Round 34 Transcript

As Merrin draws closer to the central rune, the air thickens with a pungent, acidic scent that makes Halie's eyes water. The beam creaks louder, and the ground shudders beneath Varrika's feet, threatening to send her tumbling into the pit. The swirling rune pulses brighter, casting an eerie glow over the chamber. Suddenly, a section of the wall slides open, revealing a narrow passageway that appears to lead deeper into the tower. The passageway is lined with ancient carvings depicting a figure wielding a sword, its face twisted in a snarl of rage. Merrin's eyes widen as she realizes the path ahead is now clear. However, the sound of scuttling legs echoes from within the passageway, growing louder by the second.

The air inside this cursed tower grows thick enough to choke on. Ancient death magic courses through the stone veins—I can taste it rotten sweet—and now Merrin is down there fiddling with that damn rune while Varrika strains above like a piano wire about to snap and Halie's standing around looking terrified which doesn't help anyone at all. I circle the pit's edge, wings tight against my back, eyes scanning every carved surface for traps or symbols I recognize. The central rune pulses again, brighter this time, and something in me recoils instinctively. Whatever bound that sword down there wasn't playing games—this is a nexus point, a doorway to somewhere worse than death probably. Seraphine's muttering spells nearby, her staff glowing faintly as she tries to sense what I already know: this place is alive and hungry and we just woke it up. Good luck with the spellcraft against whatever wrote these runes originally. I need Merrin back up here before that beam gives out or something worse crawls out of the dark. "Halie," I snap, voice sharper than I intend but fear makes me impatient, "keep that symbol raised and useful for once instead of just looking like a frightened child. Varrika's arms will give out long before we want them to."

I stand at the precipice's edge, my eyes fixed on the swirling rune below as Merrin descends into the abyss of the tower's central chamber. The air grows thick with an ancient, malevolent energy that chills me to the bone, yet I cannot look away from the hypnotic patterns carved into the stone floor. Each pulse of the runes seems to echo a warning deep within my mind—a warning of power and danger in equal measure.
The heavy mace in Halie's hands glints faintly in the dim light filtering down from the crumbling ceiling, a silent promise of violence should anything emerge from the darkness. I know she is frightened; we all are. But fear is not an ally to knowledge. It is only through the pursuit of forbidden wisdom that we have reached this point.
My fingers tighten around my staff as Merrin's form disappears into the shadow of the towering rune structure. The rope creaks overhead, straining under Varrika's considerable weight as she anchors it against the shifting floor. We are all playing our parts in a dance with the unknown, and one misstep could spell our doom.
"Be quick, Merrin," I call out, my voice surprisingly steady despite the frantic hammering of my heart against my ribs. "This place... it's alive. And I suspect it's starving."
I turn my head slightly, sensing the creaking of the beam where Varrika braces herself on the rope. The sound is a grim reminder of our precarious position. One wrong move, one weak spot in this ancient structure, and the entire chamber could come crashing down upon us all.
The thought sends a fresh wave of icy dread through my veins, but I push it aside. There will be time for fear later. Now, there is only the mission. The Time-Splitting Sword must be recovered, its curse broken, and this cycle of death and suffering ended. No matter the cost.
I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the fetid air of the tower, and begin to trace the runes on the chamber floor with my eyes once more. Each symbol tells part of a story—a warning, a promise, a threat. If I can decipher their meaning, perhaps we can find a way out of this labyrinth before it consumes us all.

I brace myself against the beam, muscles burning as I strain to hold Merrin's weight. The rope digs into my calloused palms, but I grit my teeth and bear it. "Halie! Get ready to pull them up!" I call out, my voice echoing through the crumbling chamber. My eyes dart across the pit, scanning for any sign of danger. The air grows colder by degrees, each degree feeling like it might freeze my resolve. I catch a glimpse of Jeane circling the edge, their keen gaze searching for traps or symbols. Below, Merrin fiddles with some ancient rune, and I can only hope they know what they're doing down there. The tower creaks ominously around us, as if the very structure is displeased by our intrusion. "Merrin," I call out, my voice strained with effort, "hurry up! This whole place is coming down around our ears!"

The air grows colder by degrees, each degree feeling like it might freeze my resolve. I inch closer to the pit's edge with heavy Mace in hand, watching Merrin descend into that cursed chamber below while Varrika strains against the beam above. Every creak of wood and groan of stone echoes through me like a prayer backwards. I raise my silver holy symbol, letting its faint light pool at the precipice edge. The runes on the floor pulse with an ancient malevolence that makes my skin crawl even from this distance. "Stealing from graves always has teeth," I mutter under my breath, more to remind myself than warn the others. Jeane circles the pit's edge like a predator scenting death, her words sharp enough to cut deeper than any trap. She sees this place for what it is—a nexus point, a doorway to somewhere worse than death probably—and that terrifies me more than any skeleton or collapsing tower could. My fingers tighten around the crossguard of my mace, knuckles white. I can feel Seraphine's gaze on my back, her unspoken doubt weighing heavier than my pack. She knows as well as I do that our combined skills may not be enough to navigate whatever lies ahead. The sound of scuttling legs echoes from within the newly opened passageway, growing louder with each passing moment. Whatever bound that sword down there wasn't playing games—this is an offering, a test, or both. And we're about to take it. "Merrin," I call out, my voice barely carrying over the groaning stone and scraping chitin below, "be quick. The longer we linger here, the more likely something crawls out of the dark that shouldn't." My heart hammers in my chest, each beat a silent prayer for her safe return. I won't touch that sword myself—I've seen what happens to those who hunger for power beyond their measure. But I also won't leave Merrin to face whatever waits alone. The line between duty and foolishness grows thinner with every second we remain in this place. My eyes scan the chamber's edge, searching for any sign of movement or trap that might claim us before we even reach the prize. The air grows thick with something foul—ancient magic or decayed death, I can't tell which—and it coats my tongue like ash. "Varrika," I say, stepping closer to where she braces herself against the beam, "if you feel the rope give way—" But I stop short. There's no good end to that sentence. Instead, I focus on what I can control: maintaining this flicker of light and prayer between us and the darkness below. I won't let fear paralyze me into inaction, but neither will I rush headlong into oblivion. There's a path between cowardice and courage, and I mean to walk it—one careful step at a time.