Round 65 Transcript

As Jeane continues to circle the box warily, her eyes fixed on the runes that seem to be watching her, Silra's hand brushes against the vial pouch at her belt. She extracts a small vial filled with a shimmering silver liquid and holds it up, the light from the vial casting an eerie glow on the box's surface. "I've got a little something that might help," she says, her voice low and even. "It's not much against ancient magic, but it's better than nothing."

Halie's eyes flicker to the vial, then back to Silra, her expression a mixture of concern and curiosity. "What is that?" she asks, her hand still tracing patterns in the air as if seeking a way to ward off the malevolent energy emanating from the box. The box's runes pulse brighter, as if responding to Silra's words, and the humming grows louder, more insistent. The air in the room seems to vibrate with anticipation, and Jeane's wings beat faster, her eyes flashing with a mix of fear and determination. "We need to decide," she says, her voice tight with urgency. "Do we risk opening it, or do we try to destroy it?"

The box's lid begins to shift, ever so slightly, as if it's waiting for their decision, its contents pressing against the glass with an otherworldly force.

I circle the box once more, wings drawn tight against my back as I focus every sense on the malevolent energy radiating from its surface. The runes pulse in rhythm with the binding between us—Silra's vial catching the light and glinting like a promise of temporary safety or a flash of impending doom. Halie's wards mean nothing against whatever sleeps within this ancient container, her faith no match for forgotten powers that predate even my own unholy existence. "Fire is our best option," I say finally, voice cold despite the fear coiling tight in my gut like a serpent preparing to strike. "We burn it—box and contents both—and hope whatever dark god or forgotten entity trapped inside can't survive being reduced to ash." The binding pulses again between us all, Silra's readiness for violence sharp through that tether while Halie's steady faith flickers uncertainly against the ancient darkness swirling around this room. "Unless either of you has a better idea—something beyond throwing ourselves at it one by one or hoping my meager sorcery can contain whatever emerges?" My eyes fix on Silra then, assessing her rogue instincts versus whatever lurks inside this thing before adding more sharply, "That vial won't save you if what's inside is truly ancient and malevolent—it might buy seconds at best before something tears your soul apart piece by screaming piece."

I step closer to the box despite every instinct screaming at me it's a bad idea—eyes fixed on those pulsing runes while my fingers hover near the dagger hilt still sheathed at my hip. "Jeane, if whatever's inside can sense us through this damn binding," I say, voice kept low but sharp enough to cut through the room's oppressive atmosphere, "then maybe we need someone it doesn't recognize as a threat on first approach." My eyes flick between her and Halie—both clearly uncomfortable with the idea of touching something that radiates malevolence like a furnace. "I'm not saying I want to handle this," I continue before either can object, already moving my free hand toward one of the pouches at my belt where several small vials rattle softly against each other. "But if we need someone disposable for testing purposes..." I let the implication hang there—everyone knows I'm the least essential member here given our current skill set and binding situation. The box's humming seems to intensify as I approach it, the magical tether between us pulsing faster in sync with its rhythm until it feels like my own heartbeat has been replaced by something else entirely. Unless either of you wants to volunteer instead? I add with practiced sarcasm even as my stomach turns from nerves and the lingering discomfort of being filled with too much semen that needs expelling before someone notices. The box's humming intensifies briefly before settling back into that steady mechanical rhythm—the thing inside clearly aware of our deliberation and growing more impatient by the second. Whatever happens next is going to happen fast once we make a decision—this ancient power isn't going to wait much longer for us to act. Jeane's wings beat faster as I speak, her eyes flashing with a mix of fear and determination. We need to decide, she says, her voice tight with urgency. Do we risk opening it, or do we try to destroy it? The box's lid begins to shift, ever so slightly, as if its contents are pressing against the glass with an otherworldly force. I crouch down slowly about a foot from its nearest edge while keeping weight balanced for quick retreat if needed. So who wants to volunteer to open this thing while the rest of us stand ready for whatever emerges? My hand hovers near one of those talismans even as I ask—knowing full well that I'm probably going to be the one forced to handle it given our current dynamic and my lack of obvious alternatives.*

I step between Silra and the box, hand raised in a gesture of warding while my eyes close briefly in prayer. Silence falls heavy around us—even the box's ominous humming seems to hold its breath as I stand there, fingers tracing ancient patterns learned from years spent studying sacred texts. The binding pulses beneath my skin like a living thing trying to escape its host body—but it's that same tether connecting us all right now that might be our only advantage here if I can use it properly. "No," I say finally, voice soft but firm as my eyes open again to meet Jeane's sharp gaze across the room." We don't sacrifice each other to whatever dark god or forgotten entity is trapped inside this thing—at least not without considering every option first."

My hand moves from its warding position toward one of the pouches at my belt where several small vials rattle softly against each other. I've got a few things that might offer some protection—a prayer infused with holy water, a sprinkle of blessed salt mixed into Silra's vial if she'd allow it. It won't be much against something this old and powerful, but it's better than nothing. The binding pulses again between us all—Jeane's panic still there through the tether but tempered by calculation while Silra radiates that familiar rogue readiness for violence should it prove necessary. I circle around the box slowly now while keeping enough distance for quick retreat if needed—a steady rhythm of prayer accompanying each step as I examine its surface from every angle. If we're going to handle this, we do it together—not by throwing the youngest among us at it like a shield. We could try fire—burn the thing entirely and hope whatever's inside can't survive being reduced to ash. Or we open it carefully with Jeane's magic to contain whatever emerges while Silra stands ready with blade drawn for physical threats. My fingers brush one of those vials again as I complete another circuit around the ominous container. Either way, we face this together rather than letting whoever volunteers become a martyr without purpose. Unless either of you has a better idea that seems our only real options given what we're dealing with here? The box's runes pulse brighter at my words as if responding directly—a hungry thing eager for us to make a decision that might free it from its prison. The air in the room grows heavier somehow, charged with ancient magic and barely contained malevolence. Whatever happens next is going to happen fast once we make a decision—this forgotten power isn't going to wait much longer for us to act.