Round 30 Transcript

As Merrin secures himself down below, a heavy clunk echoes up from the pit, and the rope latches beneath him with a metallic screech. The air vibrates with malevolent energy as the central rune's pulse surges, its light flickering like a dying star. A faint, acrid gas wafts up from the depths of the pit, carrying the stench of decay and corruption. The skeleton's eyes snap towards Jeane, its jaw creaking open in a cold, empty grin. The bony fingers twitching with malevolent energy, the skeletal guard takes a step forward, its empty sockets fixed on Jeane. Suddenly, the air shimmers with an oily, iridescent sheen as the central rune's pulse intensifies, and the runes' light begins to writhe like a living thing.

I secure the rope around my waist, the rough fibers digging into my hands as I give it a sharp tug to test the knot. The others watch me with varying degrees of trepidation and excitement. Halie's eyes are wide, her fingers twisting the silver holy symbol at her throat. Varrika grips her mace like a lifeline, her jaw set with determination. Seraphine's brow is furrowed in concentration, no doubt already planning five steps ahead. I take a deep breath, the air thick and heavy with the stench of decay. The malevolent energy prickles along my skin, raising the fine hairs on my arms. I meet Jeane's gaze, seeing the same wariness reflected there. We both know that whatever waits for us down in that pit, it won't be pleasant. "Alright then," I say, forcing a jaunty tone even as my heart hammers against my ribs. "Bottom of the pit here I come. If I scream, just pull me back up, yeah?"

Before anyone can argue, I swing myself over the edge and start to descend. The rope burns in my hands, but I barely notice it. All my focus is on the darkness below, the way it seems to reach up and grab at my feet with shadowy tendrils. I drop lower and lower, the air growing colder and thicker with each passing second. The acrid stench of decay grows stronger, making my eyes water and my stomach churn. I keep one hand on my lockpick set, ready to draw it at a moment's notice. You never know what kind of traps might be waiting. As I near the bottom, I see the skeletal guard more clearly. Its bones are ancient, covered in layers of grime and cobwebs. But there's something else there too, a pulsing red light that seems to emanate from deep within its chest cavity. The runes on the floor around it glow with the same sinister energy, their intricate patterns twisting and turning like snakes. I land lightly on my feet, crouching low to keep my profile small. The bones of the skeleton shift and rattle, the eye sockets seeming to bore into me. I hold my breath, waiting for an attack that doesn't come. For now, at least, I seem to have made it down here in one piece. But I know better than to think we're out of trouble yet. This is just the beginning.

I can feel it, can't you? The tower itself is breathing around us—inhaling ancient death magic through those carved channels and exhaling it into this chamber like a sick lung. Those runes aren't resisting; they're awakening something that was meant to stay buried with the architect who designed them. Merrin's presence down there is an invitation for whatever's waiting below to pick them off systematically, one by one. Give me a useful plan, Seraphine. The air is already turning thick and acrid—I'd rather not choke on fumes while we debate theology or architectural symbolism. Varrika can agree the sword must be worth it all she likes, but I intend to leave with or without it if I have to claw my way out using dark magic alone.

I feel the cold stone of the chamber floor through my boots, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat radiating from the central rune. The air here is thick, almost alive with ancient power, and it presses against my skin like a suffocating shroud. Merrin's question hangs between us, a tangible thing in this charged atmosphere.
My gaze sweeps over the runes again, tracing their intricate patterns of death and decay. They aren't resisting, as Jeane says—they're awakening. And with each passing moment, I can feel the malevolent energy building, coiling tighter like a serpent preparing to strike.
"Be quick," I say, my voice a low murmur that seems to be swallowed by the very air itself. "The air is already turning toxic." I gesture towards the pit, where Merrin stands ready to descend into the unknown depths below. My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of fear and exhilaration.
I turn to Varrika, her mace gripped tightly in her hands, and give a sharp nod. She understands her role; she is our shield against whatever dangers may rise from that darkness. But even with Varrika's formidable presence, a chill traces its way down my spine. Whatever’s waiting down there... it feels ancient, predatory, and infinitely patient.
"Whatever's waiting below," I add, my eyes meeting Merrin's across the room, "be ready for it."
My mind races, trying to calculate the odds, the risks, the potential rewards. This is what we came for—to claim the Time-Splitting Sword before its power can be lost to us. But every instinct screams that this is a trap, a snare set by forces beyond our reckoning. The question isn't whether to proceed; it’s how to survive the attempt.*