Round 34 Transcript

Jeane climbs the crumbling stone, her fingers finding purchase between ancient mortar cracks. The wards' hunger pulses with each handhold—she feels them tasting her, pulling at something inside her mind that wants to scream but doesn't have the luxury. The wind whips across the roof as she hauls herself over the ledge. Up here, the stone is slick with something oily and wrong-smelling. In the center stands a massive obsidian altar, carved with scenes of sacrifice and time distortion. And on it—chained to the very rock—the source of the wards' power lies revealed: an ancient, malnourished wight, its eyes sockets glowing with green hunger-fire. It notices her immediately, a rattling hiss escaping its toothless jaw. "Fools come to my door," it rasps in a language that should not exist between syllables. "The living taste sweetest when they bring their own blood offerings."

Jeane freezes, one hand still clutching the roof edge while the other reaches for her spell components pouch. The wight's chains rattle as it strains against them—magical bonds that somehow tether its power into the tower's very structure. She realizes with horror that those chains aren't holding it prisoner; they're funneling its predatory energy outward, feeding the wards below and extending its senses across the entire accursed building. The Time-Splitting Sword lies just beyond the altar, but between her and salvation stands a creature that has been feasting on lost adventurers for centuries. Its gaze locks onto hers, and she feels the pull—an irresistible desire to step closer, to kneel before it and offer herself willingly. The wards below aren't just defenses; they're the wight's early warning system, designed to feed it living prey for its endless hunger. Fifteen minutes remain before whatever's truly inside this tower notices the commotion downstairs. Jeane has seconds to decide whether to descend and warn her companions or try to retrieve the sword while the wight is still chained and focused on her alone. The choice is hers, but the time for it is already running out. The wight's laughter echoes across the stone as its chains rattle again—louder this time, and closer.

I watch Jeane ascend the crumbling stones of the tower, her form a stark silhouette against the fading light of dusk. The air crackles with an unnatural energy, a palpable hunger that seems to emanate from the very structure itself. It's as if the tower is alive, watching us, waiting.
My fingers tighten around my spellbook, the leather cover worn smooth from years of use. I can feel the wards pulsing in the air around me, like a heartbeat. They're feeding on something—perhaps the life force of those who dare to approach—but what they feed is unclear.
The shadow I glimpsed in the uppermost window has not moved. It's too still, too deliberate to be mere play of light and shadow. Whatever it is, it knows we're here now. The question isn't if, but when it will decide how to respond to our presence.
I turn my attention back to Jeane. She's reached the top now, her figure small against the vast expanse of the roof. She looks down for a moment, and even from this distance I can see the grim line of her jaw. We've come too far to turn back, but the cost of this knowledge is starting to feel heavier by the second.
I catch sight of Merrin and Varikka working together on the facade, marking stones with quick, practiced motions. They make an effective team—Merrin's keen eye and Varrika's brute force a perfect balance. Still, a tremor runs through me. This is no ordinary ruin we're dealing with. This is a place of ancient power, a repository of secrets and perhaps even madness.
The wards pulse again, stronger this time. It feels like a warning, a final chance to flee before the trap springs shut. But we're already inside it—the wards have tasted us already. There's no going back now.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever comes next. We have a job to do, and I intend to see it through, even if it means confronting whatever lies waiting at the heart of this accursed place.

I climb toward the roof's edge, one hand over the other, my leather gloves slick with dew. The stone is cold and rough against my palms—the tower itself seems to resist me, its surface resisting grip like oil on water. Below, I can hear Varikka mutter something about bad omens. The wards' hunger pulses with each handhold—like teeth testing flesh before biting down. They feed on proximity alone; we're already in the trap whether we step inside or not. The shadow upstairs hasn't moved since I first spotted it hours ago—watching, waiting, perhaps knowing we'd come regardless of the signs posted by Elric. At the roof's edge, I haul myself up and over in one fluid motion, wings tucking close to my back instinctively. The roof is a garden of broken statues and dead flowers, everything covered in a layer of pale dust that glows faintly in the moonlight. Directly ahead stands what looks like an altar—a black stone slab with chains anchored into it. And chained there is... something. A figure hunched over the altar, barely visible beneath a tattered cloak. Bones show through gaps in the fabric—pale and stark against the darkness. As I approach, it lifts its head slowly, and I see empty eye sockets fixed on me with terrible intensity. The chains rattle as it shifts its weight. It's a wight—a corpse animated by dark magic, bound to this place like... like those wards feed off it somehow. Its energy pulses through the structure, connecting everything—the wight to the wards to whatever feeds upon them both. My hand moves toward my spell components pouch before I even realize I'm reaching for them. But then I pause—because something about this feels... calculated? The timing too perfect, the chains too loud when they moved just now... almost as if it wanted me to find it here.

I swallow hard, watching Jeane haul herself over the roof's edge. The wards' hunger pulses in time with my own racing heart as I step up beside Varikka, eyes fixed on the tower's facade. "Those wards... they're feeding," I mutter, more to myself than to the dwarf. "And whatever's inside... it knows we're here now."

Varikka grunts in agreement, mace gripped tight in her callused hands. "Aye, and if it sees us as prey rather than trespassers..." She leaves the thought unfinished, but the unspoken implication hangs heavy in the air. I nod, mind racing as I try to piece together our next move. We can't back away now—not with Jeane already inside and whatever that shadow is watching from above. But charging forward blindly would be suicide. "Halie," I call out, keeping my voice hushed. "We need that map of the ground floor ASAP. And we need to find a way in that doesn't trip every ward in the place."

The cleric nods, eyes narrowed in concentration as she begins to sketch out the tower's layout based on what little information we have. I turn back to the tower, studying its weathered stones for any hint of a hidden entrance. There has to be a way... I just need to find it before whatever's inside decides we're dinner. My fingers twitch toward my lockpicks, but I force myself to hesitate. Brute-forcing our way in could set off every ward in the place. No, we need to be smart about this. I take a deep breath, steeling myself as I glance back up at Jeane's silhouette against the sky. "Just hold on up there," I mutter under my breath. "We'll figure this out... somehow."