Round 7

Jeane circled the base slowly, her crimson eyes scanning every crack and shadow for movement. The air grew heavy with wrongness, thick with the stench of decay mixed with something sharp and unnatural. This wasn't just a crumbling ruin; it was an active temple to corruption. "Look," she hissed, pointing to where the stonework seemed fresh-scarred, dark runes still wet with whatever passed this way recently. "Someone—or something—has been working on these defenses. The magic here is wrong, layered over the old wards like fresh paint over rot." Her wings shifted restlessly behind her, a subtle tremor of unease.

Merrin edged closer to Halie, her crossbow already half-raised, eyes darting between the tower's shadows and Jeane's tense posture. "Fresh magic?" she muttered. "That means whatever's in there isn't just old bones, it's... active? Maintained?" Halie nodded grimly, her blue-grey eyes fixed on the tower entrance. "Active undead are dangerous enough. But some... no, most of these ancient defenses were designed to punish thieves and treasure-hunters specifically."

The wrongness pulsed outward from the stone like a heartbeat. Jeane drew her heavy mace and stepped forward, forcing Merrin back half a pace behind Varrika's shield arm. "Halie—keep your symbol raised but don't waste divine energy yet." The bone-white shapes were detaching from the tower's shadow like smoke solidified into geometry. Four... no, six of them now, moving with fluidity that suggested coordinated purpose rather than shambling mindlessness. "Merrin," she snapped, sharper than intended, "stop gawking and get your crossbow ready."

Halie's voice cut through the tension. "Jeane, if we can't even—if this place is too much for your magic to handle—the moment you feel anything pulling at you, tell me immediately. I'll have Merrin stay behind with Seraphine, keep them safe and ready to run while Varrika and I deal with whatever... whatever this is. Don't be a hero unless you know what you're doing. We need smart, not just bold."

Merrin kept her crossbow trained on the skeletons as they emerged from the shadows, their movements fluid and purposeful in a way that chilled her to the bone. Whatever dark magic was animating them, it was not just the mindless hunger of the undead. "Something's off about this place," she muttered under her breath. "The air itself feels... wrong."