Round 1

The party stands before the ancient gate of the Whispering Woods' accursed tower, its stones cracked and blackened, half-swallowed by grasping roots. The gate itself exhales a faint, cold violet light, sealed shut and unyielding. Before it, the ground is overgrown with weeds and shrubs, their leaves rustling softly in the wind.

Jeane circles the gate slowly, her crimson eyes tracing the violet runes that crawl across its surface like worms of cold fire. She studies the mechanism carefully, wings half-spread for balance on the uneven ground. "This isn't just ancient," she mutters, more to herself than the others. "It's actively sealed. Dark magic weaves through these stones." Her gaze flicks to the pedestal and its book, then back to the gate. "That tome could hold answers... or curses. Either way, it won't be free of traps."

Halie moves closer to study the gate alongside Jeane, gripping her heavy mace in both hands. The air here tastes wrong—not just stale but saturated with something foul that settles on her skin like oil. "Those symbols," she says softly, voice tight with concern, "they reek of Necromancy." She glances at the book on the pedestal, then back to the sealed entrance. "If there's a price for knowledge in that tome, I'd rather not pay it with our souls."

Merrin edges closer, her dark eyes darting between the runes and the shadows. She kneels beside Jeane, close enough to feel the sorcerer's tension. "Careful there, witch," Merrin murmurs. "Those sigils reek of Necro magic. They might be more than just locks." Her fingers twitch, eager to work the mechanism but unwilling to rush. She glances at Halie. "Agreed. We let Jeane do her sorcerous thing first. And keep a sharp eye out."

Seraphine steps back from the gate, her sharp gaze fixed on the glowing runes that crawl across its surface. She watches Jeane work, seeing the sorcerer's intense concentration and the way the air seems to thicken around her hands. Dark magic indeed, Seraphine thinks, a chill tracing her spine despite the warm day. Her fingers twitch at her sides, itching to open that book on the pedestal, but she forces herself to remain still.* "I agree with Halie," Seraphine says, her voice a low murmur...

Varrika shifts her weight, her heavy boots crunching against the stones as she moves closer to the gate. Her eyes narrow as she studies the violet runes, a grim set to her mouth. "Aye, those sigils reek of death magic," she grunts, her gravel-rough voice cutting through the tense air like a blade. "I've seen their like before, on the battlefields of the Undead Wars." She glances at Jeane, then at the book on the pedestal. "No sense in tempting fate with that tome. Let the witch work her sorcery first."

The wind stirs the leaves around them, carrying a faint sound—a whispering?—that fades as quickly as it came. The air remains heavy and still, waiting.

(197 words)