Round 6

As Jeane stepped into the gate's shadow, her sorcerer's robes whispering against ash, a dark, viscous liquid began to seep from the gap, pooling on the ground like a malevolent stain. The air hit her face like a fistful of ashes, old death and something else clinging to every particle. Silra watched with a rogue's cynicism as the liquid took shape, forming a dark, amorphous mass that seemed to be pulling itself upward through the gap in the gate. "This isn't natural decay," she muttered, tapping her dagger blade against an ancient flagstone.