Round 8 Transcript

Jeane advanced through the ash with the cold certainty of a woman who has walked this path before—through blood, betrayal, and the sweet rot of ambition fulfilled. She fixed Gravedigger Renn with eyes like chips of obsidian, seeing not a terrified informant but an obstacle to be removed or converted. "Silra," she called out sharply over the wind, "the mouse squeaks about traps because he knows no other way. We waste breath asking what scuttles in the dark when we should be lighting our own path." Her gaze flicked to Sister Hale's clerics robes with a faint curl of the lip—as though the very thought of divine intervention tasted like ash in her mouth. Jeane drew her unholy symbol from beneath her cloak, letting its twisted metal catch what little light remained. The air around it seemed to thicken, and the wind died down as if holding its breath. "If this wretch fears something moving under the streets more than he fears us—then we offer him a better master." She knelt before Renn with predatory grace, her voice dropping to a purr that barely rose above the storm. "Tell me what crawls in your nightmares," she said, pressing the symbol against his trembling hand. "And I'll show you something far worse that walks among us."

Her intention was clear—she would bind this sniveling fool's fear into service, using his terror as a leash and her dark arts to ensure their passage through whatever ancient horrors lurked beneath Gravehill's streets.

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 these ruins that even a rat would have more courage? She stops directly in front of him, her hand casually resting on the hilt of her rapier. You've led us this far with promises of easy plunder and now you cower like a child? Speak plainly or I'll find someone who will—after I make an example of your fear for what it costs us. The storm's coming, which means we need that church secured before morning. So out with it: what crawls in the dark here that even a grave robber fears? The wind picks up, whistling through the broken windows and shattered doorways of Gravehill. I don't scare easy, Renn—been down worse holes than this city's got to offer—but you smell genuine terror. That kind comes with teeth attached, and I'd rather face them knowing what I'm dealing with than stumble into an ambush because our guide lost his stones. She draws her rapier a few inches from the scabbard—a deliberate warning, not an attack. Talk fast or I'll find someone who will—after I demonstrate why you should have spoken up sooner.