Round 9 Transcript

Varrika’s fingers trace the faint ridge of the moss‑covered plate; she feels a subtle seam where the stone has fractured from age. The crack, thin but distinct, offers a narrow path for a single foot to step over without triggering the glyphs.

I begin the words of Protection from Evil, my voice low but steady as I call upon the goddess to shield us from the undead defilers that guard this cursed place. The air shimmers around the group, silver light spilling across armor and skin like a visible barrier against the encroaching corruption. Let no bone‑handed horror pass unharmed while this prayer holds sway.

Merrin carefully examines the ancient rune-covered gate for any signs of additional traps or wards beyond the pressure plate. She runs her fingers along the edges, looking for telltale seams or protrusions that might indicate hidden mechanisms. The stone is cool and damp beneath her touch, pitted with age and weathering. As she reaches the center of the gate, Merrin's breath catches in her throat. There, barely visible against the dark runes, is a faint depression, no larger than her thumbnail. She presses it gently, half-expecting an alarm to sound or a blade to spring forth. But the gate remains still and silent. With a shrug, she moves on, continuing her meticulous search for traps.