Round 6 Transcript

Silra moved with a predator's economy along the church wall, her fingers finding purchase in cracks barely visible. Something's got more teeth than we bargained for here—can feel it on my skin like old magic gone wrong. She glanced back at Jeane and Hale, eyes sharp. The guard isn't our only problem. This place has been used recently—and not by ghosts. She crouched low, tracing the ground with her dagger's tip. See these? Boot prints, fresh despite the ash fall. Someone big, heavy gear—soldier or something worse. She stood suddenly, moving to a section of wall where ancient stone met newer mortar. This here... this is recent work. Hidden door maybe. Or a trap for fools who poke around. Silra looked at Jeane and Hale with the dry wit that never quite left her voice, even in ruins. So we've got the city's attention, whatever's under us moving dirt, and now whoever made these lovely new entryways. Let's not be heroes—the kind who end up as meat for whoever dug those tunnels. I say we find another way in, or at least scope this out properly before we stick our arses through some obvious entrance. She moved to the corner of the church, pressing her ear against the stone. If there's a way inside that doesn't lead us straight to whatever's down there, it'll be here. Old buildings always have a back door—literal or figurative. And right now, I'd rather face whoever built this place than whatever's been digging from below. She drew a thin file from her belt and began probing the mortar line of the cornerstone. Let's find out what's behind curtain number one before we bring the whole damn circus in here with us, yeah?

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. The air here feels heavy, wrong somehow. I turn to Silra. You're right, something's not right about this place. But we can't just stand out in the open either. My gaze shifts to Jeane then back to Silra. We need to move quickly and carefully. I'll go first—if there's a trap or a guardian inside, I'd rather take whatever punishment it might deal than see one of you hurt. I draw my mace slowly from where it hangs at my hip, the metal scraping softly against the leather scabbard. Stay close behind me. And be ready for anything—old magic, old traps, or just desperate people hiding in a ruined church.

I step toward the doors with a confidence that feels earned despite the grit in my teeth and ash in every breath. The air inside this place tastes of dust and something else—something ancient and wrong. "Sister," I say, turning to meet her wary eyes, "our informant didn't lead us astray out of malice." My voice is steady, a counterpoint to the storm that's starting to churn above us. "He fears this place for good reason, yes—but fear is no substitute for opportunity when you've got guts and a purpose bigger than your own skin."

I trace the symbol on my unholy amulet with one thumb, feeling its familiar weight. The rusted key from that dead magistrate weighs heavy in my other pocket—a key to unlock more than just doors, if I play it right. "Silra's got sharp eyes," I call out toward her silhouette moving along the wall, "but we need something more than shadows and guesses." I draw a small glass vial from within my robes—inside swirls a dark liquid that catches what little light remains. "This was brewed for moments like this." I uncork it slowly, the scent sharp and acidic. "Sister Hale," I say, meeting her gaze directly now, "you're right to be cautious, but we're here because the gods have seen fit to test our worth—and I mean all the gods, not just the ones who built this rotten church." A smirk tugs at my lips despite the situation. "Let's put Gravedigger Renn's information to the test properly."

I drip a single bead of the liquid onto the ground near the door's base where it immediately begins to smoke and spread like oil on water—revealing faint carvings in the stone that blend perfectly with the surrounding rock until now. "This is how you find what's truly hidden," I explain, already planning my next move. "Now we know there's something here worth finding—and worth protecting."