Round 7 Transcript

Jeane stepped through the ash toward Gravedigger Renn with a predator's grace, her eyes scanning the shadows of the ruined city as much as they fixed on the cowering informant before them. The storm overhead rumbled like distant drums heralding an unwanted arrival—but she had faced worse tempests and more terrifying presences than a little rain or wind. "Silra," Jeane said, her voice cutting through the elven rogue's interrogation with practiced authority, "enough games." She circled around to face Gravedigger Renn from his other side, effectively pinning him between them, a trapped rat before predators who had grown tired of playing nice. Her unholy symbol gleamed faintly beneath her cloak as she moved—an intimidating detail that wasn't lost on the terrified gravedigger. "You will tell us everything," Jeane continued, her tone leaving no room for argument or further lies, "about what truly awaits us in Gravehill—and specifically within that church you claim needs 'reconstruction.'" She let a cruel smile play across her lips, knowing it would unnerve him further. "Or I will ensure your next resting place is not among the graves you tend to now."

Her hand moved casually toward the rusted key she kept hidden—a symbol of old power and broken locks—and drew strength from its weight against her palm as she awaited his response. This was not a negotiation; this was an extraction of truth by any means necessary.

Silra crouches low in the ash, her movements fluid and controlled as she circles Gravedigger Renn like a predator stalking prey. I'm going to ask this once more, you miserable little man, because my patience has run thinner than your neck would make for a proper hanging. What are you so terrified of underneath that city? Because it sure as shit wasn't on the brochure when you signed us up for this joyride. She draws a short blade from her belt with practiced ease—its edge still sharp, unlike Gravedigger's wits—and traces a lazy arc through the air just inches from his face. Talk. Fast and truthful. Or I'll find out what makes those rat eyes of yours pop right out of your skull. Her gaze flicks sideways, noting Jeane's approach with a mixture of appreciation for her sorceress's power and lingering wariness—too many deals gone wrong because someone got cocky with too much firepower. The storm overhead rumbles like distant drums heralding an unwanted arrival. And just so we're clear, if there's something down there big enough to make you soil yourself, that's not a quirk—I expect immediate and violent recourse. She leans in close, her voice dropping to a dangerous purr. So which is it? You got cold feet about some old city traps? Or did you lead us into the fucking maw of something with teeth? The lantern she holds casts long, dancing shadows across Renn's terrified features, accentuating every twitch and spasm. Her hand tightens on the blade handle—ready to either carve answers out of him or dive for cover if whatever he fears decides to make an entrance.