Round 663 Transcript

The Guardian's eyes gleam with amusement as it regards Varikka, its voice dripping with patronizing tone. "Very well, mortal," it says. "To unlock this door and proceed, you must answer this riddle: What has roots that nobody sees, Is taller than trees, Up, up it goes, And yet never grows?"

Varikka's face twists in frustration, her injured ankle throbbing with every step. Merrin glances at her, concern etched on her face. The air is thick with the stench of rotting flesh and the sound of scuttling claws echoes off the walls, as if the very darkness itself is trying to intimidate them. The Guardian's gaze drifts to the stone door, adorned with ancient symbols of warning. Its eyes seem to gleam with anticipation, as if it's waiting for one of them to fail. The creature nearest to Varikka takes a step forward, its claws flexing menacingly.

Merrin's gaze darts between the door, the Guardian, and Varikka, her mind racing. The riddle seems simple enough on its surface, but she knows better than to trust anything in this wretched place. She takes a step forward, her hand hovering over the crossbow at her hip. "Well, well," she says, her voice tight with tension. "If it's taller than trees and goes up but never grows..." She pauses, her brow furrowing in concentration. "A mountain. The answer is a mountain."

The Guardian's eyes narrow, its gaze boring into Merrin with an intensity that makes her skin crawl. For a moment, she thinks they've failed the test, that the creatures will descend upon them in a frenzy of teeth and claws. But then, the Guardian's lips curl into a smile, and the stone door begins to groan open. "Correct," it purrs, its voice oozing with malice. "You may pass."

Varikka limps forward, her mace gripped tight in her hands. Merrin follows close behind, her crossbow at the ready. As they step through the door, the air grows colder, and the darkness seems to thicken around them like a living thing. The Guardian's laughter echoes off the walls as the door slams shut behind them, leaving them alone in the darkness with only their wits and their weapons to guide them.

Varrika's face twists in frustration as she limps closer, the Guardian's riddle echoing in her mind. She raises her mace, the weight of it reassuring in her scarred hands. "A mountain," she growls, her voice rough with pain and determination. "The answer is a mountain."

As the door groans open, revealing a corridor even darker than the one they left behind, Varrika steps forward without hesitation. Merrin follows close behind, her crossbow at the ready. The air grows colder as they move deeper into the tower, the darkness seeming to press in on them from all sides. Varikka's ankle throbs with each step, but she refuses to let it slow her down. "Stay alert," she hisses to Merrin, her eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. "I have a feeling we're not alone in this place."

As they press forward, Varrika can't shake the feeling that something is off. The air feels too thick, the darkness too oppressive. It's as if the very walls are watching them, waiting for them to make a mistake. But she will not be cowed by tricks and riddles. She is Varrika Thornwake, dwarf warrior of the Citadel. And by Moradin's hammer, she will see this through to the end, no matter what horrors await them in the depths of this accursed tower.