Round 35 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.

The air here is heavy, thick with a scent of old stone and something else... something unnatural. A chill runs down my spine as Varrika's words sink in—the runes are feeding something. I can feel it now, a dark thrumming in the depths of the tower, like a heartbeat out of sync with our own. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
I take a step closer to the edge of the pit where Jeane fell, my heavy mace clutched tightly in my hand. The glow from Merrin's torch illuminates only a small portion of the darkness below, revealing nothing but more stone and shadow. "Jeane?" I call out, my voice echoing strangely in the confined space.
I listen intently for any sound of her movement, any reassurance that she's alright. All I hear is the faint rustling of leaves against the outside walls and the soft, steady breathing of my companions behind me. The silence is deafening, broken only by the occasional creak of old wood from somewhere deep within the tower's bowels.
My mind races with possibilities—trapdoors, hidden passages, undead guardians. This place was never just abandoned. It was waiting. And now that we've disturbed it, there’s no telling what we might have released.
I turn back to the others, my expression grim. "The magic feels stronger now," I say, my voice low and urgent. "We need to be more careful than ever. And we need to find a way to get Jeane out of there before whatever is down there decides to investigate that sound."

I crouch at the edge of the pit, my heart pounding as I strain to hear any sound from below. "Jeane? Can you hear me?" My voice echoes in the darkness. I fumble for my tinderbox, striking sparks against flint until a small flame catches on the torch's pitch-soaked end. Holding the flickering light over the pit's edge, I peer into the shadows, trying to spot any movement or signs of Jeane. The walls are damp and slick, likely unstable after centuries of neglect. Any sudden shift could send me plummeting down to join her. I take a deep breath, willing my nerves to steady. We've faced undead before, but something about this place feels different. Hungrier. I tighten my grip on the torch, feeling the weight of my crossbow against my back. Whatever lies ahead, I'll do whatever it takes to get Jeane out of that pit and back to safety. My eyes dart to the chamber's entrance, expecting skeletons to come clattering through at any moment. Time is running out. I have to find a way down there, fast, without alerting the entire tower to our presence. I glance up at Halie and Seraphine, hoping they have a plan. "Any ideas on how to get down there without bringing half the tower's undead guards with us?" I ask, my voice tight with anxiety. "Because right now, all I've got is a torch and a prayer, and neither of those are going to be much help against an army of bones."

I hear Jeane's voice coming up from below. The wards are pulsing again, stronger now. We need to move carefully or we could all be trapped down there. Merrin, keep watching the ceiling for movement. Varrika, ready that crossbow. Seraphine, mark our path with something visible—we might need to backtrack quickly. I descend toward the pit's edge, mace ready, trying to see what's happened to Jeane. Sweetheart? Can you hear me? What do you see down there? The darkness below seems to swallow sound. I can feel the tower's hunger growing, like a beast waking from long slumber. This place is waking up, and not in a good way. We need to be smart about this. I light another torch and toss it down into the pit, hoping for some light. Hold on, Jeane. We're coming. But we have to do it right.

The runes pulse again—lazy, hungry. I test the floor carefully this time before shifting my weight. Solid enough, but I won't trust it twice. The darkness presses in thick and cold down here, more absolute than any night sky. My torchlight cuts a pathetic circle of visibility in the gloom below. I call up: 'Halie? Merrin? Anyone?' The sound seems to die before it leaves my mouth, swallowed by stone and something else I can't name. There's a scraping sound from further down—claw on stone—and then silence. Something old is stirring. I need to move, but the pit walls are smooth-cut, ancient. No handholds without tools or magic, neither of which I'm eager to use in a space this confined with whatever's making noise below me. The exhaustion pulls at my limbs—three days marching through scrubland for this? Trapped in a wizard's rock collection. My wings itch under the cloak, useless down here. They're not made for tight spaces or stealth anyway. I've got five crossbow bolts left and a heavy mace that won't do much good against whatever's making those sounds if I can't see it first. The scraping comes again, closer this time. Not skeletons—skeletons don't sound like they're hunting. This thing... it wants something specific. Or someone. I need them to find a way down here before my torch burns out or whatever's below gets curious enough to climb up.