Round 4 Transcript

I look at Gravedigger Renn with cool assessment. His fear is authentic—he thinks we are fools for coming here, that his warning was enough to send us scurrying back to our mundane lives. He does not know what kind of fool I am. "Renn," I say, my voice carrying a practiced velvet tone that could coax secrets from stone, "the darkness cannot harm those who command it."

I draw upon the unholy symbol at my neck; its surface feels warm in this ash-choked air. With deliberate slowness, I trace one of its intricate sigils—a gesture meant to be seen and understood. The storm overhead rumbles approval. "Come," I say to my companions, turning towards the church entrance, "let us see what awaits within. Gravedigger Renn's fear is merely...persuasive theatre." My steps are steady, measured—confidence is its own shield against superstition.

Silra circles the crumbling church entrance like a cat checking a new windowsill, her gaze sharp and appraising. The stone is old, worn smooth by time and weather—good for fingerholds, bad for secrets. She traces the gap in the wall where the door used to hang; it's been pried off, not rotted away. Someone didn't want to invite guests. This whole situation smells like a setup, she thinks, her hand resting casually on the dagger at her belt. Gravedigger Renn's fear is authentic, sure—but so was the stink of his sweat when he led them here through the ruins. Too easy. Too convenient. And now Hale wants to walk right in?