Round 39

The tower's wards pulse hungrily around Merrin and Varrika as they step deeper into the shadows. The stone floor groans under their weight, and something shifts above—a heavy chain scraping against stone. The sound doesn't repeat immediately; it's not a constant noise but a deliberate movement. The air grows colder. Whatever's upstairs isn't just sleeping—it's now aware of intruders on its ground floor. The ward-hunger increases again, feeding off the new presence within its domain.

Varrika grips her mace tightly, the weight of the weapon grounding her amidst the tower's eerie atmosphere. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what lies ahead. "Alright," she growls, her gravel-edged voice cutting through the tension. "We're committed now. Let's find that sword and get out before whatever's upstairs decides we've overstayed our welcome." She glances at Merrin, nodding towards the tower's interior. "You take point. I'll watch our backs. And keep those wards in sight..."

Merrin's heart pounds as she grips the crowbar tighter, senses on high alert. The tower's shadows seem to writhe with unseen threats. "Varrika, did you hear that?" she whispers, nodding towards the heavy chain scraping above. The dwarf's grip on her mace whitens. "Aye. Whatever's upstairs, it knows we're here now." Merrin nods grimly, scanning the hallway ahead for traps. Every instinct screams to back away, but they've come this far... She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. "Alright. We...

I feel it now—stronger. The wards aren't barriers; they're veins feeding whatever's chained up there. We have maybe eight minutes before it decides we're a meal instead of trespassers. Merrin, Varrika—I don't care how fast you are, you can't outrun that kind of hunger once it's been woken this close. We need to map the ward patterns completely first or pull back now. The rhythm is off—the feeding pulses aren't random. They're synchronized with something upstairs counting time or... savo...