Round 49 Transcript

The ward's pulse has faded entirely now—something has broken its rhythm completely. Jeane's head throbs from the pressure change when she'd fallen through. The stone floor beneath her shifted again, this time accompanied by a low groan from somewhere deeper below. A fresh sound echoes through the hidden pit: the creaking of wooden beams, followed by the faint scratching of claws against stone. Whatever made those sounds earlier is getting closer. The darkness seems to be drawing in, like a shroud.

I'm alive down here—just barely. The pit is deep, the air is thin, and my head feels like it was split by an axe. Something shifted under me just now—not stone grinding against stone. Something organic moved. Get that rope down here fast—there's something living in this darkness with me, and I don't think it wants company.

The heavy stone floor quakes beneath my boots as I crouch at the edge of this cursed pit. "Jeane!" I roar into the darkness, my gravel-voice echoing off the damp walls. "Can ye hear me? What in the nine hells is down there?"

My crossbow is poised to fire at any sign of movement. The runes on these ancient walls stopped their pulsing after Jeane landed—whatever danger they warned of seems broken or distracted by something bigger now. "Get that rope ready," I growl over my shoulder at Halie and Merrin, "and stay alert. We don't know what might be lurking in this tower's depths."

The heavy tread sounds getting closer, stone grinding against stone or... something else moving in the shadows. Jeane's muffled cries rise up from the pit, mingling with the eerie creaking of wooden beams and the skittering of unseen claws. I grit my teeth, feeling the weight of my mace in my calloused hand. "Hold fast, Jeane," I mutter, "we're coming."

Merrin's hands tremble as she fumbles with the tinderbox, the flint striking sparks against steel in the darkness. "Come on, you infernal contraption," she mutters under her breath, willing a spark to catch and bloom into flame. Her ears strain for any sound from below, any hint of Jeane's presence or the nature of the pit that swallowed her whole. The heavy tread of Varrika's boots at the edge of the abyss sends a shudder through Merrin's frame, belying her attempts at bravado. "Jeane!" she calls out, her voice echoing off the cold stone walls. "Can you hear me? Are you hurt?"

Merrin keeps her crossbow leveled, scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. Her heart hammers in her chest as the seconds tick by, each one stretching into an eternity of uncertainty. "Halie, Varrika," she calls over her shoulder, not taking her eyes off the darkness. "Keep your wits about you. If there's one trap, there's bound to be more."

She takes a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever horrors may emerge from the depths. The tinderbox flares to life in her hands, casting flickering shadows across her face as she peers into the pit. "Hold on, Jeane," Merrin whispers, more to herself than to her fallen companion. "We're coming for you."

With that, she turns to face the unknown, ready to brave whatever the darkness holds in store. The flame of the tinderbox dances at the edge of the abyss, a beacon of hope in the encroaching gloom.