Round 12

The tower's interior swallowed Varrika whole, her heavy footsteps echoing before fading into the oppressive silence beyond the threshold. The air inside was a physical thing—cold, damp, and thick with the stench of decay mixed with something ancient and profane that made Merrin's skin crawl. The runes on the gate pulsed like a diseased heart, each beat sending out tendrils of dark energy that caressed her face before receding back into the stone. She could feel them probing at her mind, not quite breaking through but leaving a greasy residue behind.

"Stand back!" she called over her shoulder, already crouching down to examine the lock mechanism more closely. "I don't want anyone else getting... whatever this is all over them." Her tools—picks, a small hammer, a length of thin wire—felt inadequate against magic this powerful, but there was no turning back now. The ward's energy pulsed faster as she worked, and she had to fight the urge to vomit.

Jeane circled the ward's perimeter with her wings tucked in tight, every instinct screaming at her to flee. The dark magic bleeding off the stone felt alive, hungry, and she could feel it trying to latch onto her spirit like a physical thing. "Everyone, listen!" she said, voice barely containing her panic. "This isn't normal sorcery—it's something else entirely. We need to map the ward's trigger points before we do anything else."

The air inside the tower was impossibly old—dust thick enough to taste, mixed with something else, something that made Merrin's skin crawl. The runes on the gate pulsed like a diseased heart, each beat sending out tendrils of dark energy that caressed her face before receding back into the stone. She could feel them probing at her mind, not quite breaking through but leaving a greasy residue behind.