In the shadowy depths of the dungeon, under the eerie glow of a blood-red moon, Nazgul marched down the winding corridors of the Overgrown Caverns with determination. Her armour shimmered ominously in the dim light, and her piercing eyes scanned the surroundings with a defiant intensity. At her side, her peculiar companion Khamûl clutched an iron lantern, its flickering flame casting dancing shadows on the damp stone walls.

The duo ventured deeper, the air thick with the scent of earth and something far more sinister. Whispers of forgotten tales echoed around them, but Nazgul brushed off the warnings, her spirit unyielding. She thrived on challenges, and the dungeon seemed to pulse with a promise of danger.

After winding through narrow passages, they stumbled upon a vast chamber. Vines twisted and coiled around the walls, pulsating with a strange, malevolent energy. At the centre loomed a colossal pitcher plant, its vibrant greens and purples contrasting starkly against the grim stone. But what froze Nazgul in place was the sight within the plant—a grotesque collection of skeletal remains, the bodies of horses long gone, their spirits seemingly trapped in the twisted vines.

Khamûl shivered, the light from his lantern revealing the plant’s sinister allure. He signed a warning, his fingers moving urgently: *Danger, we should leave!*

Nazgul’s eyes narrowed as she focused on the pitcher plant. “This ends now,” she growled, her voice low and fierce. With a swift motion, she summoned her trident, its three prongs gleaming with an intimidating light.

As the vines writhed and hissed, Nazgul charged forward, driven by anger and resolve. She struck the plant with brutal precision. The moment her trident pierced its fleshy exterior, a horrifying shriek echoed throughout the chamber, reverberating through the stone walls. The vines recoiled violently, releasing their grip on the lost souls, who shimmered momentarily before dissipating into the air.

With a final, powerful thrust, Nazgul struck deep into the heart of the plant. It convulsed, oozing a dark, viscous liquid as it finally fell silent. The chamber grew still, the haunting whispers fading into an eerie calm.

Khamûl gestured toward the exit, his fingers moving swiftly: *Let’s go!*

Together, they made their way back through the corridors, the weight of what they had encountered lingering in their hearts. As they emerged from the dungeon, the red moon hung low in the sky, casting a fierce glow over the land. Nazgul lifted her head, adrenaline coursing through her. “The Harvester will feed well tonight,” she said, her voice firm and unyielding. Khamûl shuddered, if he had thoughts, they would be cast back to the shadow figure they had met on their last expedition, and neither he nor his mistress cared to wait around for him to appear, and reap.