Round 45

The narrow corridor revealed itself through the fire-burned section—barely wide enough for them to move single-file. Jeane stepped forward first, rapier extended in front of her while maintaining a constant flame channel down its length as both weapon and warning signal. Her wings shifted uncomfortably—the instinct to fly away from enclosed spaces almost overwhelming despite knowing it was impossible here. This passage feels deliberately constructed—too smooth for natural formation, she muttered over her shoulder.

Silra advanced behind Jeane, maintaining perfect balance despite the corridor's narrowing width—her fingers still crackling with arcane energy from multiple maintained spells. The plates beneath them pulsed rhythmically, but so far no reactivation sequence. As they moved forward single-file, she kept her eyes scanning every inch of the walls and floor—looking for hidden mechanisms, pressure sensors, anything that might trigger if they stepped wrong.* This construction is definitely deliberate, she muttered back.

Halie stepped forward into the narrow corridor, her holy symbol clutched tightly in one hand while maintaining prayer rhythm with the other. The walls seemed to close in around them—this space far more confined than she was comfortable with. Another wave of sweet smell threatened to replace basic facts with fiction—I push it away hard while simultaneously conducting another rapid identity check under her breath.* Name is Halie. Woman, she/her pronouns. Cleric specializing in healing and protection magic.

The plates pulsed again—this time the rhythm seemed to match their own heartbeats. Both Silra and Jeane felt it simultaneously: a sudden sharp mental pressure, like something trying to force its way into their heads.*