Round 44 Transcript

As Merrin peers into the pit, her grip on the rope tightens. She senses danger emanating from the depths of the pit, and the air shimmers with an oily film. The central rune pulsates like a diseased heart, illuminating the dark space. With a quiet murmur, Jeane casts her spell of protection against poisonous gas, its soft blue glow enveloping the party. The air around them begins to clear, and for a moment, the only sound is the steady hum of the central rune. Then, a faint whisper echoes through the chamber, its tone like dry leaves rustling. The voice is ancient, speaking in a language that few can understand, yet the words send shivers down Seraphine's spine: "Turn back, mortals, while you still may."

I tighten my grip on the rope anchored around Merrin, ready to brace myself against the creaking beam if she needs support. The air is thick with malevolent energy and the pulsing rune feels like a hungry presence, pulling at something inside me. I catch Jeane's eye and nod grimly. Her spell will help keep the poisonous gases at bay, but we all know there are far worse dangers lurking in this accursed chamber. Halie clutches her Holy Symbol, a beacon of light against the creeping shadows. I pray to all the gods that her faith will be enough. Seraphine is right - we can't hesitate any longer. The curse on the sword is spreading, tainting everything it touches. We must retrieve it and escape this place before it's too late. But doubt gnaws at me. Magic always has a price, and ancient artifacts like this rarely give themselves up without a fight. I've seen enough battlefield carnage to know that true cost of ambition laid bare before them. Still, we have no choice. The tower is collapsing around us and the air grows more foul with each passing moment. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what lies ahead. "Alright," I grunt, "Let's see what manner of evil we've woken in this place. But stay sharp and keep your wits about you. The real battle starts now."

I can feel it in my teeth—this place is wrong. The air tastes like spoiled wine and regret. That rune pulses faster now, like a dying heart trying to beat itself back to life. We're not alone down here. Merrin, hold fast on the rope, but don't you dare go tumbling into that pit without testing it first. I want you alive and useful, not a mangled mess at the bottom of whatever cursed hole this is. Halie, keep that holy symbol pointed toward the center of the room—I've dealt with things that try to crawl out of shadows, and I'd rather not see what happens if they have an opening. As for me, I'm weaving a spell against poisonous gas right now—feel free to breathe easier once it's done. But don't let your guard down just because the air stops making you want to gag. That thing in the center? It's hungry. I can feel it pulling at the edges of my thoughts. We're here for that sword, yes. But we're not grave robbers—we're here to stop whatever curse is spreading through this tower. And if we take the sword out of this chamber, we might be giving something else permission to leave too. So let's be clear about our intentions: we retrieve it without keeping it for ourselves. The moment one of us starts thinking about how to claim that blade as our own—well, that's when things get interesting. So yes, Seraphine is right. We can't dawdle like children afraid of the dark anymore. But rushing headlong into a cursed pit because we're impatient? That's just stupid. Varrika's prayer reminds me why I keep you all around—I need at least one person in this party who still has some sense left. Let's proceed with our eyes open and our blades sharper than whatever might crawl out to greet us. And if something feels wrong, well—stop walking and start casting protective spells immediately. Because down here? Wrong feelings are usually the first sign that death is looking for new company. Now then—Merrin, give me your report on that pit before I have to come down there myself and spank some sense into you with a spell that'll make your teeth rattle.

I peer cautiously over the edge of the pit, my grip on the rope tightening. The air shimmers with an oily film, and the central rune pulses like a diseased heart. Something's stirring down there alright. "Halie," I call back over my shoulder, "Any word from your goddess about that gas? We don't want to be breathing whatever foul miasma is rising from that pit."

I test the floor around the edge with the toe of my boot, looking for pressure plates or other traps. The stone feels solid enough, but in this accursed place, I trust little. My eyes dart to the pulsing rune, then back to the dark depths of the pit. "Alright, here goes nothing," I mutter, and swing my legs over the edge. "Try not to let me fall too far, ladies."