Round 21

The tower's wards pulse with malevolent energy, each beat seeming to draw something ancient and hungry from the depths. The air grows thick with magic that feels wrong, wrong like a splinter in your mind that won't come out. Merrin hisses a warning—stay back—but we can't simply stand here waiting for whatever that chuckling heralds. The scuttling sounds grow closer, and something heavy shifts deeper within the darkness.

Seraphine draws her wand, its crystal tip pulsing with soft blue light that barely pierces the oppressive gloom. "The wards are active," she murmurs, her voice tight. "And they're not just defensive—they're summoning." Her sharp eyes track the glowing symbols on the walls. "That skeleton? It didn't rise on its own."

Jeane traces the symbols with a fingertip, her expression grim. "These aren't protective wards," she says, voice low. "They're recruitment charms. They're not designed to keep things out; they're designed to pull things in from... elsewhere." She shakes her head. "The chuckling I heard wasn't just auditory—it was the sound of magic laughing at us. Halie's right, Merrin. Touching those symbols now would be like pissing on a hellhound and expecting it to thank you."

Merrin grips her crossbow tightly, eyes straining into the darkness. "We've got multiple hostiles incoming," she mutters, "and they're not going to be easy to take down." Her gaze sweeps over the party. "Varikka, you're on point with that mace of yours. Seraphine, Halie, Jeane—you three ready to provide cover?"

Varrika shifts her stance, mace held at the ready. The scuttling sounds grow louder, and she tenses, every muscle coiled for action or retreat—though in this absolute blackness, there's no telling which direction is either. She calls out gruffly, "Stay sharp, all of you. We've got company coming, and it won't be friendly."

The wards pulse again, brighter this time. Something heavy scrapes against stone deep within the tower, and the chuckling echoes through the corridors, closer now.