Round 11

The air inside the stone tower felt wrong—heavy and thick, resisting their passage like water. Each breath tasted of dust and decay, and beneath that, something else. Something ancient and hungry. Jeane's wings shifted restlessly behind her, a instinctive reaction to the magic crawling across her skin.

"This place is... alive," Halie whispered, clutching her mace tighter. "The ward isn't just active—it's feeding. Recently." Her blue-grey eyes scanned the shadows ahead, searching for movement.

Seraphine nodded grimly beside her. "I feel it too. Fresh magic, not decayed power. Someone—or something—is keeping these defenses maintained." The elf woman's sharp gaze fixed on a patch of darkness where the corridor turned sharply left. "And I think our welcoming committee is about to make an entrance."

Jeane stepped forward, wings half-spread for quick reflexes. The magic here was wrong—tainted by something ancient and hungry. But they needed that sword, and the only way to get it was through this cursed tower.

"Alright," she said finally, voice barely above a whisper. "Let's move out. Halie, keep your holy symbol ready but not activated yet—that might just wake more things we don't need to deal with right now. Merrin, you're on point with that crossbow—if any of those boneheads moves wrong, shoot first and ask questions later."

The party advanced into the darkness, each step echoing softly in the ancient stone corridors. The ward's pulse grew stronger with every turn they took deeper into the tower's embrace.