Zhurrem lowers his nose to the mud and follows the faintest wrongness in the air. Bronze static snaps along his spine as he pads toward a half-hidden trail of black veins.
Kamakulzar answers with heat, not haste. His rite spreads low and wide, washing the marsh in cleansing force.
The buried tethers flare into view, jagged and hooked, stretching away through the muck like a wounded network.
Zhurrem
There. The drow and elf passed this way.
The anti-evil pulse bites harder, and the mud shivers aside where the trail turns. The path is no longer hidden.
It leads toward the ruined spire’s influence, and farther on, into the direction the binders fled together.
Track down the drow and elf before they vanish