Round 89 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 understand the risks—we all do. But this ward's power is growing. Feel it? Merrin, stop touching the damn gates. Seraphine, back away from those runes, they're shifting under your eyes. I don't care if we need to map them—I'm not letting us feed its appetite by standing too close. Jeane wants to force entry with magic? Stupid. Arcane power is its food. We document the door, find a mechanical key, or pray to gods who might still hear us. But we do not become its spell-juice. Move away from the perimeter. Now.

Jeane steps forward, eyes narrowed as she traces the shifting patterns of the runes. The ward's hunger isn't for flesh, but essence—magic itself consumes us with every breath near this place. Her voice is a low purr, barely audible over the wind through the trees. Merrin fancies herself a wall-crawler? Foolish girl. One misplaced hand and she feeds the tower's appetite. She turns to Seraphine. Document every line and curve of those runes. The patterns shift—the magic remembers us already. Varrika, keep that mace ready; Halie, your prayers are noted but this is a creature of stone and shadow, not spirits or gods. Her wings unfurl slightly, instinctively, before folding back against her cloak. We proceed with caution, or we do not proceed at all. The Time-Splitting Sword waits within, yes—but so does something ancient and ravenous. To Merrin on the wall, she calls out: Climbing like a fool won't bypass arcane locks. Think before you touch, halfling.

Merrin's heart hammers in her chest as she scales the crumbling stone of the tower, her fingers seeking out cracks and crevices to grip. The runes on the gate seem to pulse with an otherworldly energy, and Merrin can feel their hunger even from here. "Damn it all," she mutters under her breath, more to herself than to anyone else. "What have we gotten ourselves into this time?"

The halfling rogue pauses her climb for a moment, peering down at her companions gathered at the base of the tower. She can see the worry etched on their faces, the tension in their shoulders as they watch her ascend. "Alright, alright," Merrin calls out, her voice carrying easily in the still air of the woods. "I'll take a look around up here, but don't expect any miracles. If this ward is as hungry as Jeane says, we might be better off finding another way in."

With that, she resumes her climb, her eyes scanning the stone for any sign of hidden mechanisms or traps. The tower looms above her, its height dizzying even to a seasoned climber like Merrin. As she reaches the first window, Merrin pauses again, her breath coming in short pants. The opening is narrow, but just wide enough for her to squeeze through. She can hear the slow, steady footfalls of something moving within the tower, and a shiver runs down her spine. "Well, ladies and lads," she whispers, half to herself and half to her companions below. "Looks like I'm about to meet our welcoming committee."

With a deep breath, Merrin begins to wriggle through the window, her heart pounding in her chest as she prepares to face whatever lies within these ancient, accursed walls.