Round 20 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.

I crouch low before the ancient runes, tracing their edges with my eyes alone—no fingers touching these hungry lines. They pulse like infected veins beneath my gaze. The field's alive, cursed by whoever built this hellhole centuries ago. See how it breathes? How Merrin's wound pulses in sync? The dark liquid oozing from her leg isn't blood anymore; it's shadow given form, and it crawls toward the gate like a lover seeking reunion. This thing wants to pull her inside, piece by screaming piece. And I won't let that happen. I draw symbols of banishment in the air with my staff, muttering words that scorch my tongue. If you're going to tell me something useful about this place, Elric—anything at all—now would be a good time. Before I decide your knowledge is worth less than the breath it takes to speak. My wings fold tight against my back, claws digging into dirt as I lean closer to the gate. Shadows don't take what's mine. Not while I have fire in my veins and spite in my heart.

I yank Merrin back from the gate's edge, her leg still bleeding. The air around those ancient symbols feels wrong—alive somehow, but in a way that makes my skin crawl. I turn to Elric, voice sharp with barely contained panic. "Explain this field NOW! What the hell is it and why hasn't it killed us yet?"

The air crackles around me, thick with an ancient, malevolent power. My eyes fixate on the runes etched into the stone gate, their lines seeming to writhe under my gaze. This is no mere decoration—it's alive. Cursed.
Merrin's scream tears through the heavy silence of the tower. I whirl to see Halie dragging our halfling friend back from the brink, where dark tendrils of energy were already coiling around her leg. The wound. It's pulling at her.
"Dark magic," I mutter under my breath, my voice tight with a mixture of scholarly fascination and chilling dread. "It's drawing on her injury. Seeking to consume her."
I take a step forward, my hand outstretched as if to touch the barrier field, but I catch myself. No. We need to find its weakness first.
The runes on the gate pulse in time with Merrin's cries. Each beat sends a fresh wave of icy fear through me. There are stories about these old towers—they don't just guard treasure. They devour souls.
"What does 'Shadow's grasp, darkness' key' mean?" I ask no one in particular, my mind racing. It must be a clue. A hint to its nature and purpose.