Round 43

The sound of impacts above echoes through the space again—a constant, insistent rhythm that speaks of ongoing collapse. Dust continues to sift down from the ceiling, coating everything in a fine layer of grey powder. The blue glow from below pulses slightly, as if responding to the ambient magic in the air or the increasing instability of their surroundings.

Seraphine’s fingers probe gently at Merrin’s scalp again, her touch clinical and precise as she checks for signs of more serious injury. The elf woman’s expression is one of concentration mixed with barely concealed worry. “You took quite a fall,” She murmurs, running her fingers along Merrin’s scalp once more. “Any double vision? Nausea? Sharp pain when I do this?” She applies gentle pressure to the base of Merrin’s skull.