Round 11

The ancient stone groans as it shifts, the sound like a great beast settling into sleep. The runes on the gate pulse in rhythm—too slow for a heartbeat, too fast for a breath. They're alive, yes, but not living. Something ancient and hungry stirs within the tower's depths.

Halie's fingers trace the symbols with practiced care, her face set in concentration. She knows this feeling—the wrongness of dark magic that preys on life itself. The energy crawls across her skin like oil, leaving a residue of corruption that makes her want to scrub her hands clean.

Varrika watches from a distance, her grip tight on the mace. She trusts Halie's judgment more than she trusts her own gut here, but every instinct screams at her to break something. The silence feels wrong—too deep, too complete. Something is listening beyond that gate.

Jeane circles the perimeter with predatory grace, her wings tucked close against the oppressive weight of this place. The stonework hums with trapped energy—sacred once, now profane. She can taste the corruption on the air, thick and cloying. The runes aren't random—they beat like a heart, measured and deliberate. Whatever lies beyond that gate isn't sleeping. It's waiting.

The tension in the air is palpable, a tightrope walk between curiosity and dread. Each step forward means accepting the price Elric didn't quite spell out—that map came with strings attached, and the tower itself is awake now, aware of their presence. The question hangs unspoken: do they have the courage to face what lies within, or will fear drive them back into the safety of the woods?

The gate groans again, the stone complaining under ancient weight. The runes pulse faster now, responding to their proximity. Halie pulls her hand back with a shudder. "We need to move carefully," she warns, her voice low. "This place... it's hungry."