Round 22 Transcript

As Seraphine turns to head back up the stairs, she's met with a sound that makes her freeze: the dragging noise of something heavy being pulled across stone, slower now than before. The air seems to vibrate with malevolent energy, and the inverse runes on the door pulse erratically, as if feeding the darkness. Seraphine's eyes dart towards the corridor, her hand instinctively raised to propel herself back up the stairs, but it's too late. A wizened old man with piercing eyes has emerged from the shadows, his voice low and raspy: "Welcome home."

I push off from the collapsing floor toward where Halie's silhouette last appeared above, the inverse rune pulsing erratically as its unstable rhythm makes control increasingly difficult—I pour more power into holding it back, feeling my reserves dip dangerously low already. Too much strain, too many variables—if I lose focus now, we're all buried under ancient stone. Varrika's hammer crushes another skeleton below; she hasn't moved from her position since I called out to her minutes ago—not an inch. Efficient as always, but also... isolated somehow. Quiet in a way that worries me.

The stone under my feet pulses again—rhythm unbroken. I freeze at the bottom of the stairs, torch held out like a shield against the dark. The air is different down here: thick, cold, heavy. Rot mixed with magic maybe? Or worse.

Seraphine's right—I can feel it too: that slow heartbeat under everything else. Like the tower itself is alive and sleeping. The corridor to my left beckons with quick exploration, but the smell makes my skin crawl—old death has its own stink, and this isn't just decay. Rot doesn't pulse like this.

My eyes drift past it to the ornate doors ahead. The runes on them pulse in time with whatever's wrong upstairs—feeding energy back into the tower. That's where the real threat is: Jeane fighting something up there, and those doors are probably the source. But breaking through without preparation? We'd release whatever's been keeping this place sealed for centuries.

I turn to Seraphine, her silhouette flickering in my torchlight. She looks like she wants to argue, but the truth is plain: two of us down here isn't twice as safe. "You go back up," I say softly, "Check on Jeane—if that rune fails, we're all buried here." My grip tightens on the useless symbol in my pocket. "I'll check out the corridor. If it's just rot, I can cleanse it easily enough. If it's something worse... well, better one of us fall to a trap than all four."

She hesitates for a moment—probably thinking about leaving me alone down here—but then nods sharply and pushes off into the air above. The sound of her wings beating retreats as she climbs back up.

I take a deep breath and turn toward the left corridor, torch raised high. The darkness ahead shifts and writhes like smoke in a breeze— not my imagination. Each step feels heavier than the last as I descend further into the tower's depths.

I watch Halie descend into the darkness of the left corridor, her torchlight receding into the gloom. The sound of her footsteps fades, leaving only the groaning of ancient stone and the frantic pulse of the inverse rune under my feet. I beat my wings again, propelling myself higher towards where Jeane and Varrika were last seen above.
As I rise, the holding pattern for the rune wavers, and I have to pour even more power into it, feeling my magic reserves plummet with each passing moment. This kind of delicate work requires constant attention or it collapses completely—a fact that becomes all too apparent when a sudden shift in the air makes me stumble mid-flight.
The landing where the stairs end comes into view, and I see two dark corridors branching off into unknown depths—the one leading further down into what looks like an even deeper level of the tower, and another that seems to lead towards a massive set of ornate doors, covered in the same inverse runes that I'm struggling to control upstairs. The air here is colder, heavier than it was even a few minutes ago—thick with ancient magic.
Suddenly, a faint sound catches my attention—a soft, dragging noise like something heavy being pulled across stone. It stops for a moment, then begins again, slower this time. My heart hammers against my ribs as I freeze, listening intently. That isn't Halie—she moved with purpose, not that slow, agonizing scrape. And Merrin and Varrika would have announced themselves by now if they were here.
A cold chill traces down my spine. That isn't Halie—she moved with purpose, not that slow, agonizing scrape. And Merrin and Varrika would have announced themselves by now if they were here.
A cold chill traces down my spine. That isn't Halie—she moved with purpose, not that slow, agonizing scrape. And Merrin and Varrika would have announced themselves by now if they were here.
I take a slow step back toward the stairs, my hand already raised to push off with a burst of arcane energy when a voice calls out from the darkness of the deeper corridor. "Welcome home," it rasps, ancient and dry as old parchment. A figure emerges from the shadows—a wizened old man with long, gray hair and piercing eyes that seem to glow faintly in the dark. He wears simple robes, but the power that radiates from him is overwhelming, pressing down on me like a physical weight.
"I've been waiting for you," he continues, his voice a low murmur that seems to vibrate right through my chest. "Waiting for someone with your particular... talents."
He gestures towards the door, and suddenly I can feel the inverse runes screaming in my mind, their energy surging out of control. The holding pattern I've been maintaining crumbles instantly, and I stagger back, my vision blurring with the sheer force of it.
The old man smiles, a cold, empty thing that doesn't reach his eyes. "You were trying to fix something that wasn't broken," he says, his tone almost gentle now. "But this tower... it has its own purpose. And you, my dear, are about to fulfill it."
I take a shaky step back, my mind racing as I try to process what just happened. The rune is completely unraveled now—my magic is nearly spent—and this strange old man seems to be at the center of it all. He knows about the runes, about me... but how?
His eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, I feel a strange tugging sensation deep within my chest—a pull towards him, towards the tower itself. It's like he's trying to draw something out of me, something essential. I stagger under the sudden onslaught of power, my knees buckling as I fall to the cold stone floor.
This is wrong. All wrong. We came here for a simple task—a broken purpose to reset—but now... now everything feels like it's spinning out of control. The tower, the runes, even my own magic... and this old man at the center of it all, watching me with that unsettling, knowing smile.
I push myself back up to my feet, my hands shaking as I grip my staff for support. I need to get out of here—need to find the others and warn them. But a part of me, a deeper, more primal part, is screaming not to run. To stay. To see what this man wants.
He takes a single step forward, closing the distance between us until we're less than an arm’s length apart. He smells of old parchment and something else—something ancient and powerful that makes my skin crawl. "You have a choice," he whispers, his voice now so close it feels like a physical caress against my ear. "Leave this place... or stay and learn its true secrets. But know this—the longer you hesitate, the more the tower's purpose will consume everything around you."