Round 33

Seraphine's keen elven eyes scan the pulsing sigils etched into the walls of the crumbling stone tower. A chill creeps up her spine as she senses the unnatural life within them, a malevolent pulse that seems to beat in time with her own heart. This place is alive with malice, its very structure seething with dark sorcery. She turns to Halie, her holy symbol glinting faintly in the dim light filtering down from above. "Halie," she calls out, her voice a hushed murmur that barely carries over the rhythmic thrumming of the ancient stones. "What do you sense? Can your divine sight pierce this corruption?" Seraphine's sharp gaze flicks between Halie and the writhing symbols, her fingers twitching with the urge to begin mapping their patterns immediately. But first, they must understand the nature of the threat that clings to these walls like a shroud.*