Round 13 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's wings shift restlessly under her cloak, eyes tracing the intricate runes on the gate. "Wait," she hisses at Halie. "These aren't just barriers—they're triggers." She moves closer to Merrin. "What do you see?" The gate groans again from inside—something heavy moving against stone. Footsteps approaching. Merrin's picking at the lock mechanism, her halfling fingers nimble but careful now, listening. "Looks like a ward-breaker rune here," she mutters, pointing to a small symbol near the lock plate. "But it's got a fail-safe." Jeane squats down beside them, her cloak pooling on the ground. "If we force entry without tripping that properly, we'll set off every defensive spell in this thing." She touches Merrin's shoulder lightly—unusual for her. "Wait. Let me try something." Drawing a small silver dagger from her belt with her left hand, Jeane traces a counter-rune in the air between them—a warding sigil that flickers and dies unsaid. "This place is hungry," she mutters, wiping sweat from her brow with her free hand. The footsteps inside have stopped near the gate now, listening too. "Halie, stay ready. Merrin, back off a moment." With controlled, almost painful slowness, Jeane extends her right hand toward the ward-breaker rune on the lock plate—a few inches away—and begins weaving a complex spell-shape with her fingers. It's intricate work, arcane geometry made visible in faint blue firelight. The air between them and the gate grows cold, resistant, as she probes at the locking mechanism's magical structure—testing, mapping, looking for weaknesses or alternatives to brute force that would shatter everything. Her breathing is even, controlled, but there's a strain showing around her eyes. This kind of close-range arcane surgery usually requires perfect stillness and a clean working space. Doing it inches from a haunted gate while standing in damp forest dirt and listening to things moving inside? Not ideal. Still—this is why she gets paid the big demonic gold, isn't it? Or at least, what her masters expect.

The ward pulses again, its magic crawling across my skin like frozen spiders. I step between Varrika and the gate, hand raised. "Wait." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "We don't know what these runes do. Merrin, put down that iron. Jeane—" She's already tracing symbols in the air with her finger, eyes gleaming. "—stop that. We need to assess this thing properly before we start poking it." I draw my holy symbol, letting its silver catch the dim light. A prayer forms on my lips but doesn't quite make it out. Goddess of Light, guide us from folly. The tower's silent again, but something feels... closer. "We're all tired," I say, more to myself than them. "And we've barely started."