Rolled 13, 8, 6, 8 = 35 (4d20)
>>5752102You double back slightly as the seed of dreadful anticipation blossoms into a theory: no Serpent Priest of the College of Fleshweavers would remain in this forsaken place once the base collapsed. They would have escaped by now, made contact with other Reptilians, even extracted the heart and made your mission fruitless. If something remains here I is one of their creations. As such, you reason that entering full force—including those among your rambunctious Dragonborn brethren who can fit—is best. You can put the fear of a <Fearsome Presence> into whatever you run into, or overrun it with numbers.
What you find, however, is not what you expect.
You advance down the tunnel without caution, for no amount of stealth on the part of your or your Infiltrator-trained allies will do much to muffle the enthusiasm of the Red Dragonborn hatchlings. You draw your blade and brace yourself with magically-tautened muscles ready to spring—to evade, to attack, to threaten violence or to enact it. What you DON’T expect, however, is for the walls to shift in shape, becoming smoother, blockier, more geometric—newer, cleaner, more cubist.
You CERTAINLY don’t expect them to suddenly shift and rearrange, with great slabs and blocks sliding down to cut and cordon off you and your allies or—for those unlucky enough to fail to evade them, to CRUSH them!
[Athleticism roll, DC 10 thanks to your <Danger Sense>]
