Round 53

The air inside the tower felt heavy, oppressive, like the very stones were alive with malevolence. Varrika's hand tightened on her mace, knuckles whitening. She could sense the ancient magic pulsing through the walls, and it set her teeth on edge. "Keep your wits about you," she growled, her voice a low rumble in the gloom. "This place feels wrong. Like it's... hungry." Her eyes flickered to Jeane, seeing the sorceress' discomfort clearly. They needed to proceed with caution, but every moment they hesitated felt like an invitation for whatever horrors lurked within these walls.

Jeane focused her senses, probing the currents of magic that swirled through the ancient structure. The corruption was fresh—weeks old at most. Someone had been here recently, tending these foul enchantments. Those pulsing runes on the staircase weren't mere decorations; they were teeth waiting to close. She met Merrin's gaze evenly. "Avoid that corridor entirely," she said firmly. "We find another route up or we come back later with better preparation."

Halie needed a moment to ground herself before following the others deeper into this place. The air here wasn't just wrong—it was like breathing through cloth soaked in grief and rust. She could feel the spiritual contamination seeping into her senses, thick and cloying. No way she was backing down, but she also wasn't walking blindly into whatever fresh hell those runes powered.