Round 3 Transcript

Jeane stepped forward, her boots crunching on the ash-choked ground, gaze fixed on the skeletal remains of the church looming left of the crossroads. The air tasted like old death and burnt offerings, but beneath it was something else—old stone and deeper darkness. "Renn's fear wasn't just for show," she said, pulling her unholy symbol free from under her cloak. Its cold weight settled against her palm as she spoke, voice cutting through the pre-storm quiet. "He knew too little to be useful, which means he was meant to know less." She turned to face Silra and Sister Hale directly, lantern-light catching the sharp line of her jaw and the calculating glint in her eyes. "If we leave him alive out here, city guard or whatever else hunts these ruins will find him and follow his scent back to us."

Her free hand gestured toward Gravehill's distant heart, where lights flickered like trapped stars behind the storm clouds. "The church restoration is our purpose here—they want absolute discretion, no loose ends." She moved her attention to Sister Hale specifically, voice carrying a tone that was less question than statement: "We can't afford witnesses we didn't control."

Jeane walked toward where Gravedigger Renn's huddled form still lay in the shadows of the ruined city entrance. Her movements were deliberate and measured—not rushed violence but cold calculation. She crouched beside him, one hand moving to grasp his shoulder and roll him onto his back with casual strength. His eyes were open and staring at the ash-grey sky, fear frozen on his face. "Renn was going to die either way," she said flatly to the others behind her, not looking back as she performed a quick but thorough search of his body—finding nothing useful beyond confirming he carried no papers or identifying marks that could connect him to them. She stood then, dusting off her hands with practiced disinterest in the dead weight beside her. "We move forward into Gravehill now. Sister Hale's faith can deal with his soul if it bothers you—the body is just evidence we don't need. As for what moves beneath these streets?" Jeane's lips curled slightly—a predatory smile without warmth. "Let it come. I've faced worse things than whatever crawls in the dark when there are no witnesses around."

I don't trust easy paths any more than I trust men who talk too much, and this road is offering exactly zero comfort. The church looms left like a bad omen with teeth—I can see three possible entry points from here, all of them dark as sin and twice as welcoming to whatever crawls in the night. Sister Hale looks ready to pray the ruins away, which won't help us if something has claws instead of a soul. Jeane is already scanning for threats I can't even name yet—her kind sees things that'd make my blood run cold. We've got a scared informant who pointed us here and then vanished faster than a virgin's virtue at court, and now we're meant to just... walk in? The lantern light flickers like a nervous pulse against the ash-choked darkness. I draw my dagger—cold iron, sharp edge—and trace it along the ground where the paths fork. Old magic leaves residue, and new death leaves stains. This road into Gravehill? It's got both. "Listen," I say to them, voice low enough for just us three, "Renn might've been honest about the church needing restoration—he seemed genuinely terrified of something down there—but people fear what they don't understand, not always what wants to kill them. We need specifics, not vague warnings and prayers."

I stand up and face Jeane directly—the sorcerer reads intentions as easily as I do lies. "You said he was hiding something. Well? Was it a map of the city's sewers that'd drown us all, or just his own guilty conscience about what happened here twenty years ago?" My fingers tighten on the dagger handle. I don't wait for an answer—I walk toward the abandoned church, eyes scanning every shadow and angle. "Because if we're walking into a trap, I'd rather know it's coming than stumble into it like fools. And if there's no trap, then we've got work to do—either way, standing here arguing about fear won't fix this city or pay our bills."

I will not be the reason we fail this quest before it begins. Sister Hale's voice cut through the wind like a blade, sharp but controlled. She turned her back on Gravehill's skeletal church—it looked hungry in the storm light—and faced the fork in the road directly. "Renn said the city guard patrols both paths," she stated, pulling out the rusted iron key from her belt. "But he also said they favor the right route—the one away from the ruins." Her hand tightened around the cold metal. "That's where we go. We avoid their main patrol and enter Gravehill through a back way—use stealth or distraction if needed, but keep us off their primary routes."

She looked at Silra and Jeane in turn, her expression unyielding despite the weariness lining her face. The symbol of her faith pressed against her palm, a small anchor in this sea of ash and dread. "We're here to rebuild, not to fight every shadow or chase ghosts through crumbling streets. Let's do this smart—no heroics, no splitting up, and no leaving anyone behind."