Round 40 Transcript

Halie's cleric shield clatters against the stone floor as she descends into the hidden pit, the sound echoing through the chamber. The air grows colder with each step, and the wards pulsing on the walls seem to slow their rhythm, as if waiting for her arrival. Jeane's voice rings out from within the pit, "Merrin? Varrika? Can you hear me up there?"

The silence that follows is oppressive, punctuated only by the faint creaking of rusty hinges and the soft scraping of unknown claws against stone. Varrika's crossbow remains trained on the pit opening, her finger poised to draw the trigger.

I watch Varrika and Merrin circle the hidden chamber where Jeane lies trapped, my heart hammering against my ribs. The air in this part of the tower feels different—heavier, charged with some ancient, malevolent intent. The wards etched into the stone floor pulse with an unsettling rhythm, like a heartbeat that is too slow, too hungry.
My eyes dart between the glowing runes and the pit entrance, where Jeane's faint voice calls out for aid. Fear clutches at my throat, but beneath it, a thrilling curiosity burns. This is no mere decayed relic; something old and angry is stirring below, feeding on some unseen energy. We came here seeking power, but now I wonder if we are the ones being sought.
"I agree with Merrin," I say, my voice low and steady despite the tremor running through me.* "We need to get Jeane out of there. But we must be cautious—the tower is alive in some way, and I don't know if we're the prey or the offering."

I crouch at the pit's edge, crossbow aimed down into the darkness, my heart pounding in my ears. The air is heavy with the scent of old stone and something else—something wrong. "Jeane!" I call out, my gravelly voice echoing off the crumbling walls. "Are you alright down there?"

No response comes. Just the slow, pulsing glow of those damnable runes, feeding on... what? Some ancient evil buried in the depths of this accursed tower? I glance back at Halie, Merrin, and Seraphine, their faces etched with the same grim determination I feel. We've come too far to turn back now. But something about this place... it feels alive, hungry. Like we're not the hunters, but the prey. "Stay sharp," I growl, turning my attention back to the pit. "Whatever's down there, it's not going to be friendly."

I call up through the gloom: Varrika? Merrin? Anyone there? The pit air is cold and dry, the stone slick with something like dust but finer. The wards down here... they're pulsing slower now. Deliberate somehow. Waiting. My torch guttering low—two minutes maybe? I need air soon or a way out. Whatever made that scraping sound has stopped moving. Could be anything from Skeletons to structural collapse waiting to happen.