The ruins were old, and overrun with undead... but it was the constructs that gave them the most trouble. Animated suits of armor, small scuttling things with pincers and blades, an iron cobra...
The hallway was full of them, and none of them were friendly. Rose watched her half-siblings and friends tear into them, smashing with draconic strength or carefully-channeled magics. Azrael, the bladecrafter, seemed to know just where to hit the things; his blows weren't powerful, but the constructs couldn't absorb them the way they seemed to absorb everything else. And he was fast enough to avoid being hit himself. Jacques Fontaine danced in and out, making himself a distraction while calling orders and offering encouragement; Rose could see his early training coming through.
Her own spells were ill-suited to this, but she did what she could to help: conjuring roots and vines to trap enemies, healing allies so that the clerics were free to deal with the undead. Telorn and Skyflower fell back beside her, covering the rear and then moving forward to check doors when the last enemies were down.
Jacques glanced back to where they'd emerged, then surveyed the hall and led them down it. "This way, I think," he said, and turned to the left.
Telorn checked the door for traps, then opened it cautiously. Skyflower remained at his side.
Nothing charged out at them.
"Okay," Jacques said softly. "The three of us will check up ahead. Everybody else, hold here until we get back -- unless you hear fighting."
Risk grinned. "Then we come running." He was looking forward to it.
"Be careful," said Tybalt, barely loud enough to be audible.
Rose watched as the three of them moved out.
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