Round 1 Transcript

As dusk settled over the ravaged landscape of Gravehill, the party stood at the edge of the ruined city, the wind whipping through their hair like skeletal fingers. Jeane adjusted her pack, the weight of her sorcerer's tools digging into her shoulder, while Silra rummaged through the depths of her bag for a canteen of water. Sister Hale, her clerical robes billowing in the breeze, gazed up at the darkening sky, her eyes squinting against the fading light. Gravedigger Renn, huddled in the corner of their makeshift camp, watched the party with a mixture of fear and curiosity. His beady eyes darted between them, his gnarled hands clutching the worn handle of his shovel as if it might offer some semblance of protection. Before them, the crumbling church loomed like a specter, its stone walls cracked and overgrown with vines. The wind carried the faint scent of decay and neglect, a morbid perfume that clung to the air like a shroud. A rusty iron gate, once adorned with the symbol of the city's former ruling family, now hung crookedly from its hinges, creaking in the gentle breeze.

Jeane circled the perimeter of the church grounds with measured steps. The ashfall here is thicker than elsewhere in Gravehill—the wind doesn't reach this deeply into the old district. She paused by the remains of a fountain, her fingers tracing the eroded stone. Something about this place feels... wrong. Not undead wrong, but built wrong. A distant sound carried on the wind—a cry? Or just the city groaning around us? We should enter before dark falls completely. Silra, scout the perimeter for any obvious traps or watchers. Hale, keep your holy symbol visible and ready to invoke whatever protection your order provides against... she searched for the right word ...whatever this lingering dread is. The rusted key from the dead magistrate weighed heavy in her pocket. I will attempt to open the main doors with magic—silently—and we'll secure the interior before setting up camp inside. Questions? Or are we all too tired and hungry for subtlety? She waited, hand already moving to form a silent spell gesture under her cloak—a spell to unlock what should remain locked without alerting whatever might be listening.

Silra moved with practiced silence around the church perimeter, her keen eyes scanning every inch of stone and ground. Ash is piled high here—too high for just neglect. Somebody's been tending this ruin more recently than the stories suggest. The lantern light flickered as a gust swept through the ruined courtyard, revealing shadows that seemed to deepen unnaturally at the corners of her vision.

She crouched near the main entrance, tracing her fingers along the doorframe while Jeane worked her magic nearby. Built wrong indeed. The joinery's off by a hair—intentional sloppiness masquerading as age. Whoever designed this wanted to make sure people noticed it wasn't right. Sister Hale stood ready with her symbol, looking nervous and determined. Silra almost smirked. If anything crawls out of the dark, aim for its eyes first. Works on most things that crawl. She produced a small set of picks from inside her coat and began working them into the ancient lock mechanism.

To Jeane: You're doing good work with that spell, but we might need something louder if whatever's in there is mechanical instead of magical. Old city traps had teeth.

I look at the ash-choked doors of this abandoned church with something like dread mixed with duty. The very stones feel wrong somehow—Jeane was right about that. I keep my unholy symbol visible, ready to invoke whatever protection it might offer if we need it. Silra's lockpicking tools scrape softly in the pre-dusk quiet. Hear that? Sounds like she's almost through. I glance around the street behind us—still empty, but for how long? Gravedigger Renn mentioned city guard patrols and those 'traps from the old days.' We need to be quick. Jeane finishes her spell, a faint green glow fading from her fingers. Inside then? All together? Silra nods, stepping back as the lock clicks open with a sound like a coffin lid closing. Let's go. She pushes the door inward slowly, revealing a dark interior that smells of age and something else—something foul.

I step forward before anyone else can volunteer, lantern held high. My shadow stretches ahead of me into the gloom, distorted by the flickering light. "Stay close," I say to both of them, my voice softer than I intended. "And if anything moves that shouldn't, call out immediately."