Round 4

As Jeane's arcane light illuminated the crumbling walls, Varrika's grip on her mace tightened, her eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. The air was heavy with the scent of decay and something older, a wrongness that clung to the stone like ancient sap. Merrin stood frozen, her crossbow trained on the runes, her dark eyes darting nervously between them.

Varrika's voice cut through the oppressive silence, her words laced with a mix of warning and determination. "Dark magic clings to this place like mold on a corpse," she muttered, her gaze fixed on the runes. "Merrin, don't even think about touching those damned runes." With a resolute nod, Varrika stepped forward, leading the way deeper into the tower's gloom, her mace at the ready.

The group followed closely behind, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls as they ventured into the unknown. The silence was broken only by the soft rustle of Seraphine's robes and the creaking of the ancient gate, its massive wooden beams groaning in the gentle breeze.