Round 92 Transcript

As Jeane steps forward to approach the edge of the staircase, despite Halie's warning, she begins her descent. The central rune pulses brighter, and the air feels heavy with magic that scrapes her skin inside out. With each step, the ground beneath her feet gives a violent shudder, and the walls of the chamber begin to tremble ominously. As Jeane descends, the first 20 feet of the staircase suddenly give way, crumbling into rubble. The sound echoes through the chamber, and the air is filled with the acrid smell of dust and decay. Jeane barely manages to grab onto the wall to avoid plummeting into the abyss. She's now 20 feet below the entrance, and the ground beneath her feet feels increasingly unstable. The chamber's magical energy seems to be responding to Jeane's presence, causing the walls to writhe and twist in agony. The central rune pulses brighter still, its power coursing through the air like a living thing.

I step forward despite Halie's warning, my wings instinctively half-extended as if preparing for flight even though there's nowhere to go in this damned crumbling death-trap of a tower. The central rune pulses brighter this time—brighter fucking red—and I can feel it, like teeth scraping my skin inside out. My gut twists with the familiar sensation of something hungry stirring below us. This is clearly a trap. A glorious, terrible, probably-fatal trap. But if Merrin's still alive down there—if there's even a sliver of a chance she might be conscious—I'm not leaving her to whatever's waiting at the bottom of this shaft while we debate our options up here. I won't let you all die with me, but I sure as hell won't abandon her either. I move toward the edge of the stairs, and the stones beneath my feet groan in protest. The air grows thicker, more oppressive, each breath tasting of ancient death magic and something else... something alive. My skin crawls, wings twitching with the urge to fold themselves around me protectively despite being too big for that nonsense. This is stupid. This is absolutely suicidal. But I'm not leaving her down there alone if she's still breathing. So yes—I step forward again—and the ground gives another violent shudder that nearly sends me tumbling. The first twenty feet of stairs collapse with a sound like the earth swallowing itself whole, and I barely grab onto the crumbling wall in time to avoid following them down into whatever hell awaits below. The central rune is practically screaming now—a bright, angry, pulsing crimson—and I can feel it, like a physical pressure pushing against my chest. My wings ache from just being here, the magic in them resisting this place's oppressive energy. But I'm still clinging to this wall, heart pounding so hard I swear you can hear it even with all this stone between us. The dust is thick enough to choke on as I hang there, fingers scrabbling for purchase on shifting rock. My heavy mace feels useless right now—what am I going to do, bash the falling debris?—while my crossbow would probably just get yanked from my hands by this collapsing mess anyway. So instead I focus on not dying in the next few seconds while the tower tries its best to shake me loose. The stones beneath my feet feel like they're breathing now—not metaphorically, literally shifting and groaning with each pulse of that central rune's light. The air grows colder despite the exertion of holding on for dear life, and I can almost taste the magic in it—sour and metallic and wrong. This is bad. This is really fucking bad. But at least I'm alone up here if this whole thing comes crashing down, which seems increasingly likely with every passing moment. If Merrin's still alive down there—and that's a big "if" given what we've seen so far—then maybe, just maybe, I can find her before whatever triggered this collapse finishes the job. My wings flex involuntarily again, muscles tense as if preparing to catch me even though they won't reach in time. The stone dust is getting into my eyes and mouth, making it hard to see or breathe properly while I dangle here like a particularly doomed piece of bait. Stay sharp, I think, more prayer than statement. Don't let go until you know what's happening down there—even if that means letting go permanently in the process.

I descend the stairs behind Jeane, each step measured and hesitant. The air grows thicker with each footfall, and I can feel something… alive in the shadows. The sword has consumed one of us already—I won't let it have another. The stones here seem to pulse with a sickly green light, and the weapon lies at its center, humming with dark energy. I set Merrin down gently, keeping my holy symbol clutched in one hand while reaching for my crossbow with the other.

Varrika tenses, watching as Jeane narrowly avoids plummeting down the crumbling stairs. The dwarf veteran's heart pounds in her chest, adrenaline surging through her veins. She knows they're playing a deadly game here, dancing on the edge of a blade that could sever them all at any moment. Halie's warning echoes in Varrika's mind—this is no place for the living. And yet, here they are, teetering on the precipice of some ancient, malevolent power that even now seems to pulse and writhe with barely contained hunger. The dwarf feels it in her bones, a sickening certainty that whatever lies at the bottom of this accursed tower wants them...and will not let them leave easily. Varrika's hand tightens on the haft of her mace, knuckles white with tension. She knows the risks, knows the toll this quest has already taken—Merrin's fate weighs heavy on the dwarf's conscience. But there is no choice now. They must press on, retrieve the Time-Splitting Sword, and pray to all the gods that they can do so without losing themselves in the process. The dwarf meets Halie's gaze, seeing her own apprehension reflected in the cleric's eyes. "Stay sharp," Varrika growls, her voice a low rumble. "Keep that holy symbol ready. We don't know what we're walking into down there...but I doubt it's going to be friendly."

She turns to Jeane then, watching as the sorceress clings to the crumbling wall for dear life. Varrika's lips press into a thin line. Part of her wants to rush forward, to pull the fool woman back from the brink before she falls to her doom. But another part, a darker part that has seen too much death and sorrow in this world, knows that sometimes the only way out is through. "Be careful, girl," Varrika warns, her tone gruff but not unkind. "We need you in one piece if we're going to make it out of this damnable place."

And with that, the dwarf warrior takes a deep breath and steps forward, ready to face whatever horrors await them in the depths below. The tower seems to shudder around them, ancient stones groaning as if in protest at their presence. But Varrika does not falter. She has faced worse than crumbling architecture and malevolent magic in her long years. She will see this through, no matter the cost. Only one thought echoes through her mind as she descends into the darkness—the same thought that has driven her since the moment they set foot in this accursed place. They must retrieve the Time-Splitting Sword...and they must not keep it for themselves. For if they do, Varrika fears that no power on earth will be able to stop the spreading curse from consuming them all.