Round 8 Transcript

I lean closer to the gate's groove, my crimson eyes narrowing as I concentrate on the magical signature emanating from it. The lock's keyed to life essence—I can feel it. My voice is barely above a whisper, but carries an undercurrent of something older than the stones around us. Seraphine, your spells might shatter whatever delicate mechanism this is. Merrin has her talents, true—but she's not accustomed to working with magic so fine and dangerous. Halie steps between Seraphine and the gate, gently pressing her back, and I watch their silent exchange with something like approval. These women understand hierarchy when it matters. Cleric Halie, your wisdom is sound as always. My gaze lingers on her for a moment before returning to the groove. But this isn't mere mechanics. It requires an offering—a taste of living power to turn the key that doesn't exist. I draw a small dagger from within my cloak with deliberate slowness, letting them see every movement. My blood is more than sufficient for this task. With a swift, precise motion, I slice my palm open across the groove, feeling the ancient magic instantly latch onto the offered essence like a parched man to water.

The rune circles begin to spin faster as my blood fills the groove, and there's a grinding sound from within the gate. It accepts the offering. My voice remains steady despite the pull of power against me; this is my domain. Step back. All of you. As they comply, I press my bleeding palm harder against the stone, channeling a narrow thread of my sorcery to act as lubricant for whatever mechanism my blood has awoken. Open. I command softly but firmly.

The gate shudders, then begins to swing inward with ponderous slowness, revealing a dark hallway beyond lined with more glowing runes. We're in. But don't celebrate yet—this is where the real guardians begin their watch. I step back from the gate, my palm already healing as I let out a slow breath. Halie, Merrin, you take point. Seraphine and Varrika provide rear guard while I analyze any magical traps ahead. We move as one unit, and we trust each other's positions implicitly. Any questions... or objections?

I edge closer, my eyes darting between Seraphine's intense focus on the rune and Jeane's raised holy symbol, its silver surface seeming to pulse with an otherworldly light. Easy now, you two. Let's not rush into anything we might regret. Keeping my voice calm and measured, I reach for my lockpicks, the familiar weight of the tools grounding me as I assess the keyhole.

The shallow groove carved for a key is revealed in the gate's center, the hum of the rune crescents growing in intensity as Seraphine's spells take hold. Halie's right, we should proceed with caution. I flash her a quick grin, trying to mask the apprehension knotting my stomach. But I reckon I can tease this lock open without raising the undead. Selecting a slim pick from my assortment, I crouch down and bring it to bear on the ancient mechanism, my brow furrowing in concentration. Let's see if this trick works as well as the stories say... I mutter, easing the pick into the groove with a deft touch, searching for the telltale resistance of wards and wards and wards.