Round 39 Transcript

As Merrin tests the rope tied around her waist, the heavy, oppressive air seems to writhe and twist in response, like a living thing. The pulsing runes on the central rune circle brighten to an intense, blinding light that makes the party shield their eyes. The air feels as though it's trying to rip the skin from their faces. Suddenly, the light surges again, and the runes emit a deafening screech, causing the ground to shudder beneath the party's feet. A small section of the floor, no more than two feet in diameter, begins to collapse into a pit filled with a noxious, yellow-green gas that seems to seep from the very walls themselves. The gas is already causing Jeane's dark wings to flutter in distress as she tries to maintain balance on the ledge. The air inside the pit is thick with a poisonous energy that seems to be drawing the party in like a maelstrom. The collapse has also revealed a new, narrow passageway behind the collapsed section of floor, partially hidden by shadows. A faint whispering echoes from within the passageway, sending shivers down the spines of the party members.

I stop circling the pit's edge and spread my wings fully despite the cramped space, the dark leathery membranes stretching wide for balance as I stare down into the roiling darkness below. The central rune pulses with sickly green light now—brighter since we entered this cursed chamber—and I can feel it pulling at something inside me, something ancient and hungry. "This place feels wrong on a fundamental level," I say, my voice barely audible over the low groan of shifting stone. "The air itself is thick with malevolent intent." My wings flutter involuntarily as another tremor runs through the floor beneath us. "Merrin—test for physical traps on the rune circle. Halie, follow close behind her with that holy symbol leading the way; perhaps it'll offer some small protection against whatever foul magic lies ahead."

I look down into the pit of swirling darkness and pulsing runes, my stomach twisting with dread. "This feels wrong—fundamentally wrong. The air itself is trying to push us back." I clench my holy symbol tighter, feeling its comforting weight in my palm. Merrin's words echo in my mind: keep your wits about you. But how can any of us keep our wits when the very ground beneath us screams with ancient hunger? "We should reconsider this," I say quietly, more to myself than to anyone else. The central rune pulses again, its light somehow wrong—a color that shouldn't exist in nature. "What if touching that sword means something worse than death?"