Round 81

The air in The base of a crumbling stone tower felt wrong—like pressing against something thick and resistant, clinging to her skin with oily residue. Merrin's injury made things worse; she needed rest, not more recklessness. The weary human woman turned to face her companion directly. "Merrin," Halie said, her voice firm but compassionate, "your knee is scraped badly. You should sit this out." She gestured around them at the crumbling stone walls, the pulsing green runes that seemed to writhe with malevolent intent.

Seraphine drew in a slow, steadying breath, her fingers tightening around the torch she carried. Its flame cast flickering shadows across the pulsating runes etched into the crumbling stone walls of the stairwell. My gaze darts from Merrin to Halie and back again, the sharp-eyed elf woman thought, something here is very wrong. The air feels thick with corruption. She could feel it clinging to her skin like oil, each breath drawing more of the foul stuff into her lungs.

Jeane swept her gaze across the corridor's mouth, wings fluttering instinctively as the wrongness here prickled at her skin. The sigils weren't just warnings—they were holding something back, something large and hungry that hadn't fed in a very long time. We should scout ahead before committing to these stairs, she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Halie, your faith might be our shield against whatever lies beyond this threshold. Merrin's knee is scraped raw—that girl needs a healer more than she needs another scar. I won't risk the party on a whim.

The tension in The base of a crumbling stone tower tightened for a beat as the interruption refused to go away. Everyone was forced to stay quiet and choose their next move carefully.