Berserker Part 23

Deep in the darkest forgotten cellar, that had more akin to a crypt than a place to keep wine, was a circle. Unlike most other circles which were steeped in the blood of thousands and held the unknowable eldritch power of the void, there was no indication of anything wrong. No gold plated pentagrams, no skeletons chained to the wall, no red marks on the ground that could be mistaken for wine in a poor light. Not even the most adept wizard, if one were still alive, would be able to notice anything out of the ordinary except that whenever dust fell from the ceilings above, it had an unerring tendency to fall away from the circle, as if all the little dust motes were fighting with all their might against the drop, horrified for their tiny little lives. And recently, a slight phosphorescent rot visible out of the corner of the eye. Was it just the imagination or was it slightly brighter than the day before?