Round 45

Seraphine’s voice cuts through the oppressive silence of the tower entrance hall, sharp and urgent. “Wait! Don’t move towards her yet—we don’t know what that thing might have done to Merrin!” The elf scholar’s keen eyes scan their companion, searching for any signs of lingering corruption or control. Her mind races, sifting through arcane knowledge in search of a solution—or at least an explanation—but the ancient magic radiating from both the open gate and Merrin herself is unlike anything she’s encountered before.

Jeane freezes mid-step, her crimson gaze flickering between Seraphine and Merrin. “But—” She starts to protest, then clamps her jaw shut, wings settling into a tense, quivering stillness. The rumbling from beyond the gate intensifies, a low growl that seems to vibrate through the very stone beneath their feet. “Fine,” she mutters, but her fingers twitch with barely contained impatience, eager for action rather than this paralyzing uncertainty.

Merrin staggers back another step, pressing against the cold stone wall of the corridor as if trying to put distance between herself and whatever still lingers in the air. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, eyes wide and unfocused. “I... I don’t know what happened,” she manages, voice hoarse. “One moment I was... and then...” She trails off, shaking her head as if to clear it.

Seraphine steps forward, her elegant robes whispering against the floor, face set in a mask of concentration. “Merrin, focus on my voice,” she instructs, tone firm despite the fear that tightens her chest. “Can you feel any residual presence? Any compulsion or influence?” Her keen elven eyes narrow as she studies their companion, searching for telltale signs of arcane corruption.

Jeane shifts her weight from foot to foot, wings rustling with barely contained energy. “We don’t have time for a damn interrogation,” she snarls, crimson eyes flashing dangerously. “Something’s coming through that gate, and I’m not about to wait around while—”

The growl from beyond the portal suddenly intensifies, accompanied by the scrape of something large moving against stone. A gust of freezing air blasts through the opening, carrying with it the stench of decay and old magic.