Round 91

Jeane’s crimson eyes narrow dangerously as she glares at Halie, her voluptuous form tensing with barely contained rage. “Careful? You dare lecture me on careful?” she snarls, dark energy crackling along the edges of her binding circle. “I’m the one keeping that thing contained, and your spiritual theatrics aren’t helping!” The ancient books tied across the hidden chamber’s threshold creak ominously beneath the strain of Halie’s frantic tugging. Jeane shifts uncomfortably against the wall where Seraphine had pushed her moments before, her dark leathery wings twitching with barely contained anxiety. “How far?” she asks softly.*

Halie staggers back from the doorway, her soft brown hair disheveled and blue-grey eyes wide with fear. “There’s... something moving deeper within. I can feel it,” she hums, her gentle face contorted by apprehension. The younger woman stands motionless near the threshold, her mace gripped tightly in both hands while her eyes remain closed in focused concentration. Every muscle in her body seems coiled like a spring ready to release at the slightest provocation. When she finally speaks again, it’s barely above a whisper—“We need to move, now! Merrin's presence grows stronger—she's close.”