Round 4 Transcript

A skeletal arm, bone and rust entwined, erupts from the cracked threshold and clamps its fingers around Varrika’s mace, forcing her to drop it with a clang.

I feel the shift in the tower's magical signature—the necromancer responding, testing our defenses. Varrika! My voice cuts through the sudden tension like silk over steel. That was a challenge—he's testing who leads here. Don't let him see your panic. I step forward, my wings unfurling just enough to catch the dim light, casting shifting shadows. Merrin, you and Halie take the flanks—I want crossfire angles if they try to surround us. Seraphine, prepare a minor ward spell—something subtle that won't alert him further. My eyes lock onto Varrika's. Pick up a blade from your pack—silver or cold iron if you have it—and get ready to rush the gate on my mark. We end this before he can muster more than a handful of bones. To the unseen watcher, I add, my voice carrying menace and control, You have two choices: withdraw now and live to summon another day, or face what happens when you anger a demon who outranks your pathetic necromancy by centuries.

I watch in stunned silence as Varrika's mace is wrenched from her grip by the skeletal hand bursting forth. The clang of metal on stone echoes through the threshold, a chilling sound in the oppressive air of the tower's entrance. My eyes dart between the dropped weapon and Jeane's focused expression. This is not merely an undead horde - it is a carefully orchestrated trap, a gauntlet thrown down by a necromancer who seeks to unnerve us before we even begin our ascent.

I take a half-step back, my hand instinctively moving to the silver amulet at my throat, a talisman of protection against such dark arts. The air crackles with an arcane energy now, thick and oppressive like a suffocating fog. This is no simple skirmish; this is a test of wills between the living and the dead, between light and shadow.

I spring back from the threshold, my heart pounding in my chest. "Well, that's one way to say hello," I mutter, keeping my voice low and even. My gaze darts between Varrika's dropped mace and Jeane's wings, taking in the sudden shift in the tower's atmosphere. "Alright, alright, not the time for jokes." I shake my head, trying to refocus. The necromantic energy is palpable now, crawling across my skin like a thousand insect legs. I need to get a better look at those runes on the gate before we do anything else. "Jeane, Seraphine - I need you two to keep an eye on our flanks. Halie, Varrika - stay sharp and be ready to move if those bones come knocking again."

I creep forward, my eyes fixed on the intricate patterns etched into the ancient stone. The runes pulse with a sickly green light, their edges flickering like dying embers. I reach out a tentative hand, my fingers stopping just shy of touching the cold surface. "Something tells me we shouldn't be too hasty about opening this door," I murmur, more to myself than anyone else. "But if we don't figure out how to disable these runes, we might not have a choice."

Varrika's brow furrows as she stares at her mace lying on the ground, the skeletal hand still gripping it tightly. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself against the fear that threatens to overwhelm her. "Alright, listen up," she growls, her gravel-roughened voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "This ain't our first rodeo with the undead. Merrin, take flank left. Halie, I want you to start chanting that prayer of protection. Jeane, get ready to light this place up if we need to." She turns her attention back to the threshold, her eyes narrowed. "And me? I'm going in after that necromancer bastard. He wants a fight, he's got one." With that, she steps forward, her hand reaching for her crossbow.