Round 27

Jeane's fingers trace patterns in the air as she works to map the ward system, her crimson eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. "The magic here is... wrong," she mutters, more to herself than anyone else. "It's not just a trap—it's alive." She moves closer to Merrin, speaking in a low voice. "Don't use your crossbow unless you absolutely have to. The ward's power feeds on violence."

Seraphine nods grimly, her sharp eyes scanning the darkness. "I can feel it too," she says softly. "The magic is... conscious." She moves closer to Varrika, her elegant robes rustling softly in the oppressive silence.

Varrika stands at the front of the group, her powerful form silhouetted against the darkness beyond. Her mace is gripped tightly in her hands, ready for action. The sounds of movement grow louder, and she can hear the faint click of bones against stone. "Stay sharp," she growls to the others.

Merrin crouches low, her crossbow at the ready. She can feel the weight of the heavy tome in her pack, its presence a constant reminder of the danger they face. The darkness presses in around them, thick and oppressive, the air heavy with the scent of decay and ancient magic.