Round 6

As the city guard advances, his sword drawn, Jeane Cromwell swiftly completes her arcane ward, conjuring a crimson-tinged circle of protection around the party. The air trembles with the thrum of unseen forces beneath their feet, and a narrow fissure opens in the ash-slick road, spilling black fluid into the wet ash. The guard's eyes widen as he takes a step back, his grip on his sword tightening. "We're not dealing with mere bandits now, sir guard," Jeane says, her voice firm amidst the rising storm.

Silra watches the guard's approach with wary interest, her gaze flicking between the blade and the dark fluid oozing from the fissure. The ground shudders beneath her feet in time with the pulsating rhythm, and she can feel the vibrations through the soles of her boots. "Predictable," she mutters to herself, letting the rain wash over her face as the guard's blade grazes her wrist, leaving a stinging line across her skin.