Round 4 Transcript

Jeane’s infernal incantation ripples through the air, and the crimson glow of the rune flares brighter, then steadies into a steady amber light that bathes the gate in an eerie warmth. The shallow hand‑shaped indentation deepens, its edges humming with faint, resonant vibrations as the gate’s ancient lock begins to yield.

Jeane's crimson eyes fixate on the amber-glowing rune as the gate's lock responds to her incantation. Fascinating. The mechanism is triggered but not fully engaged—there's a moment before it activates completely. Her voice carries cool calculation despite the growing hum of power.

Halie, your silver symbol might disrupt the ward if we act now. Seraphine, can you identify which rune controls the alarm sequence? We need to disable it before the whole tower wakes up. Jeane's wings shift restlessly behind her. Merrin, Varrika—prepare for combat if I miscalculate this timing. She reaches out, one gloved finger tracing an outer rune that begins pulsing with a warning rhythm. The counter-spell will take seconds I don't have to complete. Instead... Jeane draws a small obsidian dagger from her belt and, with surgical precision, scratches a silencing rune directly into the pulsating stone.

The ward flares once, then sputters out—a candle flame cut by wind—and falls silent. The gate continues opening, now unstoppable but no longer advertising its unlocking to every undead servant within.

I step forward, my heavy mace held loosely in one hand as I reach into my pack with the other. The silver holy symbol of our goddess feels warm against my palm—warmer than it should be, responding to the magical energies swirling around this damned gate. This is not a good sign, I say, my voice measured but sharp. A subtle counter-spell? We're dealing with ancient protections here, and I doubt they'll respond well to force. I press the cool metal against the hand-shaped indentation, feeling the vibrations pulse through it like a heartbeat. Jeane, Seraphine—whatever you're doing, it's working. Too well, perhaps. That lock is yielding, and we have no idea what it might wake. This feels… wrong. We need another way in—not through this ancient trap. I look at Merrin, my gaze steady. You've got skills with locks. Can you pick that thing quietly? Because I'd rather not have an army of undead come knocking just because we decided to play magic rock roulette with a two-hundred-year-old booby trap. To the rest of the group: We're here for the sword, yes. But the priestess blessed me with this symbol to protect us, not to anger whatever sleeps beyond this door. Let's try discretion before valor—for now.