Round 80

Merrin clung desperately to the crumbling stone edge, her fingers aching as she fought to maintain her grip. The water lapped at her waist now, insistent and freezing, threatening to pull her under with each passing second. Below, Varikka's muffled screams echoed up from the depths, punctuated by gurgles and the monstrous roars of whatever held her captive. Merrin's heavy mace felt like dead weight in her hands, useless against an enemy she couldn't even see properly. The temptation to dive in after her friend warred with the cold logic of self-preservation—she'd only become another victim if she joined Varikka in the abyss. The tower groaned around them like a living thing in its death throes, ancient timbers screaming under the strain of centuries-old decay and newfound violence. Dust rained down from above as more stone gave way somewhere overhead. She knew time was running out. The water was rising faster now, and the sounds of something massive moving through the depths grew louder with each passing moment. Whatever lived in these waters was awake, and it was hungry.

Merrin's wiry halfling frame trembled with exhaustion as she clung to the rock face, her dark eyes darting frantically around the chamber. The precarious stone shelf above the flood offered little sanctuary—one wrong move and she'd be swept away into the abyss below. Her heavy mace was useless against an enemy she couldn't even see properly, and her crossbow would do little good in such close quarters with the water swirling around her thighs. She could feel the weight of her healing potions pressing against her back—a desperate last resort if things got worse. But how could they possibly get worse? The sound of Seraphine's voice echoing from somewhere nearby offered a glimmer of hope, but also raised new questions—what had she found in that secret passage?