Round 40 Transcript

As Jeane channels more power into the sigil, the runes along the wall begin to glow with an intense, pulsating light. The undead horror takes a step back, its greatsword wavering slightly as it hesitates. Merrin presses her hands against the shifting stone panel, and for a moment, the wall shudders beneath her touch. The sound of crashing stone and groaning wood grows louder, and the water continues to rise, threatening to engulf them at any moment. Suddenly, the runes on the wall emit a blinding flash of light, and the stone panel slides open with a loud creak, revealing a narrow passageway. The undead horror recovers from its momentary distraction and charges forward, but it's too late. Jeane and Merrin sprint through the opening, their hearts pounding in unison as they disappear into the darkness of the passageway.

The moment Jeane steps through the opening, her foot slips on slick stone—and she nearly tumbles forward into blackness. Crap—she gasps, pinwheeling her arms for balance while her wings beat uselessly at the cramped space.*

The secret passage behind the wall is even narrower than it appeared from outside—a vertical shaft barely wide enough for her shoulders to fit through. It slopes downward sharply, disappearing into darkness below. Of course it goes down, she mutters under her breath as she catches herself against the smooth stone walls with both hands. The tower's groans echo ominously around them; Merrin is already moving past Jeane into the shaft without hesitation. Wait—Jeane starts to protest but swallows the words as more water surges up behind them.

The undead horror's greatsword slams into the now-closed wall panel with a deafening clang of metal on stone, sending shockwaves through the entire passage. Dust and debris shower down from above. Merrin is already descending rapidly using handholds carved into the stone—Jeane doesn't have to be a genius tactician to recognize their only remaining option.

She takes one last look back at the rising water and then turns her attention forward, tracing arcane sigils in the air that flare briefly with blue-white light. "Lumina," she intones, and suddenly a floating orb of witchlight appears before them, illuminating the descending shaft. "At least we won't walk into whatever's waiting down there blindly."*

The walls here are covered in more of those same runes they saw on the panel—these ones pulsing with an ominous red light that seems to respond to their presence. Jeane runs one hand along them as she follows Merrin downward, her fingertips tingling where they touch the stone. Something's alive down here—I can feel it thrumming through the rock itself like a heartbeat.*

Another massive crash from above cuts off any response Merrin might have made—the sound of collapsing stone mixed with the undead horror's enraged roar. A fresh wave of water sprays down into the shaft behind them, extinguishing Jeane's witchlight for several seconds. "Move," she snarls at herself more than Merrin, "or we're going to be crushed between rubble and drowning victims!"

Jeane descends as quickly as she can without risking a fall—her hands find each carved handhold with precision born of desperation, her wings tucked tight against her back. The shaft seems to go on forever in this lightless descent, the air growing colder and heavier with each yard downward. She can feel it now: something ancient and malevolent sleeping below them, stirring awake by their intrusion.

By the time they reach the bottom—some forty feet down—the witchlight has stabilized again. Jeane finds herself in a low-ceilinged chamber carved from living stone rather than cut through normal bedrock. The walls here are covered floor-to-ceiling in those same pulsing runes, arranged in concentric circles radiating out from what looks like an altar or throne at the center.

Seated upon that stone structure is... something. A figure shrouded entirely in dark robes, its features hidden by a deep hood. The hands resting on carved armrests are bone-white and clawed. The moment they step fully into the chamber, those glowing runes flare to blinding intensity—and the figure's head slowly lifts, as if sensing their presence for the first time.

Jeane raises her staff defensively—wings half-spread for balance but not yet extended to full threat. "Who are you?" she calls out, her voice echoing strangely in this subterranean space. "What is this place?"

The figure doesn't respond immediately. Instead, that hood tilts slightly as if studying them from a greater height than should be physically possible. When it finally speaks, the voice seems to come from everywhere at once—vibrating through Jeane's very teeth rather than traveling through open air. "Jeane Cromwell," it intones, "fledgling succubus who dares intrude upon my slumber after centuries of uninterrupted repose."

Jeane's eyes widen fractionally despite her best efforts to remain composed—this thing knows her name, which means it knew they were coming long before the ward breach. "We mean you no harm," she says carefully, "we're simply seeking a way out of this collapsing tower alive. Can you help us—or will we be forced to defend ourselves?"

The figure shifts on its throne with an audible creaking of stone—Jeane's grip tightens on her staff instinctively. "Defend yourselves," the voice echoes ominously, "if you believe that will avail you here in my sanctum."

The moment the figure speaks my name I feel my stomach tighten with dread, my hand instinctively moving to the crossbow at my hip. "We're not here for trouble," I say quickly, trying to keep my voice steady even as my heart races. "Our friend is trapped above in a pit with some kind of monster—we were just trying to find a way to save them before the whole damn tower comes down around our ears."

I take a step back, eyes flicking to Jeane beside me—her staff is raised defensively but she hasn't yet made any aggressive move. "If this is your sanctum, we'll gladly leave you to it," I continue, "so long as you point us toward an exit that doesn't end in our deaths. The tower's falling apart out there, and we've got a lot of people counting on us to get them out alive."

My eyes dart around the chamber, taking in the pulsing runes and the altar-like structure at the center. "What is this place?" I ask, genuinely curious despite the danger crackling through the air. "And who are you, really?"

As I speak, my hands work almost unconsciously at the laces of my pack—loosening them just enough to grant quick access to the healing potions and rations inside. The crossbow remains where it is for now, but my fingers brush its stock rhythmically as if seeking reassurance. "We're not here to fight," I repeat, "but we'll do what we must to survive. So... what's your price for passage? And how much time do we have before the tower finishes collapsing?"

I hold my breath, waiting for the figure's response—praying that this ancient being will see reason and offer us a way out rather than adding to our list of threats. The runes continue to pulse ominously around us, casting strange shadows on the walls. "Please," I add softly, "tell us what we need to do to leave here alive."