The stale air stood even more still and our breathing became audible to each other as we braced ourselves for another grueling round of combat. The slow shuffling around the corner became clear to me now too. Our Highwayman cocked his gun, the Leper readied his mighty sword, and I prepared my preliminary prayers to the Lord. My mildly amusing fantasy was interrupted by the whisper of one of my companions. I imagined an impossible scenario where I died peacefully in my sleep decades from now and an autopsy revealed a bushel of mushrooms lodged in there, much to the bafflement of the local doctor. Given the strange fungal life we’d seen so far, it wouldn’t be surprising to learn the unusual odor was due to an abundance of spores. I felt the rot in the air clinging to my lungs, coating them like oil. If you burned incense in a room down here, you could return years later to find its scent only mildly dissipated. The cracks in the damp and crumbling walls provided no relief, revealed no landscape, they just gave way to oppressive dirt and rock. The air this deep into the ruins was disgusting, oppressive, and uniquely scented.
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