Round 7

The tower looms overhead like a patient predator, its ancient stonework weathered by centuries of wind and neglect. Yet something else animates this place—the dark magic thrumming beneath the surface, feeding on whatever lies trapped within those walls. The runes etched into the crumbling steps pulse with a malevolent light in the moonlight, each symbol a link in some forgotten chain of power.

Halie moves to the fore, her heavy mace gripped firmly, silver holy symbol clutched in her other hand like a talisman against the oppressive atmosphere. "We can't just stand here debating," she says, her voice carrying more firmness than fatigue despite their long journey. "Jeane's right—the wards are feeding on whatever's trapped in there. But we didn't come all this way to turn back now." Her gaze shifts to Merrin and Jeane in turn, a silent question hanging between them: what's the next move?

Merrin crouches low beside the entrance steps, her nimble fingers tracing the intricate patterns of dark runes etched into the stone. A frown furrows her brow as she concentrates, rogue's intuition working overtime to decipher the magical trap's true purpose. "These wards aren't just barriers," she murmurs after a long moment, speaking barely above a whisper. "They're drawing power from something inside this place. Something... significant." She glances up at Jeane beside her, who is also examining the runes with intense focus.

Jeane completes her circuit of the tower's perimeter, moving with predatory grace despite her obvious fatigue. Her crimson eyes glow faintly as she traces the magical patterns with extended fingertips, dark leathery wings half-spread for balance. The stone pulses beneath her touch like a living thing—no, not just alive. Hungry. These aren't mere wards, sisters. These are feeding grounds, built to draw power from something inside those walls. Something old and potent enough to sustain this magical ecosystem for centuries.

The runes aren't warnings—they're invitations for the foolish or desperate. She straightens, meeting Halie's concerned gaze across the circle. The magic here is parasitic, feeding on trapped energies within. Your ward will help shield us from the immediate effects of proximity, but we must proceed with extreme caution. Whatever lies at this place's core—it's not just ancient. It's... aware.

The shared silence stretches taut as each woman processes the implications. They've come so far, endured so much to reach this point. But the tower's dark promise hangs heavy in the night air—a prize worth having, perhaps, but one that demands a terrible price. The question remains unspoken: are they willing to pay it?