The earth rumbles with Dahme'dre's potent unease... It rumbles forcefully, and pictures fall from the walls. Dishes slide on the tables and smash to the ground.
Is this Dahme'dre's power? Or... Does The Withering persist? Were the rumors false? Did the power remain? Dahme'dre is struck with fear, unable to move. Her hubris has spelled her certain doom. The building bucks sharply as a chasm gapes in the street below.
She turns to face her party. Their time together so brief, yet meaningful. She reaches a hand toward Valen... Erdan... "Save me?" Her voice, tiny, lost in the cacophony of destruction. Though her message came clear in her eyes.
This last night had seemed to stretch. The hours were as months, as the sun crawled over the horizon. Then, in a moment, a rush of air. The chasm rips into the building, and a torrent of unnatural power sucks in clothing, bedding, bags, and debris. An iron kettle falls from the armoire as it teaters and crashes to the ground. Dahme'dre clings to the windowsill, but she's struck by the falling cookware! She loses her grip!
In a moment the winds halt with a satisfied slurp... Dahme'dre is gone. Taken by the Withering to face judgement.