Round 2

The tower's ancient stone breathes out decay and silence as Varrika descends into its throat. Her torch flickers against the oppressive dark, casting wavering shadows that hint at forgotten shapes lurking just beyond the light's edge. The air grows thick with the stench of rot and old magic—an odor that clings to her skin like grave dirt.

Jeane's crimson eyes gleam in the violet gloom as she turns to face Halie and Seraphine, her voice carrying an impatient edge. "We move now," she hisses, already half-turned towards the yawning blackness within. "Varrika has entered—that means our warrior has taken point as is proper." She gestures with one clawed finger towards the darkness, her wings rustling softly in the still air.

Halie feels her heart hammer against her ribs as she watches Jeane disappear into the shadows. The weight of her mace suddenly seems unbearable—its familiar solidity no longer comforting but heavy with the reality that they are about to face whatever horrors lie within. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. "Wait," Halie calls out, her voice carrying an edge of authority despite the fear that threads through it. "We cannot rush blindly into this." She turns to Seraphine, her expression grim. "How long can you maintain the gate?"

Merrin nods sharply at Halie's words, her eyes darting between the priestess's face and the darkness of the tower entrance. "Aye," she murmurs, already moving to slip past her and into the shadows. Her voice is a hushed murmur, barely carrying over the whisper of the wind. As she moves towards the gate, she feels the weight of her gear shift on her shoulders—the familiar press of her crossbow at her back, the reassuring presence of her lockpicks and crowbar nestled securely in their pouches.

Seraphine turns to Halie, her expression grim but determined. "The gate will hold for another minute or two," she says, gesturing to the faint violet light still clinging to the runes around the opening. "But no longer. We must follow them now." She takes a step towards the threshold, her hand outstretched as if to touch the air where Jeane vanished.

Varrika pauses at the base of the staircase, her eyes straining to pierce the gloom. The steps stretch upwards into darkness, disappearing around a sharp curve in the wall. She can hear the soft scrape of Merrin's footsteps ahead, and the faint whisper of Jeane's voice as she works to maintain the gate's opening behind them. The stone beneath her boots feels cold and alive—vibrating with ancient power that makes her skin crawl.

The tower groans around them, settling dust falling like rain from overhead beams. Somewhere far above, water drips with maddening regularity onto stone. The air grows colder still, carrying the faint stench of decay mixed with something else—something old and wrong that coils deep in Varrika's gut.