Round 37 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 stone beneath her feet feels solid now, but Jeane's instincts scream warnings. The wards pulse again—lazy, hungry. Something about this place has changed. The magic isn't just ancient; it's aware. I tested the floor carefully before shifting my weight that first time. Solid enough, but... Her voice echoes softly in the pit. I hear scraping below. Not rock settling. Something moving. She grips her heavy mace tighter, torch held high with her free hand. Anyone there? Speak up! The magic is getting stronger—hungrier—and whatever's down here isn't staying put anymore. The sound comes again, closer this time. A scuttling, deliberate noise. If you're still above, don't waste time. Find a way down before my torch burns out or whatever's making that sound gets curious enough to climb up. Her mind races through escape options. I could try climbing the walls—the stone looks stable enough—but in this darkness with one free hand and a tapping torch... She takes another cautious step back. Or wait here. The floor seems safe for now, but if those wards are connected to whatever's below...The scraping stops. Shit. It heard me. Her wings itch to unfurl, instinct screaming at her to fly out of this hellhole even if that means destroying the tower itself. But there's no clearance down here—not with the ceiling so low—and using magic in a confined space with an unknown enemy below... She lowers her voice. If you're listening above, get ready. I don't know what's down here, but it knows I'm trapped and it's getting bolder. Another pulse from the runes sends shadows writhing across the walls. Whatever this is—undead, summoned horror, or something worse—that tower's magic has been feeding it for centuries. And now I've delivered myself right to its dinner plate on a silver platter. She shifts her grip on the mace. So hurry up and find a way down here. Because whatever makes that noise? It sounds like it's enjoying the anticipation. Her voice drops to a near-whisper, more for herself than anyone above. Stuck in a pit with no obvious exit, armed only with a torch about to burn out and a weapon I can barely swing properly down here. Perfect. The scraping sound resumes—closer still.* At least if I die down here, I'll have the satisfaction of knowing Merrin was right all along and this was a terrible idea.

The air here feels thick, charged with a malevolent energy I've never encountered before. It's like the very walls are alive, and they're hungry.
I crouch at the edge of this pit where Jeane has fallen, my heavy mace a cold weight in my hand, my crossbow balanced on my knee. The wards etched into the stone floor pulse with an unsettling rhythm, a lazy, predatory beat. Each thrum sends a chill down my spine.
"I can feel the tower's hunger growing," I murmur to myself, my voice so low it's almost inaudible over the distant scraping sound from below. I test the floor again, pressing my palm flat against the stone. It feels solid enough, but ancient mechanisms might still function.
The runes here are different from those we've seen elsewhere in the tower. They aren't just for show or protection—they're feeding something. And that something is awake now.
"Sweetheart? Can you hear me?" I call down into the pit, my voice echoing in the confined space.
The scraping stops for a moment before starting up again, louder this time. It's not rock settling; it's not water dripping. Something is moving down there, and I have a sinking feeling it knows we're here.

The tower's magic feels wrong. Hungry, in a way I've never encountered before. We need a plan, and we need it now. Merrin, keep watching the ceiling for movement. Varrika, ready that crossbow. Sweetheart? Can you hear me down there? What do you see?