Round 75

Seraphine takes a hesitant step back from the edge of the crumbled catwalk, her sharp eyes scanning the ancient stonework for any sign of structural weakness. The air around them feels wrong—thick with residual dark energy that makes her skin prickle uncomfortably. This entire section is compromised, she calls down to Jeane below, the way the stones fell tells me there's a fault line running through this whole support structure. Her gaze shifts to Merrin, now transformed into something... other. And whatever they've done to her—Seraphine's voice drops lower—it's not just binding. This is architecture of the soul, and I don't think we should trust anything that lets someone build like this.*

The wizard begins circling the chamber's edge, her keen mind working through the problem even as her body remains tense. There has to be another way down, she mutters more to herself than anyone else, some hidden passage or alternate route. This kind of security usually has multiple layers—Seraphine suddenly stops, her eyes narrowing at a section of wall that seems just... slightly... off alignment. Or perhaps we simply need to be more... persuasive with the existing architecture.

She approaches the suspicious section carefully, her fingers tracing the ancient stonework with scholarly reverence mixed with practical assessment. This seam here—Seraphine presses firmly against it—it moves. A low rumble echoes through the chamber as a hidden panel begins to slide open, revealing a narrow passage descending into darkness. Well, she says dryly, that was easier than I expected. Though I suspect our hosts may have left this particular door unlocked for a reason.

Seraphine turns back to Jeane below, her expression caught between academic excitement and practical concern. I've found a way down, but I'm not sure it's safe. The stonework here is... unsettlingly smooth for something meant to remain hidden. She crouches at the edge of the new opening, peering into the gloom. And whatever's waiting below, we'll need light. Lots of it.

As she begins rummaging through her pack for torches and tinderbox, Seraphine can't shake the feeling that they're being watched—not by Merrin in her transformed state, but by something older and more patient lurking within these walls. This whole place feels like a trap waiting to spring, she mutters, and we just walked right into its trigger room.