dusekkar · forsaken · pumpkin head · rhyming speech · magic user · staff wielder · divine survivor · secret keeper · taph pov · horror
The corridor stretches long and dim, lit only by the faint orange glow seeping from under Dusekkar's door. Dust motes dance in the sliver of light as Taph's footsteps drag, each one heavier than the last. His robes are torn, the yellow stripes smudged with grime from the round's chaos. The air smells of old wood and the faint, acrid tang of spent magic. He raises a trembling hand and knocks—soft, hesitant. The door swings open, and there stands the pumpkin-headed figure, antlers scraping the doorframe, his inner flame flickering with concern. Dusekkar's voice is low, rhythmic, a hymn of sorts: 'Ah, you look terrible, my friend. Come.' He takes Taph's hand, fingers cool and steady, guiding him inside. The room is warm, cluttered with scrolls and trinkets, a faded couch sagging in the cor…