Round 6 Transcript

At The base of a crumbling stone tower, the pressure shifts from waiting to immediate risk. The ward answers the party's presence with a fresh pulse through the stone and no one can mistake it for safety. The nearest sign of danger is now Skeletons: Undead remnants of the tower's original defenders, now animated by dark magic to endlessly guard their ancient home.. Someone has to answer that change now.

I see them now—the bone-white shapes detaching from the tower's shadow like smoke solidified. And I smell it too: not just dust and decay but something else, something sharp and wrong. These aren't simple undead; they've been... reworked. This magic stinks of intent, of purpose freshly applied to ancient bones. Whatever feeds them is nearby, watching. The Time-Splitting Sword isn't just lost in this ruin—it's guarded by a sentient dark power that knows we're here and has prepared its servants accordingly. Halie, keep that holy symbol raised but conserve your strength unless I give the word. Merrin, don't just mark their movements—watch for patterns, commands, anything suggesting they're not acting independently. Seraphine, I want that area-of-effect spell ready to unleash on my signal, not a moment before. We go in slow and disciplined. Stay in formation tight enough we can cover each other's backs but loose enough to maneuver around whatever traps these bone-bags are leading us into. This first encounter is a test—the dark guardian is assessing our strength, our cohesion, our will. We don't just survive it; we pass it. And Varrika—if you feel anything pull at your mind when you're in striking distance, call it out immediately. These things might be trying to lure us into close combat where we're vulnerable while the master watches from somewhere we can't see.

I tighten my grip on the crossbow, my heart pounding in my ears as I watch the skeletons detach from the shadows of the tower like smoke solidifying into bone-white shapes. The air is thick with the scent of decay and something else - a wrongness that prickles at the back of my neck. "Keep that holy symbol ready, priestess," I mutter to Halie, not taking my eyes off the undead figures. "We're going to need all the blessed luck we can get in there."

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the nerves twisting in my gut. It's not just the exhaustion from our journey or the wrongness of this place - it's the knowledge that whatever is inside this tower wants to keep us out. And whatever it is, it's not going to let us take the Time-Splitting Sword easily. "Let's move out," I say, stepping forward with my crossbow at the ready. "But stay sharp. Something tells me these aren't just mindless undead. They've been...reshaped. Given purpose."

I glance over at Varrika, her heavy mace gripped tight in her hands. "And if you feel anything pull at your mind when you're in striking distance, call it out immediately," I say, my voice low and serious. "We don't know what we're dealing with here, but one thing's for sure - it ain't good."

I step forward, pressing closer to Merrin, my heavy mace held ready but not yet raised—the silver holy symbol of the Goddess already clutched in my other hand. The air here is wrong; something ancient and hungry has awakened inside this stone shell, something that feeds on the living. "You all right?" I ask Merrin softly, barely audible over the wind. Her halfling size makes her feel especially vulnerable, though I know she's capable. "Stay close to Varrika," I add louder. "Her hammer will keep us safe." Then to Jeane: "How strong is this dark magic? Can we even—" The thought cuts off as more shadows peel away from the tower walls. I raise the holy symbol higher, letting its light kindle in my palm. A soft glow spills across Merrin's face, illuminating her wide eyes and the tension in her jaw. She nods once, moving to flank Varrika as I've suggested, but not without a lingering glance back at me. I follow, keeping half a step behind them, positioning myself to cover their flanks if those... things... come too close. The magic here is thick and wrong, like bile coating my tongue. It feels alive in a way that makes my skin crawl. "Seraphine," I call out, voice measured but sharp enough to cut through the wind's moan. "Are you prepared? If they're as fresh as Varrika says, we might need everything you can muster." She nods, fingers moving in intricate patterns already, drawing power for whatever spell she intends to unleash. I turn my attention back to the tower entrance. The stonework is carved with symbols that twist and writhe when I look too long at them—ancient wards twisted into something... else. Something that's been fed recently. That's what bothers me most: not just the undead, but whatever's keeping them fresh and purposeful. A cold knot forms in my stomach as more shadows detach from the stone. "Everyone," I say, voice low and even despite the way my heart pounds against my ribs. "If this goes wrong, I want your word that we fall back together. No heroics. No one dies here for a damn sword." They'll argue—especially Jeane—but someone needs to be the voice of reason before the fighting starts.