Round 7

Jeane moved forward cautiously, her wings folding close against her back as if seeking protection. The air inside the tower felt wrong—heavy with old magic and something else, something darker. These wards weren't meant to keep out simple thieves. They were designed to hold something in.

"Halie, wait," she called out, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Let me check for traps first." She reached into her satchel, pulling out a small crystal vial filled with powdered silver and blessed salt. As she sprinkled it along the corridor floor, it began to react, sparkling and hissing where magical energies were concentrated.

Seraphine watched Merrin take a cautious step into the dark corridor, her crossbow held at the ready. A chill traced its way down her spine as she felt the air itself seem to resist Merrin's presence—a palpable malevolence that made her skin crawl. Her eyes darted between the skeletons and the flickering torches, trying to discern some pattern, some clue to the nature of this magic.

Varrika gripped her mace tighter as she stepped into the corridor, the weight of her armor creaking with each step. The air was thick and heavy, like a physical presence pressing against her skin. She could feel the dark magic radiating from the walls—an ominous energy that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

"Stay sharp, everyone," she growled, her voice barely audible over the whispering wind that seemed to fill the space. "Something's not right here."