Round 29

The stone tower exhaled its ancient malice in a fresh wave, and the ward's response was immediate—a violent pulse that made the very air shudder. Jeane descended with predatory grace, her crimson eyes scanning every shadow and flickering torchlight. The stone vibrated underfoot with a malevolent pulse—this place remembered blood and magic long after it should have forgotten.

Merrin's torchlight flickered far below like a trapped heart trying to escape its cage. Varrika held the entrance with steady competence, her crossbow trained on the darkness beyond. Halie descended carefully, mace in hand, her holy symbol held close—a beacon against the encroaching dark. The weight of the tower pressed down, thick with ancient blasphemy and fresh death.

What ancient horror fuels these bones? Halie whispered, more to herself than anyone else. The stone remembers screams. She traced the pulsing runes with her eyes, following their sinister rhythm. Seraphine, tell me what you see, she called up the stairs. And Varrika—keep that entrance clear no matter what.

Jeane moved forward with predatory grace, her dark leathery wings half-spread for balance. The magic here felt wrong—twisted and hungry in a way that set her teeth on edge. She spotted Merrin's torchlight below, but something was off—the angle, the flicker pattern, the complete lack of movement. A cold dread settled in her gut.

Merrin? she called down softly. What's happening?

The silence stretched for a moment too long before Merrin's voice answered, thin with fear. I... I fell through something. There's a pit here. I can't see the bottom.