Round 33 Transcript

Merrin's rope creaks under her weight, the beam groaning in protest as she ascends into the chamber. The air thickens further, heavy with the scent of decay and something darker. A faint, pungent glow emanates from the central rune, pulsating frantically as it seems to struggle against the force bound to the Time-Splitting Sword. As Merrin draws closer, the beam's creaking grows louder, and the ground shudders beneath Varrika's feet. The party's torches cast flickering shadows on the walls, making it seem as though the tower itself is shifting, alive and hungry. Suddenly, a section of the wall slides open, revealing a narrow corridor beyond - and a horde of skeletal figures emerge from the darkness, their bony hands grasping for the party members.

I can feel it, can't you? The tower itself is breathing around us—inhaling ancient death magic through those carved channels like a sick lung. The central rune just pulsed again—louder this time—and the beam supporting Merrin's rope groaned in protest. This place wants us dead—or worse, bound like that sword below. Merrin, hurry! You've got maybe ten seconds before this whole chamber collapses. Varrika's straining on that rope, and I can feel the stone shifting beneath our feet. If you don't get up here soon, we'll all be buried together—and trust me, that sword won't save us from being crushed alive. And Halie, keep that holy symbol raised if it means anything to you. We might need every scrap of protection against whatever's stirring down there. The air's gone thick with decay and something older, more malevolent than any grave. I don't like it—feels like we're disturbing something that should've stayed buried. The beam above is creaking like a coffin lid opening. Merrin!

I stand at the edge of the precipice, my eyes fixed on the swirling rune below as Merrin descends into the abyss. The air here is thick, heavy with the stench of decay and something far more ancient and malevolent. It feels like the very stone is breathing, inhaling the foul magic through carved channels like a sick lung. My hand tightens around my staff, the polished wood feeling suddenly cold against my skin.
"Merrin, be quick," I call down, my voice barely audible over the groaning of the stone and the frantic pulsing of the central rune. "This place... it's alive. And I suspect it's starving."
I turn my head slightly, my keen elven senses picking up the creaking of the beam overhead where Varrika braces herself on the rope. The sound is a sharp warning, a reminder of just how precarious our position truly is.
"The curse," I murmur, more to myself than anyone else. "It's awakening. Whatever force bound the Time-Splitting Sword to this place has sensed its near removal. We must be cautious, but we cannot hesitate."
My gaze sweeps across the chamber, lingering on the shadowy corners where ancient magic seems to writhe just out of sight. The hairs on my arms stand on end as a particularly strong gust of fetid air washes over me.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what must come next. We are so close to our goal, yet the tower itself seems determined to crush us beneath its collapsing weight. This is why we came, isn't it? To face the old evils, to claim what was lost and forgotten? And yet, as I watch Merrin descend into that pulsating light below, a cold dread settles deep in my bones.
"What force bound the Time-Splitting Sword to this place?" I wonder aloud, the question hanging in the fetid air like an unanswered prayer. The answer feels close, teetering on the edge of revelation, but it is a truth I fear we may not survive learning.

The beam above Varrika groans in protest, but she braces herself against it anyway, hands white-knuckled on the rope. Her muscles scream as she strains to keep her footing, the tower trembling around them like a waking beast. "Merrin!" Varrika barks down into the pit, her gravel voice echoing off the crumbling stone. "Hurry up that rope, girl! This place is coming down!"

She shifts her weight, trying to redistribute the strain on the beam. It creaks ominously above her, ancient wood groaning under the stress of her bulk and the tower's settling. Varrika's eyes dart to the others - Jeane, Halie, Seraphine - taking in their faces etched with tension and fear. She wants to reassure them, but the words stick in her throat. They all know what's at stake here, what they risk. The air grows thick, heavy with the stench of decay and something older, more malevolent than any grave. Varrika feels it like a physical weight on her skin, the ancient magic thrumming through the air. Her skin crawls, every hair standing on end. "Varrika?" Halie's voice trembles from further up the rope, small and scared in the darkness. "Is... is Merrin okay?"

Varrika opens her mouth to answer, but the words die on her tongue as a deep, rumbling shudder runs through the tower. The beam above her shrieks in protest, splinters flying as it gives way. "Hold on!" Varrika roars, bracing herself as best she can against the falling timber. Her hands slip on the rough rope, fingers scrabbling for purchase as gravity takes hold. The world tilts around her, stone and wood groaning as the tower settles into new configurations. Varrika feels the rope go taut, feels the sudden weight of Merrin's body as she swings out over the pit. "Varrika!" Halie's scream rips through the air, distant and panicked. But Varrika is focused on the rope, on the straining fibers and the weight of her comrade. She digs her heels into the crumbling stone, every muscle screaming as she fights to keep Merrin from plummeting into the depths. "Halie," Varrika grits out, her voice strained with effort, "get ready to pull us up! Merrin's on her way back!"

She doesn't know if the girl hears her over the tower's groans and the pounding of her own heart. But there's no time to waste. The beam has given way completely now, Varrika swinging out over the pit with only Merrin's weight and her own strength keeping them from falling. Varrika's arms burn, every fiber of her being focused on holding fast. She feels the rope biting into her palms, feels the strain in her shoulders and back as she fights to keep them aloft. But she doesn't let go, can't let go. Merrin is down there, and Varrika will be damned if she lets the girl fall to whatever ancient horrors lurk below. "Pull!" Varrika bellows up at Halie, her voice raw with effort. "Get us out of here now!"

I inch closer to the pit's edge with my heavy Mace in hand, watching Merrin's careful descent. The air grows colder by degrees, each degree feeling like it might freeze my resolve. Varrika's right—the tower isn't just stone anymore, it's breathing decay and intent. I raise my silver holy symbol, though the metal feels wrong against my palm, vibrating faintly as if singing a note only the walls can hear. Hurry, Merrin, but be careful. Stealing from graves always has teeth.