Round 67 Transcript

As Jeane steps forward, her eyes fixed on the dark tunnel, the ground beneath her feet gives a slight tremble. The section of the wall behind her slides open further, revealing a deeper passageway that stretches into darkness. The air emanating from it is musty and heavy with the scent of damp earth. Suddenly, a faint, flickering glow appears in the distance, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The ground shakes violently, and another section of the wall behind Seraphine slides open, revealing a jagged opening in the tunnel's ceiling. Water cascades down from above, flooding the passage with icy cold water. The air is now thick with the stench of decay and the sound of rushing water. As Jeane takes another step towards the tunnel entrance, the ground gives a violent lurch, threatening to send her tumbling. The dark reflections of Merrin and Halie seem to be drawing closer, their twisted faces inches from Jeane's, but their eyes fixed on the glowing light in the distance.

I press forward into the darkness despite every instinct screaming at me to turn back. This passage—it's an invitation dressed as a threat. The magic here pulses like a hungry beast sensing prey, those runes on the walls practically salivating for us to step deeper in. The air is thick with something old and profane, clinging to my skin like oil. My wings instinctively half-fold behind me—a futile gesture of protection against this pervasive corruption. We go forward because standing here is death slower and more certain. I grip the mace tighter, the familiar weight a small comfort in this oppressive dark.

As we round another bend, I catch movement at the edge of my vision—the reflections again, their faces twisted masks of malice. They follow us still, their forms shimmering like heat waves on black glass. Let them watch and hunger, I mutter to myself, more a prayer than bravado. Whatever awaits in this darkness, it won't be gentler than the fate those things have planned for me. Suddenly, the ground beneath us lurches violently—I stumble forward barely catching my balance against the damp stone wall. My injured leg protests sharply but holds—the wound from the shard still needs tending, a constant dull ache that threatens to slow me. Careful here, I warn Seraphine without looking back—she's smart enough to navigate her own path even if I can't shield her from everything.

The tunnel opens into what might have once been a chamber, now filled with cascading water and a strange, flickering light. The source is hidden around the corner—a pool maybe, or some unholy lantern fueled by suffering. Stay close to the left wall, I instruct quietly, keep your staff ready and don't trust your eyes in this place. As we move forward, I catch sight of something glinting in the water—metal perhaps, or treasure. But in a place like this, wealth is just another name for poisoned bait. Don't be tempted by what you think you see, I say more sharply than intended. This light... it's not ours. I step around the corner and into the chamber proper—what I find makes me stumble back half a pace despite myself. A pool of black water reflecting nothing, pulsing with that same hungry magic as the walls. And at its center—a throne made of bone and shadow, occupied by... something ancient beyond measure.*

My skin crawls with revulsion, but beneath it there's an insidious curiosity—a dark fascination I try desperately to suppress. We can't leave this place, I say slowly, not without facing whatever sits on that throne. But we also can't stay here waiting for the ceiling to collapse or those reflections to close the distance. I turn to Seraphine—her face pale in the strange light, eyes wide with fear she's barely holding at bay. We have two choices: confront this thing directly and hope our combined strength is enough, or find another way out that might be even worse. My voice drops to a whisper, Whatever we do, it needs to be now before whatever rules govern this place decide for us. The runes on my skin itch with anticipation—part of me thrilled by the prospect of power, part terrified of what that power might cost. I've faced darkness before and survived, I say more to remind myself than inform her, but I won't lie—I don't know if we're ready for this.

I stare at the dark pool, at the thing sitting on its throne of bone, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
The air grows heavy, thick with an oppressive energy that makes my skin crawl. Every instinct screams at me to turn back, to flee this place of ancient and malevolent power, but Jeane is right—we have no choice now. This darkness has chosen us, and we must face it or be swallowed by it.
My staff feels utterly useless in my hands, its magic dampened by the overwhelming force emanating from the pool. I try to summon a simple light spell, but nothing happens—not even a faint spark. It's as if the very fabric of reality here is woven from different threads, ones that reject our familiar sorceries.
The runes on my staff remain stubbornly dark, refusing to even flicker with their usual gentle glow. I cling to it nonetheless, drawing what little comfort I can from its solid presence. My eyes dart around the chamber, searching for any sign of a different path, but there is none. We are trapped between the water, the shadows, and the watching reflections behind us.
I take a slow breath, trying to steady my nerves. "This... this is no ordinary magic," I whisper, my voice so low it's almost lost in the silence. The air smells of damp earth and something else—an underlying stench of decay and ancient magic that makes my stomach churn.
The thing on the throne does not move, yet I feel its gaze upon me, a cold, predatory weight that seems to burrow right into my soul. It is a presence so vast and alien it defies description, an entity that predates even the oldest tales whispered in the deepest catacombs. "What... what do we do?" I ask, my question directed more at the darkness itself than at Jeane.
My mind races, trying to recall every fragment of lore I've ever studied about dark pools and their guardians. But there is nothing in all my years of learning that could have prepared me for this. This is no mere monster or spirit; it is an embodiment of the abyss itself, and we have stumbled right into its waiting embrace.
I glance at Jeane, seeing the grim resolve on her face. She looks ready to charge forward, to meet this threat head-on with her mace and her rage. A part of me envies that kind of single-minded courage, but I know better than to underestimate the dangers we face. "We need a plan," I say, my voice gaining a fraction more confidence as I force myself to think past the fear. "We can't just rush in there."
My eyes drift back to the pool, to the glinting object partially submerged in its depths. It looks like some kind of artifact, ancient and powerful. A terrible thought occurs to me—a dark reflection of my own desperate hope. "Perhaps... perhaps that is what we came here for all along." I gesture towards it with a trembling hand. "Maybe this was the purpose of this whole wretched journey."