Round 146 Transcript

As Seraphine presses her back against the wall, Jeane's grip on her arm tightens, and she nods curtly. "Alright, we'll take your word for it. We can't afford to keep moving without a plan." She eyes the stable-looking alcove, then nods towards it. "There, take a few turns to work on those runes. I'll keep watch."

Jeane pulls out a torch and lights it, casting flickering shadows around the tunnel as she leans against the wall opposite the alcove. She's acutely aware of the sound of shifting stone ahead, her hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of her heavy mace. The air is thick with dust, but she can feel the weight of their situation pressing down on her: the tunnel is collapsing, and they're running out of time. As Seraphine disappears into the alcove, Jeane's gaze falls on a fresh chunk of rock that has fallen from the ceiling, partially blocking the passage. It's a tangible reminder of how fragile their situation is: the rock is loose, and with another jolt, it could fall, trapping them forever.

Jeane releases Seraphine's arm reluctantly, her crimson eyes never leaving the wizard as she moves into the alcove. Fine—you have three turns to make this work before I drag you out of there and we keep moving regardless. The structure is failing by the second; whatever's causing that sound ahead isn't going to wait for your magical handwaving. She lights a torch, the flickering orange light casting dancing shadows across the crumbling tunnel walls. You wanted stability? Make it happen. I can feel the binding magic fraying—if that spirit gets loose in these tight quarters with us trapped between collapsing stone and potential new threats, we're fucked before we even see what's coming. The ground shudders again, more violently this time. Jeane braces herself against the wall, her wings half-spreading instinctively for balance. Clock's ticking, Seraphine. Every second you spend dithering is a second closer to being buried alive or possessed by whatever ancient horror we've woken up. Her hand tightens around the hilt of her mace as another ominous crack echoes from ahead. And whatever made that sound? It’s getting closer. Something’s hunting us through this collapsing maze, and I’d rather face it head-on than get trapped in a pocket of air with no escape routes and a pissed-off spirit trying to claw its way out. She moves forward slightly, peering around the partial rockfall that now blocks part of the passage. We need to know what’s causing that structural damage. If it’s another part of the tower collapsing naturally, we can work around it—slowly, carefully. But if something inside the structure is deliberately destabilizing this area? That changes everything. Jeane glances back at Seraphine in the alcove. I’m not saying your magic isn’t useful, but right now we need solutions that don't require us to stand still in a death trap while you draw arcane diagrams on the wall. If you can actually reinforce those runes and stabilize both the spirit AND the tunnel in three turns with what you have available? Great. But if not? We adapt. Fast. She steps closer to the alcove entrance, her voice lowering. I get it—you want guarantees. But this is a collapsing dungeon built on dark magic. Guarantees went out the window when Merrin fell and we had to split up. Every decision now has consequences, and we need to make them fast. So either work your magic, or be ready to run through crumbling tunnels with me while I try to hold together a spirit that wants out as badly as I want us out of here. The tunnel groans around them again, a long, slow creak of straining stone that sends a fresh shower of dust raining down. Time’s up in two turns. Clock's ticking, Seraphine. Tick tock.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic pounding of my heart as I kneel on the cold stone floor of the alcove, my hands tracing the faint lines of the runic circle Jeane had scrawled earlier.
The air is thick with dust and the constant, low rumble of shifting stone, but inside this small pocket of stability, I focus on the magic. It’s weak, fraying at the edges like an old spellbook, but it’s still there, a thread of power running through the intricate patterns etched into the ground.
I close my eyes, letting my fingers move with a mind of their own, following the familiar paths of the binding ritual. Each movement is precise, deliberate, a counterpoint to the chaos outside. With every turn, I feel the spirit’s agitation pressing against the boundaries of the spell, a dark, insistent presence in the back of my mind.
Three turns. That's what Jeane gave me. And with each passing second, the pressure builds. The ground shudders again, a low groan that sounds like a dying beast, and I have to fight down the urge to run. But running won't save us. Only this magic can do that.
My thoughts drift to Merrin, her screams echoing in the depths of my memory. We couldn't save her. And now, here we are, on the brink of a similar fate. The thought fuels my desperation, making my movements even more frantic as I try to reinforce the runes.
I feel Jeane's impatience radiating from the tunnel entrance, a tangible force pushing against my back. She doesn't understand what I'm trying to do—how can she? This isn't just about holding the structure together; it’s about containing the spirit, stopping it from breaking free and overwhelming us both.
Two turns left. I push harder, pouring every ounce of concentration I have into the spell. The air crackles around me, a faint scent of ozone filling the small space as the magic begins to build. It's working, but it's not enough. Not yet.
The spirit pushes back against my efforts, a sudden surge of power that nearly knocks me off balance. It feels like a physical force, a cold wind that seems to want to snuff out my life force entirely. I stumble, my hands coming up to brace myself against the stone wall.
One turn. I can feel Jeane's presence behind me now, a solid wall of muscle and determination. She doesn't say anything, but her silence is louder than any shout. She’s waiting for me to fail, to prove her impatience right.
I take another deep breath, forcing the panic down into my gut. This isn’t about proving myself to Jeane. It’s about survival. For both of us.
With a final, desperate push, I complete the last turn of the rune. The air crackles with even more intensity, and for a moment, everything seems to still—the sounds of crumbling rock, the pressure of the spirit, even my own ragged breathing. It feels like time itself has paused.
The binding holds. Not perfectly—there’s a tremor running through the spell, a constant strain that tells me it won't last long—but it holds. The spirit is contained, for now.
I collapse forward onto my hands, exhaustion and relief washing over me in equal measure. It worked. Or at least, it worked enough to buy us some time.
"I... I did it," I whisper, my voice hoarse with strain. I look up at Jeane, her crimson eyes wide with surprise and a grudging respect. "The runes are reinforced. The spirit is contained. But we need to move. Now."