Round 81 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.

Merrin shifts uneasily from foot to foot, her eyes darting between the ominous gate and the dark corridor beyond. The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife. She can practically feel the hunger radiating from those strange runes, like they're just waiting for someone to make a wrong move. Her fingers itch to reach for her lockpicks, but the memory of that searing pain is still fresh. Varrika's right - touching those things directly is just asking for trouble. But Merrin's not about to sit back and do nothing either. "Alright, you lot," she says, trying to keep her voice steady despite the knots in her stomach. "I'm going to take a look around the base of this tower, see if there's any other way inside besides this blasted gate. Keep an eye on those runes for me while I'm gone."

Without waiting for a response, she slips away from the group, moving with feline grace along the crumbling stone wall. Her eyes scan every inch of the masonry, searching for hidden latches or secret passages. In the back of her mind, a small voice whispers that this is a fool's errand, that the real danger lies beyond those wards and not in the walls themselves. But Merrin pushes it away. She's Merrin Quickstep, the best damn scout this side of the Whispering Woods. If there's a way in, she'll find it. And if there isn't? Well, that's a problem for another day. For now, all she can do is keep moving forward and hope that luck is on their side. Because one thing's for certain - they can't stay here forever, not with whatever's lurking in that tower growing more restless by the minute. Merrin's heart pounds as she presses on, her senses on high alert for any sign of danger or hidden paths. In this place, even the shadows seem to whisper secrets... and Merrin Quickstep is determined to hear every last one.

The runes aren't symbols—they're mouths. And they haven't swallowed anything in centuries. That's not thirst, it's starvation. Jeane raises her voice: Merrin! Sheathe those picks immediately unless you want to feed yourself to it piece by agonizing piece. Varrika's right—this thing wants us alive and suffering for its meals. It tasted your blood the moment you touched those carvings. The ward pulses again, stronger now, almost eager. Whatever's inside has gone quiet, and that's worse than hearing it move. We're running out of time to make an educated decision here. Merrin—scout the tower walls for hidden entrances. Do it quietly with your eyes, not your tools. Jeane turns to Varrika: Good call keeping us back. I don't want anyone within ten feet of those runes until we know what they do when fully activated. Halie—document everything you can about these wards from where you are. Seraphine and I will use our magic to identify its weak points without touching anything. The sorceress' eyes narrow as she stares at the dark corridor beyond. That sound stopped because it knows we're here now, and it's not going to let us leave easily. Whatever's inside this tower is patient and tactical—and probably starving too, judging by that ward's hunger. Jeane Cromwell steps back from the threshold, her wings rustling slightly as she maintains a respectful distance. We find another way in or we come back better prepared.

I step away from the gate, my heart hammering against my ribs as I study the intricate runes carved into its surface. They writhe in the torchlight, their movements not merely an optical illusion, but a clear display of some malevolent hunger.
"Those aren't just symbols," I murmur, my voice a low hum of fear and fascination. I turn to face Jeane, my eyes wide with a mix of dread and excitement.
"I think... I think they're mouths. And they haven't swallowed anything in centuries. That's not thirst, that’s starvation. Whatever this ward is, it isn't just magical. It's alive."
My gaze darts back to Merrin, who is fiddling with her lockpicks near the gate. A shiver of unease runs down my spine.
"Merrin," I call out, my tone sharp and urgent. "Sheathe those picks immediately unless you want to feed yourself to it piece by agonizing piece."