Round 1

The crumbling stone tower loomed before the party, its entrance sealed by an ancient rune-covered gate that faintly breathed cold violet light. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and decay, carried on the misty breeze that shrouded the Whispering Woods. As the group approached, Jeane's wings remained subtly extended beneath her cloak—a reminder of her power as much as the heavy mace hanging at her belt.

"Ready your holy symbol and stand to the left of the gate," Jeane said without turning, her voice cutting through the damp air like steel. Halie approached the gate with measured steps, her eyes tracing the runes—ancient symbols of power that now served dark purpose. Merrin edged around the perimeter, her fingers darting from the pulsing runes to the shadows cast by the gnarled trees.

"These wards give me the heebie-jeebies," Merrin muttered, tugging at a loose thread in her tunic. Seraphine stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she studied the shifting runes on the ancient gate. The violet light seemed to caress her skin, a tactile sensation that made her magic-sense tingle with both fascination and dread.

As Halie and Jeane conferred, their voices a low murmur against the heavy silence of the woods, Seraphine found herself drawn to the task at hand, warring with the more rational part of her that screamed this was a fool's game. Varrika hefted her mace, the weight solid and familiar in her calloused hands. The pulsing violet light of the runes cast eerie shadows across the weathered stones, dancing like malevolent spirits.

"Keep yer eyes peeled, lasses," Varrika muttered, squinting at the shifting patterns. "These wards ain't here for decoration. Whatever sorcery's powerin' them, it's nothin' friendly." The group stood in silence, their eyes fixed on the ancient gate as it seemed to writhe beneath their collective gaze.