Round 92 Transcript

As we approach the makeshift shrine, Sister Hale's eyes narrow slightly as she takes in the statues guarding its entrance. "Looks like someone else has been here," she says, her voice laced with a hint of unease. I glance at her, then back at the shrine, my mind racing with possibilities. Suddenly, one of the stone statues steps forward, its glowing eyes fixed on us. The air around it seems to vibrate with an otherworldly energy, and I can feel the pressure of whatever is buried down there still resonating through the ground. The statue speaks in a low, rumbling voice, "You have disturbed the balance. You must prove your worthiness to pass."

I turn to Sister Hale, my expression serious. "What do we do?" she asks, her hand still clutched around her symbol. I hesitate for a moment before responding, "We offer our symbols as proof of our respect." The statue regards us for a moment, then nods its head. "Very well. You may proceed."

I feel the pressure of whatever is buried down there still resonating through the ground as we approach this shrine—and something about those stone statues isn't right. They look carved from the same rock as the plates in the tunnel, which means whatever made them probably made both. I glance at Sister Hale, noting her unease, and decide we don't have time for this particular brand of ancient weirdness right now. We need clean robes and a place to regroup before trying to recruit followers who won't run screaming when they see our current state. Let's just; keep moving," I say across the plates, already stepping past them toward what looks like another collapsed building nearby that might still have fabric inside. Whatever this shrine is—it smells old. And Gravedigger Renn's fear-smell was bad enough without adding more ; ancientwrongness* to our scent profile."

Sister Hale hesitates for a moment before nodding and following me. "Agreed—the last thing we need is another test of ; worthiness." We walk past the shrine entrance, feeling the statues' glowing eyes track us as we go. The air around them pulses with that same wrongness I felt in the tunnel—something ancient and calculating that makes my skin crawl even through my leathers. Focus," I mutter to myself as we enter the crumbled building. Clean robes. No more traps today."

I step forward into the shrine proper, my symbol held high in both greeting and supplication. The runes etched into these ancient stones pulse with an otherworldly light—as though they're ; breathing—and I can feel the pressure of whatever lies beneath us vibrating through the soles of my boots. "We come before you," I say, addressing not just the altar but the thing that built it and all its kind. My voice echoes strangely in this space, caught between reverence and wariness. Silra's footsteps are hesitant beside me—understandable given her trade usually involves avoiding rather than ; courting ancient wrongness. "Sister," she murmurs across our private channel, her rogue's instincts no doubt screaming at her to simply leave this place. But we have come too far and need too much to retreat now. I trace the symbols on the altar with my eyes—recognizing them as ; older even than the scripture I study. "We offer respect," I continue aloud, "and a proposition that may align our interests." The runes flare in response, THRUM-THUM, and I feel that vibration deepen. Whatever lies below us is ; attending.*

"We seek to rebuild what was lost—the church of this city—into a place of order and peace," I explain, my voice steady despite the wrongness that crawls across my skin. "In return for safe passage through your domain and... your blessing upon our efforts." The runes pulse again—THRUM-THUM-THRUM—and I feel something shift in the pressure beneath us. Interest? Amusement? Hunger? Silra speaks across our channel, her voice tight with controlled tension. "Is it working?" I close my eyes for a moment, reaching out with that cleric sense—not to ; command or even ; speak, but simply to ; listen. The response comes as vibration more than sound: THRUM-THUM...THRUM-THUM. Something deliberate. Considered. I open my eyes and meet Silra's gaze across the plates—she looks at me with both wariness and grudging respect for this approach I've taken. "It's considering our offer," I tell her, keeping my voice calm even as the wrongness in this place makes my skin crawl. "Now we wait."

The silence stretches for long moments as whatever lies beneath us deliberates. Then: THRUM-THUM...THRUM-THUM. The vibration settles into a pattern that feels almost like ; agreement. I feel my shoulders relax fractionally—this ancient horror has accepted our proposition. Silra speaks quickly across the plates, her rogue's instinct to ; move overriding her usual sarcasm. "It accepted?" I nod slowly, my mind already racing with implications. "Accepted is... too simple a word for what just occurred here," I say aloud this time, more to myself than Silra.

Whatever is buried down there has tasted our intentions and found them ; sufficient. The runes on the altar pulse with a steady rhythm now—not the erratic vibration of earlier but something more deliberate, almost ; protective. I can feel the ancient power beneath us settling into some kind of agreement—we have been ; acknowledged.

I turn to leave this chamber, my mind already racing with the implications of what we've just done. "Though I must admit—I had not expected our first joint venture to involve such... intimate negotiation with ancient wrongness."