Round 28

The stones beneath your feet pulse with ancient power, each symbol glowing like captured moonlight. The air grows heavy, charged with magic that makes your skin prickle and your teeth ache. Halie's fingers hover just above the Bound Spirit's outstretched hand, her expression caught between curiosity and apprehension. Merrin's grip on her arm is a warning—her rogue's instincts are screaming at the wrongness of this place.

"Halie," Merrin hisses, her dark eyes scanning the shadows for movement, "we don't know what we're dealing with here. That spirit could be trying to pull us into its realm or something worse." Her mace rests ready in her hand, a familiar weight against the unknown terror of this tower.

The Bound Spirit's voice echoes in your minds, a whisper that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. "The first trial is not of strength, but of wisdom. You must answer a riddle, and if you succeed, you shall pass into the next stage." The symbols on the ground pulse brighter, their light casting stark shadows across the crumbling stone walls.

Halie's gaze flickers to Merrin, then back to the spirit. "I pause my reach," she says softly, her voice barely carrying over the hum of contained magic, "glancing at Merrin's warning grip on my arm." Her caution is wise—I've learned she rarely overstates a threat—but something about this spirit feels... different. I don't understand it myself, but there's a pull here that goes beyond mere curiosity.

The symbols beneath you pulse with ancient power, and the air itself seems to hum with stored potential. Seraphine's knowledge might be your best guide right now—she senses something too, something familiar from her studies. The sorcerer stands nearby, her expression thoughtful as she examines the magical signatures.

Merrin's eyes narrow, her focus shifting between Halie and the pulsing symbols. "I grit my teeth," she mutters, her gaze darting around the perimeter, "my eyes darting between Halie's outstretched hand and the pulsing blue symbols on the ground." She knows better than to trust easy offers from spirits bound by dark magic—especially when those spells reek of the kind of power that can raise armies of bone.

"Jeane," Merrin says, turning to the sorcerer, "can you cast a protective ward? Something that might keep us safe if this does turn into a trap." She doesn't trust the spirit's promises, but she trusts Seraphine's magic even less.