Round 98

Merrin's quick hands retreat from the gate's surface as she glares at Jeane. "Fine! I get it—hands off the magic goo." She shakes her singed fingers dramatically before crouching to examine the ground around the entrance more carefully. "But you can't just tell me not to touch something without explaining why!" The halfling's eyes narrow as she scans the perimeter, her rogue's instincts already searching for alternative entry points. "There's gotta be another way in, right? Something less... hungry."

Jeane circles the tower's base warily, her crimson eyes fixed on every inch of stone and mortar. She traces patterns with a finger, careful never to touch the actual runes again. "It's not goo, Merrin—it's sentient magic, ancient and starving." Her wings shift restlessly behind her back, a subtle sign of her unease. "We need to understand what feeds it before we accidentally become its next meal." She pauses beside a particularly intricate section of carving, her expression thoughtful. "And yes, iron tools are a bad idea around sentient wards that might be fueled by blood magic or soul binding."

Seraphine remains motionless before the gate, her sharp gaze locked on the writhing symbols. The air crackles with malevolent energy, a hunger so profound it seems to suck the very breath from her lungs. "I can feel its desperation," she says softly, more to herself than to the others. Her fingers tighten around her spellbook—the only shield she truly trusts against such ancient power. "This magic... it's not meant to keep out simple thieves or curious adventurers. It was designed to contain something far worse." The elf's keen eyes scan the tower's facade, searching for any sign of a hidden entrance or weakness in the ward's perimeter.