Round 7 Transcript

The tension in The base of a crumbling stone tower, its entrance sealed by an ancient rune-covered gate, deep within the haunted Whispering Woods tightens for a beat as the interruption refuses to go away. Everyone is forced to stay quiet and choose their next move carefully.

Jeane Cromwell studies the ancient runes on the gate, her eyes narrowing as she traces their intricate patterns with a gloved finger. "These aren't mere decorations," she mutters, more to herself than to anyone else. The air around them crackles with residual magic, and she can feel it prickling against her skin—a warning, perhaps, or just the ghost of power long since spent. She turns to Elric, who's hovering anxiously nearby, his eyes darting between the tower entrance and the party members as if expecting an attack from either direction. "You mentioned a barrier," Jeane says coolly. "What exactly did you mean by that? And why didn't you warn us about it sooner?" Her tone is sharp, leaving no room for evasion. Before Elric can answer—if he even intends to—the ground beneath their feet begins to tremble faintly. It's subtle at first, barely noticeable, but as Jeane looks around, she sees the others reacting too. Merrin steadies herself against the gate, her hand hovering over her dagger. Seraphine grips her staff tighter, eyes scanning the shadows for movement. The tremor intensifies, and suddenly, the air in front of them shimmers like heat haze on a summer day—except it's winter, and there's no sun to cause such an effect. Something is coming through. Jeane doesn't hesitate. She raises her hands, dark energy gathering at her fingertips as she begins to chant under her breath. "Everyone back!" she snaps, not waiting for compliance. If this is what Elric was so afraid of, they need to be ready. The barrier might keep some things out, but it won't stop whatever's already inside from making an appearance. The shimmering grows more pronounced, taking on a vaguely humanoid shape. Two arms reach out first, followed by a torso—and then the figure steps through completely. It's a woman—or was one, perhaps. Her skin is pale and translucent like alabaster, her eyes glowing with malevolent intent. "A wraith," Jeane hisses, more to herself than anyone else. She'd heard tales of such creatures, spirits bound to this plane by dark magic, feeding on fear and despair. And now one stands before them.

I squint at the ancient runes etched into the gate, my eyes scanning the arcane symbols for any hint of a pattern. The air around us feels thick with old magic, prickling against my skin like a thousand tiny pins. I can practically taste the power emanating from those markings. "These runes aren't just for show," I mutter under my breath, more to myself than to the others. "There's a reason they're here."

I take a step closer, crossbow at the ready in case anything decides to jump out and surprise us. The tower looms overhead, its crumbling stones casting long shadows across the ground. I can't shake the feeling that we're being watched, even though I know there's no one around. "Keep your eyes peeled," I call over my shoulder to the others. "If there's a lock on this gate, there's bound to be traps too. We need to be careful."

My fingers itch to start picking at those runes, to see if I can't figure out their secret. But something holds me back. Maybe it's the way they seem to pulse with dark energy, or maybe it's just my gut telling me that this is one puzzle we might be better off leaving alone. But curiosity gets the better of me. I take another step forward, reaching out a hand towards the gate. The runes glow faintly as my fingers brush against them, and I feel a surge of power course through my body. "What do you think, Seraphine?" I ask, turning to the elf wizard. "Any idea how this thing works?"

I wait for her response, my heart pounding in my chest as I stare at the ancient gate, wondering what secrets lie waiting on the other side.

I step closer to the ancient gate, my fingers tracing the cool, worn stone of its frame. The runes etched into the surface seem to hum under my touch, a low vibration that resonates deep within my bones. My eyes narrow as I study them, seeing not just marks, but a complex pattern of magical energy.
"This isn't a simple lock," I murmur to myself, more a thought than a true statement. The air around me crackles with something older than the tower itself. It feels alive, watching us with a dark intent.
I turn my attention to Merrin, who is already working at the puzzle lock with determined focus. Her fingers dance over the rune symbols, each press sending a small jolt of magic through the air. Good, she's on the right track. But this is more than just a puzzle.*
"Merrin," I call out, my voice low and urgent. "These runes aren't merely decorative. They're part of an active spellwork. We need to be careful how we proceed."