146 Unknown Voice

Doevm scowled. The worst part of this march wasn't the many knights' panicked whispers nor the dirt and broken stone falling from the unstable ceiling, but the horrid smell coming from the depths of the newly formed hole. Even as some's faces turned green, they kept marching. It was a smell that could not be anything else.

It was worse than a rotten piece of cheese or excrement. It was like one's body odor had been made into a candle and then left to rot in a dark cellar for years, then combined with the smell of burning fuel. It didn't matter if one had never smelled it before, because once did, they knew exactly what it was, the smell of burning hair and flesh. Most held their shirts over their noses, but that didn't help much. The smell clung to their nostrils, a grip which tightened the deeper they went.