Round 16

The tower's magic pulses like a predatory heartbeat as the party splits into roles. The air above is thick with warning, and every second feels like borrowed time.

Jeane beats her wings steadily, rising higher over the crumbling stone roof. The structure looms larger as she ascends, its surface seeming to writhe in the fading daylight. The wrongness intensifies with altitude—an oily taste in the air that makes her want to gag. Below, the stone itself pulses with a sickly green light that wasn't visible from ground level. This isn't simple warding magic. This is something actively feeding on... something.

She circles once, noting the placement of the pulsing runes. They form a pattern—a maze designed to consume intruders rather than merely repel them. The center point radiates more power than the perimeter, drawing her attention like a magnet. What's inside that thing? She descends slowly, wings barely moving, breaking her altitude with agonizing care.

Halie leans heavily on her mace, using it as a makeshift staff to support her tired legs. The ground beneath her feels wrong—porous and hungry in a way soil shouldn't be. She closes her eyes, focusing inward on the spell she needs to cast. Seraphine's detection magic will reveal hidden presences within a wide radius, but it requires absolute concentration and five minutes of uninterrupted casting time. Five minutes where they'll all have to remain completely still and silent—an eternity when every nerve is screaming warning.

She begins the incantation under her breath, syllables forming a pattern that draws on divine power. The air around her hands shimmers with soft blue light, barely visible in the gloom but unmistakable as magic. The spell spreads outward in slow waves, probing the darkness beyond the tower's immediate perimeter.

Merrin crouches low, eyes scanning every inch of the stone foundation. Her rogue's instincts scream at her—this place is alive with danger, and not the kind that can be fought off with a mace or a crossbow bolt. She traces the lines of the wards with one finger, feeling the magic pulse against her skin like a heartbeat. Every rune seems connected to the next, forming a circuit that feeds back into the tower's core.

She straightens up slowly, turning to face Halie. "I can feel it too," she says quietly. "These aren't defensive wards—they're feeding wards. Connected to something inside." She glances upward, searching for Jeane's silhouette against the darkening sky. "Hey, Jeane! Any way we can reach those upper levels without tripping any alarms? Maybe a hidden ledge or overgrown path?" Her voice barely carries above a whisper.

The three women stand in tense silence now, each playing their assigned role while Halie completes her spell. The tower looms overhead, its magic pulsing hungrily. They're committed to this course—mapping the wards before entry—but every second feels like walking a tightrope over an abyss.