Round 10 Transcript

Jeane Cromwell surveys the crumbling church with an appraising eye, her fingers tracing the unholy sigils inked across her pale skin. Four recent visitors? She muses aloud, more to herself than the others. Interesting. Perhaps our predecessors have left us a gift—or a trap. Her gaze flicks to the side entrance Silra had pointed out, then upward to the storm-dark sky overhead. A cold gust of wind carrying the scent of decay stirs her raven-black hair as she speaks again, voice low and measured. We came here for sanctuary and purpose, sisters—and that door offers both. She pulls her unholy symbol from beneath her cloak, its gem catching what little light remains. But we walk into darkness armed only with faith and steel. Perhaps we should alter the equation. With a fluid motion that speaks of years spent mastering such arts, Jeane begins to weave a spell, her fingers tracing patterns in the air while she mutters incantations under her breath. A simple ward against mundane threats—old wood and rusted iron have their own hungers. The air shimmers around them briefly as the magic takes hold.

She turns to face Silra directly now, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips. As for that service entrance, let us explore it together. I would know who shares our interest in this particular ruin—and whether they mean us harm or opportunity. Her eyes gleam with an intensity that suggests she welcomes either possibility.

Jeane steps forward, her movements deliberate and controlled as she approaches the archway. Sister Hale, your prayers for guidance are welcome—but should we encounter... she pauses, choosing her words carefully ...unsettled spirits of the departed, I would have you ready to send them on their way. Silra, your eyes and blade keep us grounded in this world. With a final glance back at the looming church facade, Jeane Cromwell steps through the archway into darkness, her hand already reaching for a spell component at her belt. Let our hosts reveal themselves—one way or another.

Silra circles the footprint Jeane highlighted with deliberate care, her fingers brushing against the stones. Four sets of tracks in this muck—and they're all recent enough to still have disturbed some of the finer ash deposits. She straightens up, grey eyes scanning their surroundings with predatory intensity.

Jeane's right—this could be either help or hindrance, and I'm not inclined to trust convenient coincidences when we've got the city watch breathing down our necks already. Her hand rests casually near her weapon hilt as she turns back toward the church. Sister Hale might want to 'reclaim this place for a proper faith,' but we need to know who else has been sniffing around before we start spreading our legs for the locals. Silra crouches low, examining the service entrance with professional interest—checking for signs of forced entry or traps. If someone's been using this place as a hideout or a meeting spot, they might've left something interesting behind. I'm going to take a quick look inside before we commit to setting up shop here. She draws her weapon—a slender but wicked-looking dagger—and moves toward the archway with predatory grace, pausing only long enough to glance back at Jeane and Sister Hale. Keep watch out here. If anything bigger than a rat scratches at the walls or if anyone else shows up, I want to know immediately—before they get behind us.

I step toward the side entrance Silra indicated, my hand resting on the hilt of my mace, the lantern held high with my other arm. The rusty key weighs heavy in my pocket—the key Gravedigger Renn claimed belonged to a dead magistrate whose name he could not recall. If these are the tracks of whoever prepared this place for us, then we must follow them with purpose, I say, my voice cutting through the wind's mournful song. But first—Jeane, cast your sorcerous light ahead. Let it reveal any traps or signs that would betray our trust.

I pull back my hood, exposing myself to the ash-laden air, and take a step toward the dark archway. The dust on those tracks tells me they came recently—but how recently? Days? Hours? My heart thuds with tired unease. Silra, I need your rogue's eye on every stone as we move forward. Old city traps are as deadly as new ones, and I would rather not find that out the painful way.