Round 20

The tower's darkness presses in like a physical weight, swallowing sound and sight whole. In the sudden void, Merrin's crossbow clicks ominously, a tiny spark of readiness against the encroaching abyss. Varrika shifts her stance, mace held at the ready, every muscle coiled for action or retreat—though in this absolute blackness, there's no telling which direction is either.

Halie speaks first, her voice tight with barely contained dread: "Those wards are screaming at me, calling something awful down on our heads. Every smashed rune makes whatever's sleeping here angrier. We need to purify them, or at least find a way around." Her hands move in small gestures, tracing unseen symbols in the air, fingers glowing faintly with divine energy that barely pierces the darkness.

Merrin hisses back, her voice barely audible: "Whatever's coming...it ain't gonna be pretty. Keep your wits about you, everyone." The halfling's crossbow tracks imaginary threats in the void, her finger never far from the trigger.

Varrika grunts, a low rumble of agreement. "Mace alone won't help us against summoned horrors," she growls, shifting her weight again. The dwarf woman's presence is a solid anchor in the swirling uncertainty, a wall of muscle and iron between the party and whatever lurks beyond sight.

Jeane moves closer to Halie, her sorcerer's eyes already glowing faintly crimson as she examines the ward symbols etched into the stone. "These aren't ordinary protective wards," she mutters, tracing the intricate patterns with a fingertip that leaves faint red trails in the air. "They're recruitment charms, designed to summon and empower undead guardians. Smashing them blindly could be worse than leaving them be—they might accelerate whatever's already awakened deep within..."

The darkness seems to writhe around them, tendrils of shadow curling like grasping fingers. The air is heavy with the stench of decay and the flickering torches' failure has left a chasm of blackness that stretches into the depths of the tower. In the entrance hall, Merrin readies her crossbow, the bolt chamber clicking as she takes aim at the darkness ahead. As Varrika moves up front, her mace at the ready, the floor creaks beneath her feet.

Halie's eyes light up with an otherworldly glow, her divine magic activating to pierce the gloom—though it reveals little beyond shifting shadows and the pulsing red light of wards etched into the walls themselves. "The air inside the tower feels wrong—like trying to breathe underwater," she warns, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Those wards are screaming at me, calling something awful down on our heads."

Merrin's heart pounds as she grips her crossbow, straining to hear the scuttling sounds echoing through the darkness. She mutters under her breath, "By the gods, what is that thing?" Turning to face her companions, she warns in a hushed voice, "Whatever's coming...it ain't gonna be pretty. Keep your wits about you, everyone." Taking a deep breath, Merrin readies herself for combat, unsure what horrors may emerge from the inky blackness.

Varrika shifts her stance, positioning herself between the party and whatever horrors may emerge from the shadows. The dwarf woman's grip tightens on her mace, knuckles going white. Her eyes strain in the darkness, ears pricked for any sound of movement or threat.

Jeane steps closer to the wall where Halie is examining the ward symbols. The air here feels heavy, wrong—like trying to breathe underwater. My skin prickles with awareness of dark energy pulsing through the stonework. These aren't ordinary protective wards, I mutter, tracing glowing sigils with a fingertip. They're recruitment charms, designed to summon and empower undead guardians.

The sudden darkness was absolute, swallowing sound and sight in an instant. One moment the torches flickered defiantly against encroaching shadows, the next—nothing. Merrin's crossbow slipped from her fingers, clattering uselessly to the stone floor before she could catch it. She cursed under her breath, fumbling for her dagger instead while her eyes strained to pierce the inky blackness that had consumed the hallway whole.

Varrika was already moving, her boots scuffing against stone as she backed away from the threshold. "We're blind here," the dwarf growled, voice low and urgent. "Get back to the entrance hall—now." Her mace swung in slow arcs, searching for any resistance in the darkness that offered no visual clues. Jeane's voice cut through the oppressive silence next, calm despite the obvious tension. "Stop. All of you." The sorcerer's eyes glowed faintly crimson, a spell activating to pierce the gloom—though it revealed little beyond shifting shadows and the pulsing red light of wards etched into the walls themselves.

"Those wards are active," she continued, her tone measured but serious. "Whatever disturbed them is already at work. We need to move carefully." Her gaze swept across each party member in turn, lingering on Merrin's frustrated expression before moving on. "And no one touches those symbols without knowing exactly what they do."

The scuttling sounds grew closer, echoing ominously off the stone walls. Something was definitely moving through the darkness ahead—something large and numerous. Varrika cursed under her breath, tightening her grip on her mace. "Whatever it is," she growled, "it's coming this way fast."