Round 60 Transcript

At Penthouse suite in a New York high rise, the pressure shifts from waiting to immediate risk. The ward answers the party's presence with a fresh pulse through the stone and no one can mistake it for safety. The nearest sign of danger is now structural instability from wardstone interaction. Someone has to answer that change now.

The building's groan this time isn't just creaking—it's structural whining. The wardstone pulses against Silra's fingers like a living heart fighting capture. Hera cowering near the window makes me want to protect her, yes, but also snap at her for wasting time we don't have. I step closer to Hera and say in a low voice meant only for her, "Sixty seconds. Focus on staying alive first." The stone answers my presence with another throb that shakes dust from the ceiling beams. Sixty seconds until what?

Hera stands trembling near Jeane, her eyes darting between the ominous wardstone and Silra's determined hands. The building's groan has shifted from ominous to terrifying, each pulse of the stone sending tremors through the structure. "Jeane," Hera whispers urgently, "what exactly is happening? How can we stop this?"

Jeane's face is set in grim determination as she pulls Hera closer. "Sixty seconds, Hera. That's all the time we have."

Hera's heart pounds in her chest, adrenaline coursing through her veins. She wants to trust Jeane, to believe that there's a way out of this nightmare. But the doubt gnaws at her, fueled by the building's ominous creaks and Silra's focused intensity. "What... what do we have to do?" Hera asks, her voice small and frightened. Jeane's gaze bores into hers, intense and unflinching. "Trust in Silra. And prepare yourself for whatever comes next."

The wardstone pulses again, and the building shudders around them. Hera clutches Jeane's arm, her nails digging into the sorcerer's flesh as she fights the urge to flee. "Okay," Hera breathes, steeling herself. "I'll do whatever it takes. Just... just tell me what I need to do."

I approach Silra near the wardstone, my footsteps hesitant on the creaking floorboards. The stone pulses feel wrong—too alive, too insistent—as if it's breathing with malicious intent. "Wait," I say, my voice barely steady. "There has to be another way." My eyes flick between Silra handling the stone and Jeane standing guard near Hera and Abby. "We can't just... bleed this thing dry at any cost."

The building groans around us again—a long, slow creak that sounds like a dying beast—and I flinch. The pressure changes are unmistakable now: we're running out of time. I turn to Jeane directly, my cleric's training warring with my growing dread. "Jeane, what you're asking—it goes against everything holy. Against natural order." My gaze drops briefly to the wardstone before meeting her eyes again. "There are consequences for defiling sacred objects like this."

But even as I speak, I feel it—the divine energy in me responding to the stone's call. A traitorous thrill runs up my spine at the thought of using holy power on something so profane. I swallow hard, trying to ignore that feeling. "We need a better solution before we resort to... this." My fingers tighten around my mace instinctively.