Round 66

The tower's perimeter felt like standing inside a giant heartbeat, the air thick and wrong. Jeane circled the stone wall with predatory grace, her senses extended like antennae seeking out secrets buried beneath layers of dust and decay. The stone itself pulsed beneath her feet—a sickening rhythm that sent fresh waves of dread through her wings with each beat. She knew now, with a clarity that came from too much experience and not enough sleep, that whatever lay beyond this gate was no mere treasure hoard.

Merrin moved 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 grew louder, more insistent—a thousand voices whispering in languages that made her skin crawl. But something caught her eye—a faint glow emanating from a small alcove just to the side of the gate. She crouched down for a closer look, her heart pounding in her chest.

Varrika stood between Halie and the tower entrance, her scarred hands gripping her mace with white-knuckled tension. The runes on the gate pulsed faster now, their crimson light casting grotesque shadows across the stone. "Halie," she grunted, glancing back at the sorceress positioned behind her line of fire, "What do you make of those runes? They don't feel right." Halie shook her head, her voice tight with worry. "They're responding to Merrin's touch—it knows we're here now, and it wants us inside. The magic feels... sentient. Hungry."

Jeane stepped forward, her crimson eyes narrowing as she studied the ward's reaction. "We need more information before forcing our way through or trying some other entrance we don't understand yet." She drew a deep breath, preparing to attempt contact with the ward directly. "I'm going to try something—cover me."

The tower seemed to hold its breath as the three women stood poised on the edge of discovery and disaster.