Control
The mouse skitters through the shadows, claws clicking against cold stone as it darts past flickering torchlight. Its whiskers twitch—a pulse of instinct—sensing danger, opportunity, the faintest crumb of warmth in the dungeon’s stale air. Tiny but cunning, it weaves through cracks in ancient walls, a silent scout with eyes like polished onyx. Legends whisper of such creatures: bearers of cursed secrets, guides to hidden vaults, or perhaps thieves pilfering gems from under the dragon’s tail. Tonight, it pauses, nose quivering, as the scent of smoke and iron spills from a distant chamber. Something stirs—a tremor in the earth, a low growl—and the mouse vanishes, leaving only the echo of its scuttle and the promise of unseen paths.
c
Hurl your axe into the fray—let steel meet bone as enemy soldiers advance. Fight like the ground beneath you is all that remains. No retreat, no surrender. Grit your teeth, swing with vengeance, and carve a path through the chaos. Survive.
