Round 5

As the gate's metal framework shudders violently once more, it bursts open, its hinges tearing free from their ancient moorings. The sound is followed by an unearthly silence, as if the very earth itself has been torn asunder. A dark, viscous liquid begins to seep from the gap, pooling on the ground like a malevolent stain. Jeane steps into the opening gate without hesitation, her sorcerer's robes whispering against ash. The air hits her face like a fistful of ashes, old death and something else clinging to every particle. Her unholy symbol pulses with warmth against her skin; it recognizes this energy.

Silra eyes the dark liquid with a rogue's cynicism—it looks suspiciously like blood mixed with grave soil—gravehill was a necromancer, not an alchemist, though she suspects his experiments went beyond raising the dead and into creating new horrors. She taps her dagger blade against one of the ancient flagstones, the sound echoing through the stillness. The scratching noise, it wasn't random; something is down there, under their feet, trying to break through.