Round 91

The runes on the gate pulsed with a hungry light, their appetite for arcane energy palpable even from a distance. Jeane circled the barrier slowly, her crimson eyes narrowed in concentration. "Foolish girl," she purred, glancing at Merrin's precarious position clinging to the tower wall above. "One misplaced hand and you'll be its meal." The halfling froze mid-climb, her heart hammering. What had they gotten themselves into this time?

The sorceress continued her examination, speaking more seriously now. "These aren't mere wards, they're written in a language of hunger and consumption. The ward wants essence, not just to repel us, but to devour arcane power specifically." She met Merrin's gaze directly. "Merrin climbing that wall is pointless; whatever's inside will sense you long before you find an entrance. We need t...

Varrika moved forward, her scarred hands gripping a heavy mace. "Sorceress," she growled, "what the fuck are we dealing with here?" Jeane didn't look up from the runes, her expression grave. "Something ancient and powerful. And hungry." The very air around them seemed to hum with dark magic, thick and heavy, pressing down like a physical weight.

Merrin descended carefully, her small hands finding secure holds in the crumbling stone. She dropped lightly beside Jeane, peering at the writhing symbols. "It looks like... alive," she whispered, her stomach churning with unease. The runes pulsed faster now, their hunger growing more insistent.

Jeane stood abruptly, her wings rustling as she stepped back from the gate. "It's reacting to our presence," she said, her voice tight. "And something's moving inside. I can hear it." A low rumble echoed through the stone, like slow footsteps approaching the gate. The ward's magic flared brighter in response.

Varrika hefted her mace, muscles tensing. "Right then. We're not getting in that way without a fight." She glared at Merrin. "And you—keep your hands off those runes unless you want to feed whatever's inside."

Merrin held up both hands in surrender. "Not touching them," she promised, though her eyes remained fixed on the writhing symbols. The sorceress was right—they needed a different approach. But what?