Round 5 Transcript

Silra crouched low against the church wall, her fingers tracing old mortar lines as she listened. Something's off here—too quiet, even for a ruin. She glanced back at Sister Hale's warning stance. We're not the only ones interested in this place, I'd bet my best dagger on it. Her eyes caught movement near the roof—a flicker too quick to be shadow. She pointed it out to Jeane without moving her head. Look there, above the left arch. Someone just moved. She drew her short sword with a whisper of steel. Unless ghosts have gotten better at reconnaissance in the last decade. Without waiting for permission or argument, Silra vaulted toward the corner of the building, her back pressed against the stone as she circled around. She kept her sword low and ready, every nerve screaming warnings about what might be lurking in the darkness between them and their destination. We've got company, girls—and they're watching us.

I step between Jeane and the doors, my hand raised in warning. "Wait," I say, and there's steel in my voice despite the weariness clinging to every word like ash. My eyes scan the stonework, searching for any sign of recent work—repaired cracks, fresh mortar, anything that might suggest a trap or a guard posted inside. "Silra's right," I continue, turning back to face her. "If Gravedigger betrayed us, there could be city guards waiting in there." My gaze drops to the rusty key clutched in my hand—the one we took from the dead magistrate weeks ago. It feels heavy now, a potential promise or a death sentence. "We need to approach this carefully," I say firmly. "Let me go first—I can heal us if needed, and maybe talk our way out of trouble." I adjust my grip on the unholy symbol hanging at my hip, drawing strength from its cold weight. The metal feels wrong in my hand, a reminder of the path we've chosen. "Jeane," I add, meeting her impatient glare, "use your magic to create a distraction if things go bad. Silra—stay alert and watch our backs." My voice drops to a murmur. "And pray to whatever gods might still listen in this cursed city."

With that, I step forward, pushing against the heavy doors. They groan open slowly, revealing the cavernous interior of the church—a vast space swallowed by darkness and shadows. The air inside is colder than outside, thick with dust and the smell of old stone and decay. "Stay close," I whisper as we file in after me. My lantern casts flickering light on walls covered in faded frescoes depicting scenes of sin and salvation that now seem disturbingly ironic. As my eyes adjust to the gloom, I spot fresh footprints in the dust—more than one set—and what looks like a recently disturbed pile of debris near the altar. "Someone's been here," I breathe, raising my unholy symbol as a makeshift weapon. "Stay alert."

I draw my unholy symbol from beneath my robes, letting its dark metal catch what little light remains. "The city guard won't dare approach a place like this—not in the open." My voice is cool, carrying the weight of certainty despite the grit on my skin and the ache in my bones. "I see it now," I say, nodding towards where Silra's gaze had fixed moments before—a section of wall where shadows seemed to cling with unnatural persistence. "Someone's watching from within." A smirk tugs at my lips, half amusement, half calculation. "Good—let them watch and wonder what a group of women could possibly want in a ruin like this."

I step closer to the wall Silra indicated, raising my symbol—a crude sigil etched into black iron—and begin an incantation under my breath. The words are guttural, ancient things that rasp against the ash-filled air. Power prickles along my skin as I channel a tiny fraction of my sorcerous might. Reveal hidden watchers, I command silently, pressing the symbol against the stone where the shadows pool thickest. A faint shimmer ripples through the darkness, and for just an instant, I glimpse the outline of a figure—a guard, perhaps?—jerk back from whatever vantage point they'd occupied. "Sister," I call over my shoulder, not breaking concentration, "there's at least one set of eyes on us. Let's give them something worth reporting, shall we?"

My fingers trace the symbol's edges as the power ebbs, leaving me slightly winded but satisfied. I turn back to face my companions fully, a dangerous smile playing about my lips. "Shall we continue our tour of the premises? Or would you prefer to make camp in the open and invite the whole city guard for tea?"