Round 8 Transcript

Silra’s rope, pulled taut against the damp stone, slipped on a slick patch and struck a concealed lever; a hiss of noxious gas erupted from a vent in the tunnel wall, filling the narrow passage with choking fumes.

Hale stumbled back from the gas, covering her mouth with the hem of her habit. Fools! We don't know what this is—poison? The fumes could kill us before we even see whatever's down there. The rhythmic thrumming from below intensified, a low vibration that seemed to shake the very stone underfoot. That sound... it's getting louder. Whatever machinery drives it knows we're here now. She pulled her unholy symbol close, feeling its cold metal against her palm. We should seal this entrance—if there's something mechanical down there, let it rot alone. Gravehill has already seen enough death today.

Jeane raised her unholy symbol as if it were a shield against the gas, though her eyes streamed with the noxious fumes and her breath came in ragged gasps. Enough of this skulking! She drew upon the dark power that coursed through her veins, her fingers tracing sigils of command in the air before her.

Her voice cut through the rhythmic thrumming from below like a razor through parchment. Whatever cowers beneath us—show yourself to your betters! The symbol in her hand pulsed with malevolent energy as she channeled a surge of arcane force down into the depths, not caring what it might stir up but determined to end this game of shadows.

A tendril of darkness snaked from her palm, seeking the source of that infernal beating—if it could be commanded or crushed.