Round 17 Transcript

As the skeletal warrior charges forward, its bony fingers grasping for Jeane's neck, Merrin fires a bolt from her crossbow at the warrior's head, striking it with a loud thud. The warrior crumples to the ground, its bones shattering into a cloud of dust. Jeane, still tracing the ward trigger points on the stone floor, notices that her mace tip has left a faint scar on the stone, indicating the precise location of the next trigger. She takes note of this and turns to face Merrin, her eyes locking onto the bolt's impact point. Varrika, keeping watch from the shadows, notices that the torches flicker ominously, their light casting eerie shadows on the walls. The air is heavy with the scent of decay and something else, something acrid and metallic.

I step into the dark hallway, my robes swishing softly against the stone floor, the musty scent of ancient decay filling my nostrils. The heavy oak door groans shut behind us with an ominous finality, plunging us into near-total darkness broken only by the flickering glow of our torches.
My eyes dart around, taking in the crumbling walls, the faint outline of doors leading to unknown chambers. A shiver runs down my spine as I feel a malevolent energy in the air, a presence that seems to press in on us from all sides. The torches cast eerie, dancing shadows on the rough-hewn stone, making them appear to writhe with life.
The magic here is wrong—profane, ancient, hungry. It clings to everything like a sticky web, pulling at my skin and mind. I can feel it coiling around the edges of my own spells, testing their strength, probing for weakness. This isn't just a defensive ward anymore; it's something else, something that woke up when we stepped through and summoned that skeletal warrior.
I turn to Jeane, watching as she traces the floor with her mace tip, mapping out the pattern of the ward triggers. Her brow is furrowed in concentration, a bead of sweat rolling down her temple in the torchlight. She looks up at me, her eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.
"Seraphine," she whispers, her voice low and urgent. "These aren't just runes. They're... alive. Or something like it."
I nod slowly, my heart hammering against my ribs. This is what we came for—to find the Time-Splitting Sword—but now that we’re here, in its very shadow, a chilling realization settles over me. The sword may be the key to power we can only imagine, but at what cost? What kind of madness would drive someone to create something so twisted and dangerous?
My hand instinctively goes to the silver holy symbol at my throat, a talisman against the darkness. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what lies ahead. We must be cautious, methodical. One wrong step could unleash horrors beyond our worst nightmares.
"Varrika is right," I say, my voice so low it's almost lost to the air. "We need to clear each room before moving on, not just charge through. We don't know what this thing wants... or what it will do if we push too far."
I turn back to the darkness of the hallway, my mind already racing through the spells I have prepared, wondering which one might be most effective against whatever lurks within these ancient walls. The air grows thicker, more oppressive, as if the very air itself is waiting for us to make a move.

I trace the ward patterns on the stone floor with the tip of my mace, moving carefully so as not to trigger anything else. The air inside this tower feels wrong—like sinking into cold water, dense and heavy with a pressure that wants to push me down. These aren't defensive runes anymore. These are something else entirely. Something that woke up when we stepped through that doorway and summoned the skeleton. We're dealing with active corruption here, not just residual magic left behind by whoever once occupied this place. Varrika and Merrin keep their eyes on every shadow as I work. I appreciate the cover, but I need more than just watchful eyes right now. I need information about what we're up against before we stumble into whatever's waiting deeper inside.

As I step into the tower's shadowy entrance, my halfling eyes dart from side to side, taking in every nook and cranny. The air is thick with dust and a strange, acrid smell that makes my nose wrinkle. I keep my crossbow at the ready, fingers twitching against the trigger. "Alright, let's see what we've got here," I mutter under my breath, more for my own benefit than anyone else's. My voice sounds unnaturally loud in the oppressive silence. The flickering torchlight casts eerie shadows on the crumbling stone walls, and I find myself imagining all sorts of horrors lurking just out of sight. But I push those thoughts aside - we've got a job to do, and I aim to see it through. I take a few cautious steps forward, my boots crunching softly on the debris-strewn floor. The hallway stretches out ahead of us, dark and musty, with doorways leading off to either side. I can make out the glint of more wards etched into the stone, their runes pulsing faintly with an ominous red glow. "Careful now," I call over my shoulder to the others. "Looks like there might be more traps waiting for us. Stick close and keep your eyes peeled."

My heart's pounding in my chest, but I try to keep my voice steady and calm. No point in worrying the rest of the party with my own jitters - we've got enough on our plates as it is. I take another step forward, crossbow trained on the shadows ahead. Whatever horrors this tower holds, we'll face them together. And gods help anyone who gets in our way.