Round 85 Transcript

As Varrika's grip on Jeane's wrist tightens, the staircase shudders violently, and the air is filled with the acrid smell of ozone. A new crack appears in the wall, just above their heads, sending sparks flying as a section of masonry collapses, blocking their path. The whispering grows louder, and Varrika's eyes narrow as she pulls Jeane closer to the wall, shielding them from the falling debris. Merrin's contorted form lies on the ground, her body twisted in impossible ways, as if the curse is slowly devouring her from within. Halie's hands tremble as she holds up a healing potion, and Varrika's gaze flicks towards her, a silent question hanging between them: do they dare to use it now?

The inner runes pulse with sickly green light now, each beat sending fresh waves of wrongness crawling across my skin. The gas from above is seeping down here too—I can smell it now, acrid and sweet like spoiled fruit and grave soil. Merrin's form on the ground is a testament to what awaits us if we're not careful. Every instinct screams at me to fly out of this cursed place before whatever's below drags us all down into its hunger. But I can't abandon Halie and Varrika—not when they've followed me this far. This trap has teeth, and I think the staircase itself is alive in some twisted way. The central rune glows brighter as if responding to my voice. The edges of those inner lines—they're not just boundaries. They're active magic that reacts to presence.

I force my wings tight against my back again, the feathers aching like burned skin. Every moment we stay here is another moment the curse spreads through this tower's rotten bones. Listen—if I can get a clear line of sight down those stairs without stepping on them, maybe I can test their sensitivity with a crossbow bolt or some loose stone from above. My voice stays level despite the panic rising in my chest. We need to know what sets off the trap before we stumble into it.

I edge closer to the top of the stairs, wings trembling with effort as they resist the oppressive magic pressing down on us like a physical weight. The air grows thicker with each breath—death magic old and hungry. Halie, keep Merrin steady but don't use that healing potion yet unless absolutely necessary. I meet her eyes across the chamber. We don't know what it might do to the curse at this stage.

Varrika's grip on her mace is white-knuckled beside me. She doesn't need to voice her own fear for me to feel it—it matches my own in intensity. Whatever we decide, we act together and we act smart. My eyes flick between them both. No heroics, no reckless barging ahead. We outthink this trap, not outfight it.

The central rune pulses again, brighter than before. Something shifts in the shadows at the bottom of those stairs with a sound like stone grinding against stone. We need a plan—a good one—that gets us down there and back up without triggering anything fatal. I take another breath, forcing my voice into something almost calm despite the panic screaming beneath it. Thoughts? Suggestions that don't involve throwing ourselves onto obvious death traps?

I crouch beside Merrin's contorted form, my fingers brushing against her shoulder in a gesture of desperate comfort. Her skin is cold—cold and unnaturally still. The silver cross around my neck feels heavy, offering no protection from this kind of corruption.

Varrika's eyes narrow as she takes in the scene before her. Merrin's twisted form on the ground, the pulsing rune, the blocked staircase - it's all too much. But there's no time to waste on fear or doubt. She steps forward, mace at the ready. "Listen up," Varrika growls, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "We're not getting out of this by running or hiding. The only way forward is through."

She turns to Jeane, who is hovering near the edge of the inner lines. "Bird, I need you to keep testing those boundaries. Find the weak points in the magic."

To Halie, crouched beside Merrin, Varrika jerks her head towards the healing potion. "Use that on Merrin. We can't afford to lose anyone else to this curse."

Finally, Varrika addresses the pulsing rune directly, her voice hard with challenge. "And you, you twisted piece of rock. You want us to take the sword? Fine. But we'll do it our way, not yours."

She tightens her grip on the mace, feeling the familiar weight of it in her hands. Whatever comes next, Varrika will meet it head-on. That's what a dwarf warrior does.