19. Crimson - Old Wards

Just as the sun begins to crest over the horizon, the seven of you settle into place outside the abandoned watch tower. Unease crawls beneath your skin.

You glance at your companions, met with varying degrees of grave and grim faces, save for the final person you look towards.

Sariel is already watching you. Though green eyes hold a shadow beneath the surface, they are uncharacteristically soft for the other woman. She offers you a smile, cheeks tinged a light pink from the brazen chill of the harvest season.

“You ready?” she asks. A simple question, built on calm foundations, and you find it surprising how much it quells your own nervous energy.

“Yeah…” you reply, following up with a stronger, more resolute, “let’s go.”

You enter the tower first. Getting through the thick, wooden door isn’t a difficult task; rot has long since taken hold in its core and hollowed any sense of weight or practical defense against intruders. The lock - already broken before you and your companions arrived - is rusted to the point that you cannot catch even a glimpse of unworn iron.

It is after your entry into the tower where things go awry.

The main room, open and bare, is bathed in a thin veil of light from each of the arrow slits. Were it not for that and Sariel’s immaculate perception, you would have been a sitting duck for the glyphs carved into the stone floors.

“Wait! Look there,” Sariel says, one arm wrapping around your waist as she glares daggers down at the broken cobblestone.

You strain your eyes to see, your companions all alert behind you in case backup is required. Upon closer inspection you can make out the cracks in the stone.

No, not cracks, you think, crouching down to get a better look. Careful not to misstep.

The cracks are more like veins; pale and dull until you lean down, your proximity causing the veins to pulse and glow a deep crimson. You follow one vein, memorising the pattern, and realise that you recognise this type of glyph. From the familiar crimson glow of essence to the pattern marked out on the floor.

“It’s a warding glyph,” you inform the others. A powerful one at that.

The way it pulses is almost mesmerising. You feel yourself being drawn in, can feel a your heart pounding in time with every flash of crimson, leaning closer and closer and closer still –

Sariel pulls you back, grip tighter than a well made knot. “Watch yourself, [name]. I get the feeling we shouldn’t be getting to cosy with that thing.”

You glance up, gaze meeting Sariel’s once more, but the inquisitive concern has you pulling away. Avoiding both her gaze and the continuous pulse of the glyph as you feel a heat begin to rise in your cheeks. “Right, sorry…” You take a short pause before turning to address the others. Afraid they might pick up on your weakness, or your embarrassment, or something more. “We should find a way to deal with this before we head in. Quickly.”