Round 114

The air in the corridor was thick with dust and the scent of old stone, the silence broken only by the distant drip of water somewhere unseen. Varrika moved cautiously forward, her torch held high to pierce the gloom. The beam of light revealed walls covered in intricate carvings that seemed to writhe and shift when viewed directly, though they settled into static patterns when glimpsed from the corner of her eye. She paused, listening intently. A faint sound reached her ears—a rhythmic pulsing, like a slow heartbeat or the grind of ancient gears. It came from deeper within the tower, a direction she knew led toward the rumored heart of this accursed place. Behind her, Merrin was still recovering from the fall, her breathing labored but steadying. The halfling woman leaned against the wall, one hand pressed to her ribs as she watched Varrika's progress with worried eyes. "You sure about this?" Merrin called out softly, her voice barely disturbing the heavy silence. "That sound... it doesn't feel right." Varrika glanced back, her expression grim but determined. "What choice do we have? We can't stay here forever, and that sound... it might be our only clue to what's really going on in this damned tower." She took another step forward, the floor beneath her boots creaking ominously. The pulsing grew slightly louder, a low thrum that seemed to vibrate through the stone itself. "Stay close," she said over her shoulder. "And keep your eyes open. Something's not right here."