Round 65

The air inside the tower's perimeter feels heavy and wrong, like a weight pressing down on every breath. Jeane circles the perimeter with predatory grace, her senses extended like antennae seeking out the tower's secrets. The stone beneath her feet pulses with a sickening rhythm, each beat sending a fresh wave of dread through her wings. She understands now, with a clarity that comes from too much experience and not enough sleep, that whatever lies beyond this gate is no mere treasure hoard.

Merrin moves like a shadow along the wall, her halfling reflexes honed by years of avoiding trouble she couldn't talk or fight her way out of. The susurrus grows louder, more insistent—a thousand voices whispering in tongues long forgotten. She presses closer, driven by curiosity and a stubborn refusal to back down from a challenge, even when every instinct screams at her to turn tail and run.

Seraphine watches the proceedings with sharp eyes, her fingers twitching with the urge to document the ward's magic for future study. The runes on the gate pulse with an unnatural intensity, their crimson glow seeming to mock their presence. The whispers grow louder, a sinister susurrus that sets her teeth on edge.

The tension in the air tightens for a beat as the interruption refuses to go away. Everyone is forced to stay quiet and choose their next move carefully.