Enter the hall.

As soon as all the party is in the hall, all the hallway doors suddenly swing open and then slam shut. The resulting draft extinguished all light sources in the hall, even the magical glow on the pommel of your sword “Unmanner.”

The room has been plunged into a darkness so thick it’s almost a palpable presence. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end and the tension is nerve wracking. By the muffled cries and footfalls of your companions you can tell that you are not alone in your fear. But these sounds are oddly distant, their uncanny distortion making you feel isolated.

You grip the blade of your sentient blade. “Unmanner?” You whisper, worried that the extinguishing of your pommel’s glow has robbed the blade of its genius loci.

“Yessss?” The sword responds sounding like metal sliding and coiling.