Round 1 Transcript

The party stands at the edge of the ash-choked road, the ruined city of Gravehill looming before them like a specter. Dusk casts long shadows across the desolate landscape, and the stormy sky seems to darken by the minute. The air is heavy with the acrid scent of smoke and ash, and the only sound is the distant howling of wind through the broken windows of the abandoned buildings. To their left, the entrance to the ruined church beckons, its crumbling stones covered in vines and moss. A weathered sign creaks in the wind, bearing the symbol of a crescent moon and an arrow pointing towards the church. The party can see that the door is slightly ajar, as if inviting them to enter. Gravedigger Renn, the frightened informant, huddles in the shadows nearby, his eyes darting nervously between the party and the approaching city guard. The guard's torches cast flickering shadows on the ground, making it seem as though something moves of its own accord. The party knows they have to act soon, before the guard becomes too suspicious or the storm intensifies into a full-blown tempest. They can either push forward towards the church, try to reason with Gravedigger Renn, or prepare for a confrontation with the city guard.

I step toward Gravedigger Renn before his cowardice can send him scampering off again. The city guard's torches approach—amateurs, their formation is sloppy—but they carry steel nonetheless. We have no need of them. I raise my hand and speak the word that sends a tendril of shadow snaking across the ground to wrap around Renn's leg. "Tell me everything you know about what lies beneath this city," I command, my voice carrying the weight of command rather than supplication. "Leave nothing out."

Silra scans Gravedigger Renn huddled in the shadows—trembling informant type, good for nothing but fear. She glances at Jeane's shadow tendril, noting the casual magic expenditure without an obvious plan beyond intimidation.

Renn will talk either way. Doesn't matter how you scare him. What matters is those city guard torches getting closer, and that half-open church door with its invitation to trouble. The smart move isn't interrogating our terrified source in plain sight where anyone can see. It's getting inside before we have to split attention between questions and confrontation.

Silra steps forward, her hand already checking the hilt of her stiletto beneath her cloak. "Interrogation is fine," she says, dry tone cutting through Jeane's theatrics. "After we're behind stone walls that don't have guard patrols watching us work." She jerks her chin toward the church entrance. "You can wrap him in shadow all you like once we're out of the street."

I step toward Renn before he can run off again, my hand already reaching for the unholy symbol at my neck. The city guard's torches approach—amateurs, their formation is sloppy—but they carry steel nonetheless. We have no need of them. I raise my voice, not to command but to offer: "Good men, this is a matter of faith and salvation." I turn to Renn. "Tell me everything you know about what lies beneath this city—quickly—and we can speak somewhere more private."

Silra's already moving toward the church entrance, practical as ever. She glances back once. "The guard sees us talking now anyway. We might as well finish it inside and get off the street." She has a point—they're close enough to hear.