Round 32

The air around the ancient gate seemed to thicken, growing heavy with an oppressive energy that made each breath feel labored. The runes covering its surface pulsed with a sickly light, casting grotesque shadows across the stone face. Halie stepped back instinctively, her hand closing around her silver holy symbol—a small comfort against such primal magic.

"Something's wrong here," she whispered, more to herself than to the others. "This isn't just ancient—it's... alive." The symbols writhed as if in pain or hunger, their movements unsettlingly organic despite being carved from stone long ago. Jeane moved closer, her crimson eyes narrowed in concentration as she studied the patterns.

"Merrin," she hissed, using the name Halie had given their cleric companion, "don't touch those directly with iron. We don't know what kind of ward this is—it could be tied to something far worse than skeletons." Varrika shifted her grip on her mace, the weapon's familiar weight a small reassurance against the wrongness emanating from the gate.

"Lass," she growled at Halie, "stay close. Keep that symbol ready—we might need it." Her gaze swept over their small party, taking in their obvious fatigue and the barely concealed fear on each face. Seraphine approached next, her movements cautious but driven by scholarly curiosity despite the clear danger.

"What do you sense, Halie?" she asked softly, her eyes never leaving the writhing runes. "Your faith is stronger than ours—can you tell what this magic wants?"

The symbols pulsed faster at her words, their energy intensifying until they seemed to almost vibrate with malevolent intent. Something inside the tower stirred—a slow, deliberate movement that sent a fresh wave of dread through them all.

"Whatever's in there," Jeane said grimly, "it knows we're here now."