Round 7 Transcript

The air is heavy with anticipation as the stone floor shudders once more, the rope creaking in protest. Sister Hale's grip on the unholy symbol tightens, and the eerie glow emanating from it grows brighter, illuminating the dark recesses of the church. The sound of scraping stone echoes through the chamber as Silra works to pry open a hidden compartment, her fingers moving with a practiced ease that belies the danger lurking beneath their feet. The floorboards beneath them continue to shift, the creaking growing louder and more insistent, as if whatever is stirring beneath is trying to break free. The air is thick with tension, the weight of their decision hanging heavy over the group like a physical presence.

I crouch low as the floor shudders again, rope tight in my fist. If this stone remembers blood rituals, it probably also remembers escape routes—better than remembering hospitality. My fingers find the seam I was prying earlier, stone grating against stone. Whatever's clawing up from below? It's not invited to the party. We're here for followers and gold, not basement monsters with a grudge. I wrench the hidden panel open with both hands, dust and darkness spilling out. Maintenance tunnel—old, but still intact. Small enough we'd have to go single-file, but large enough whatever's digging probably can't follow. Unless it's a particularly skinny, determined monster with a grudge about renovation projects. The sound of scraping stone intensifies below us. So, Hale, either command that thing to settle down or hand me the rope—I'm voting we don't test how much faith can hold back whatever sleeps under this church.

I step closer to Silra as she pries at the stonework. My unholy symbol throbs with a heat that feels almost feverish now—this church is bleeding its history into us. If there's an escape route, we need it before whatever's beneath gets here first. But I won't lead my companions into some forgotten passage without knowing where it goes. I lower myself carefully onto the shifting floorboards, extending one hand toward Silra and offering a length of rope with the other. We go down together if we go at all—no heroics, no rushing blindly. My voice is steady despite the stone groaning beneath me like a beast complaining in its sleep.

To Jeane across the room: Keep that fire ready but contained. If this chamber decides to collapse, we need an immediate path out—and I'd rather not immolate ourselves trying to leave.