Round 13 Transcript

As the party steps through the newly opened passageway, the air thickens with malevolent energy, and a wave of putrid gas wafts out from deeper within the tower. The ground shudders beneath Varrika's feet, and she winces, her mace at the ready. Halie's silver cross casts flickering shadows on the walls as she scans their surroundings, her crossbow at the prepared. A low, gurgling growl echoes from within the tower, growing louder with each passing moment. The runes on the gate seem to be responding to Jeane's efforts, pulsing with an otherworldly power that makes her eyes water. The air is heavy with the stench of decay and corruption, and Seraphine covers her nose with a grimace. Suddenly, the ground beneath them lurches, and the passageway begins to collapse inward, rubble tumbling down from the ceiling. A section of the wall bursts open, revealing a narrow, dimly lit corridor beyond – and the Time-Splitting Sword's pedestal, shrouded in shadows. The growling has grown deafening; it's clear whatever is causing it is closing in fast.

I trace the pulsing rune with my eyes, feeling the ancient magic beneath it. The air grows thicker as I probe deeper into the ward structure—like breathing underwater—and I feel something ancient and terrible stirring within the stone itself. Varrika's right about this being wrong; we're disturbing something that should have stayed buried. The sword itself pulses with its own dark energy, calling to me despite the obvious curse clinging to its surface. Halie's silver cross is a comforting presence behind us, but against magic this old? It's little more than a paper shield. 'Merrin,' I call softly, 'keep your blades ready—I'm feeling resistance on these wards that doesn't want us here.' My wings flex instinctively, ready to take flight if needed. 'Seraphine, if you see anything shift on those runes beyond what I'm doing to them, call out immediately. We can't afford surprises.'

The central rune pulses brighter as my will presses against it—some kind of alarm system, maybe? Or a failsafe that'll release something worse than the curse itself. 'This isn't going to be simple,' I mutter, sweat already beading on my brow from the magical strain. 'Someone get ready with torches—I don't like how dark this gets past the gate.'

The moment we step through, I feel it—cold magic pressing against my skin. The air tastes of old decay and something else, something hungry. I grip the crossbow tighter, sweeping it across the corridor ahead. Stone dust drifts in the weak light from our torches. Varrika's right—the ground feels wrong under my boots, like standing on a drum skin stretched over emptiness. "Wait," I say softly, raising a hand. "Let Jeane work those wards a moment longer." I move forward, careful where I step, keeping my eyes on the shadows where they pool against the walls. The silver cross at my throat feels heavy suddenly, pulling downward like it wants to fall. I'm no fighter, but we need someone watching every angle. Merrin's got our backs—good—and Seraphine can sense shifts in the magic better than any of us. But I'm the one with hands free for casting, and a weapon ready if something crawls out of these stones. The corridor stretches ahead, swallowing light. I don't like this place. I don't trust it.

I move closer to the ancient gate, my eyes fixed on the intricate runes etched into its surface. The air here is thick with a cloying, ancient magic that feels like it's pressing down on me, making my skin prickle with an unpleasant chill. I can feel a faint thrumming vibration through the soles of my boots, as if the very stone itself is alive and reacting to our presence.
My gaze traces the shifting patterns in the runes, trying to decipher their meaning. They seem to be responding to Jeane's efforts at the gate, pulsing with a malevolent energy that makes my stomach twist into knots. The silver holy symbol I wear feels heavy against my chest, as if it's straining to protect me from something I can't quite see.
"Be careful," I murmur to Jeane, my voice so low it is almost lost in the air. "These wards feel... hungry. They want something more than just our entry."

I step forward to take point at the entrance of the ancient tower, my heavy mace gripped tightly in my scarred hands. The air is thick with an ancient, foul magic that makes my hackles rise. This feels all wrong, like we're disturbing something that should have stayed buried. "Move slow," I growl to the party behind me. "Keep your eyes open and your wits about you. We've no idea what might be lurking in these shadows."

My gaze flicks to Jeane as she works the runes on the gate, probing for a way through the wards. "Jeane," I call out, "if you see anything that even twitches in those wards, shout. We need to know before we're neck-deep in trouble."

I nod to Halie, who has her crossbow at the ready. "Keep that holy symbol of yours out. Might not do much against magic this old, but it can't hurt." My eyes scan the dark corridor ahead, searching for any sign of movement in the shadows. As we step through the passageway, I feel a sense of unease settle over me like a shroud. The malevolent energy is palpable, seeming to press against my skin like a physical weight. A shudder runs through the ground beneath my boots, and I tighten my grip on my mace, ready for whatever may come. This isn't going to be simple, I think to myself. But then again, nothing worth doing ever is. We've come too far to turn back now. The Time-Splitting Sword awaits us within these crumbling walls, and by the gods, we will have it, no matter the cost.