Round 60 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 stand guard at the entrance, mace in hand, as Merrin slinks off into the shadows. The runes on the gate pulse with an eerie light, their hunger palpable. I don't trust this place, not one bit. It feels like we're being watched, like something ancient and malevolent is just waiting for us to make a mistake. But Merrin's right - we can't stand here forever, and forcing our way through that gate could be suicide. So I keep my eyes peeled and my grip tight on my weapon, ready to move at a moment's notice. This tower's got secrets, dark ones, and I've got a feeling we're about to find out what they are - the hard way. Let Merrin do her thing, but we need to be ready to run or fight at a moment's notice. And whatever we do, we can't let our guard down. Not here, not in this place. The whispers grow louder, the runes pulse faster, and I feel a cold sweat trickling down my back. Something's coming. Something old and hungry and very, very bad. And when it gets here, we'd better be ready.

I step away from the gate's edge—its runes feel like teeth—and signal Varrika and Seraphine back with me. Merrin's tools are iron; she's practically poking a sleeping dragon with an iron rod. The runes pulse faster now, angry red. Stop that before you accidentally feed it your fingers, I say to her across the stones. Whatever's hungry in there is definitely sentient, and getting angrier by the second. The magic has teeth and appetite—I can taste it—and forcing entry through those seals is suicide if we don't understand what they're actually for. I crouch low against the wall, pulling Seraphine down with me. We need to find a way in that doesn't make us dinner. Circling the tower isn't stupid, Merrin—it's necessary. But you go alone and fast, scout the walls for gaps or hidden doors while I stay here with the others. If something moves wrong inside or on the perimeter, we'll signal you. The footsteps within are definitely louder now, deliberate. We're running out of time to choose our battle.

I slip away from the others, pressing my back against the crumbling stone of the tower. My heart hammers in my chest as I edge along the wall, scanning for any hint of a hidden door or gap. The whispers grow louder, a sinister susurrus that seems to emanate from the very stones themselves. I shiver, pulling my cloak tighter around my shoulders. Whatever this place is, it's ancient and malevolent, and I don't like the way the runes seem to pulse in time with my racing heartbeat. I pause, listening intently. There. A faint scrape, like stone on stone, coming from just around the corner. I draw my dagger, ready for anything. With a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the wall. And freeze. There, set into the stone, is an ancient door, its surface covered in a complex web of pulsing runes. But that's not what stops me cold. Crouched before the door, its skeletal fingers tracing the sigils, is a figure from my nightmares. Tall and gaunt, clad in tattered robes, its eyeless sockets fixed on the door as if in reverent prayer. One of the undead guardians of the tower. And it hasn't noticed me yet. I press myself back against the wall, mind racing. This changes everything. If there's one guardian, there are likely more. And they're not going to be happy about us trespassing here. I need to get back to the others, warn them. But I can't risk alerting the skeleton. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. Slowly, carefully, I start to edge backwards, dagger still at the ready. One wrong move, one scrape of stone against stone, and we're all dead. I just hope I can make it back to the others in time. Because whatever's waiting for us in that tower, it's not going to be pretty.