Round 6 Transcript

I hear Varrika's warning and see Merrin take point with her crossbow. The air in here is heavy enough to breathe through—a thick, cold presence pressing on my skin. I step forward next to Varrika, raising my holy symbol between us. The silver catches what little light filters down from above, casting weak shadows that seem to writhe against the stone. Jeane, I say softly over my shoulder, you were right about those runes. They feel... wrong. Awake. And I don't think they like visitors. We should move slow and quiet, I tell Merrin. Let me take rear guard. If anything undead comes at us from behind, I can handle it better than you can with that crossbow. I shift my heavy mace to one hand and raise the other in a gesture of blessing—more for my own peace of mind than any real hope it'll help against whatever's waiting here. And Varrika, I add, if we see bone anywhere, let me handle it. You know your way with living things, not so much with dead ones. My grip tightens on the mace. The weapon feels solid and reassuring in my hand—a reminder that faith alone won't always be enough against what haunts this place. Let's get moving, I mutter, more to myself than anyone else. The longer we stand here, the colder it gets.

I hold my staff close as we enter the tower, the air growing thick and heavy with an ancient, oppressive presence.
The runes on the wall seem to pulse with a faint, malevolent light as Halie's holy symbol glints in the dimness, and I feel a shiver trace down my spine.
Varrika takes the lead, her heavy steps echoing through the stone chamber, followed by Merrin with her crossbow at the ready. Jeane stays close, her wings shifting beneath her cloak.
I fall into step behind them, my eyes darting from shadow to shadow, half-expecting skeletal hands to emerge from the darkness. This place feels alive, but in a way that screams danger and wrongness.
My mind races, trying to recall everything I've read about this tower, about the dark sorcerers who once called it home. The stories speak of ancient magic, of demonic pacts and time itself being warped within these walls. But they never mentioned the runes feeling... awake.
As we move deeper into the gloom, a sudden, sharp crack echoes through the air - the sound of a bone breaking. Not just any bone. A human bone. A skeleton, long dead and now reanimated by some foul magic, steps out from behind a crumbling pillar, its empty eye sockets fixed on us.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I raise my staff, a spell already forming on my lips. The creature lunges forward, its blade gleaming in the torchlight, and I know we have no choice but to fight our way through this nightmare of a tower.