’t think of a more odd pairing though, the religious warrior and the godless savage fighting back to back, with both of their beliefs seemingly bleeding into the others. While she still said the prayers, he could feel the lost vigor. This was not the same Arbiter from the island, who faced death with the Pillars at her back. He couldn’t tell what drove her forward at this point, but he would wager the gods were having a dwindling effect on it.
As they dragged themselves along, he had a feeling he had finally won in a sense. The Arbiter was without hope and faith, surviving off of instinct and pure will, if that.
It felt like no victory. If anything it made everything seem more bleak.
—————-
When he felt the first draft of cool air hit their face, he nearly cried. Only the desire to not alert any more mould people kept him silently resolute, but his unsteady pace did pick up.
He couldn’t imagine how long they had been down there, sleep deprived and nearly driven mad by attacks and hallucinations. He didn’t want to imagine it, focusing all of his remaining energy in seeing the open sky once again.
Then blowing that damned hole to a crumbling mess. He would gladly suffer the wrath of the clansmen if no one else had to suffer this torture.