Round 4

Amidst the eerie silence of the crumbling stone tower's entrance, a lone figure emerged from the shadows, her dark hair framing her face like a shroud. Seraphine, the elf scholar, stood poised, her sharp eyes scanning the threshold where skeletal hands now grasped for Varrika's dropped mace. The sudden tension was palpable, and Jeane's voice cut through it like silk over steel, her words laced with a hint of warning.

Varrika's brow furrowed as she stared at her mace lying on the ground, the skeletal hand still gripping it tightly. She took a deep breath, steeling herself against the fear that threatened to overwhelm her. "Alright, listen up," she growled, her gravel-roughened voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "This ain't our first rodeo with the undead. Merrin, take flank left. Halie, I want you to start chanting that prayer of protection. Jeane, get ready to light this place up if we need to..."

Merrin sprang back from the threshold, his heart pounding in his chest. "Well, that's one way to say hello," he muttered, keeping his voice low and even. His gaze darted between Varrika's dropped mace and Jeane's wings, taking in the sudden shift in the tower's atmosphere. "Alright, alright, not the time for jokes." He shook his head, trying to refocus. The necromantic energy was palpable now, crawling across his skin like a thousand insect legs.

Jeane stepped forward, her wings unfurling just enough to catch the dim light, casting shifting shadows. Merrin and Halie took their positions, ready to provide crossfire angles if the undead tried to surround them. Seraphine prepared a minor ward spell, her eyes fixed on the skeletal warriors emerging from the darkness beyond the gate. The air thickened with malevolent intent, and Varrika's stance became more resolute, her heavy mace at the ready.