Round 10 Transcript

The older guard's eyes narrow further as he watches Hale's symbol pulse with dark energy, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. The captain's expression is a mixture of suspicion and wariness, and for a moment, it seems like he might charge at them both. Suddenly, the younger guard returns, his face flushed from running up the street. "Captain, we've got a crowd gathering outside," he says, eyeing Hale's symbol with a mix of fear and curiosity. "They're talking about the church, and... whatever is down there."

The captain's gaze flicks to Hale, then back to the guard. "What do they know?" he asks gruffly. The younger guard swallows hard. "Some folks say it's the Devouring," he says. "Renn spoke of it before he disappeared. Others claim it's just an old legend."

Hale's grip on her symbol tightens, and she takes a step back, eyes fixed intently on the captain. "We're not leaving until we know what's down there," she says, her voice firm but controlled. The captain's expression doesn't change, but his hand hesitates on his sword hilt for a moment before he nods curtly. "Very well. You have five minutes to explore the church. If you don't emerge within that time, we'll be forced to... persuade you to leave."

The guard captain's sword remains half-drawn—caught between suspicion of us and whatever ancient horror he fears might emerge if we provoke it further. I let my unholy symbol pulse again, this time with enough force that the air crackles around us like ozone before a storm. The light from its depths shifts from crimson to deepest violet—a color that seems to drink in what little ambient light remains instead of reflecting it. "Five minutes," I say coolly, voice carrying easily despite the low ceiling and thick dust. "That's more than enough time for a proper... inspection."

My sorcerous senses are already straining downward—tasting the ancient wrongness that festers below. Whatever sleeps there isn't merely dead; it's been waiting, dreaming, maybe even feeding on the city above through generations of sealed doors and forgotten rituals. The guard captain's reaction wasn't fear for us but fear of what we might unleash.

I turn to Silra as she surfaces, noting how her hand lingers near her dagger hilt—she heard something down there that spooked even her, which means it's worth investigating before the guards decide "persuasion" involves their blades. The younger guard's mention of a crowd gathering outside is either good or very bad timing; if we act quickly enough, whatever happens below might be blamed on "the Devouring" rather than our direct intervention.

To myself: This graveyard reeks of opportunity—and I intend to bury whoever stands between us and our goals. I step forward until I'm nearly chest-to-chest with the captain—close enough that he can feel the heat radiating from my symbol. We're not leaving until we understand what's down there, I say, voice dropping to a tone that carries in the confined space like dark promise. Because whatever you fear? It's already awake. The question is whether we'll be its masters or just another meal. My fingers move in a subtle gesture—calling power without actually casting anything visible yet. The air around us shimmers with potential energy, and both guards' faces pale despite their attempt to maintain stern expressions.

Silra emerges from below, rope in hand, dust coating her leathers and face. Five minutes? She says quietly to Hale, eyes flicking between the guards. That's either generous or stupid. The thing down there—it moved when I snagged it on the hook. Big enough that whatever I caught pulled back hard before breaking free. The older guard's expression darkens at this information. You've already provoked it once then? His sword slides another inch from its sheath. Excellent. Whatever happens next is officially your problem, not ours. We tried to warn you. Silra's hand tightens around her dagger hilt—her default when options are limited and the situation is spiraling toward violence she'd rather avoid if possible. Provoked? She matches his grim tone. I merely... verified that something interesting resides below. Whether it's worth exploring further depends on what happens next. Her teal eyes narrow as she calculates angles: the gathering crowd outside could be useful distraction, but also means witnesses. The younger guard looks green enough that he'd probably wet himself if magic flew—useless in a fight. The older captain though... he knows something specific about whatever sleeps down there, and his sword hand hasn't fully drawn yet because part of him hopes we'll just leave.

To Hale: Whatever the Devouring is, it's already reacting to our presence. If we're going down there anyway, might be worth finding out exactly what scares these bastards more than three armed women with obvious weird symbols. Her fingers brush her own unholy symbol—a small gesture that says she's already mentally preparing spells just in case the captain loses his nerve. We could always... persuade him to give us more time? The suggestion is delivered flatly, without emphasis—just stating a possibility for Hale to consider or reject.

I won't let them send us down there as suicide pawns for their cowardice. Sister Hale steps forward, her unholy symbol held out between herself and the captain—a clear show of non-aggression that's also a visible reminder of what she is. You've got five minutes to reconsider this 'persuasion' plan before we make it very public how you're trying to murder three women who are trying to help your city. Her voice stays level but carries through the confined space with authority that makes even Jeane raise an eyebrow.

To herself: The captain knows something about what's down there—something specific beyond just 'the Devouring.' That hesitation wasn't fear of us, it was calculation: weighing what we might do against what might emerge. His sword hand is still halfway drawn because part of him wants us gone before whatever sleeps below fully awakens. If I can create enough doubt about his orders, he might back off without violence just to avoid the political fallout. She turns her full attention to Silra: Whatever's down there moved when you snagged it? That means our presence has already disturbed its slumber—five minutes won't change that fact. We need to go down prepared and stay in control of the situation, not stumble into whatever's waiting because we're rushing with half a plan. Her fingers trace subtle patterns over her symbol as she prepares blessings and protections without actually casting them yet. Tell me exactly what you felt—the size, the direction it moved, anything concrete that might give us an edge. To Jeane: The captain's fear isn't of us—it's of what we might unleash. That means whatever sleeps below is something even armed guards are trained to avoid. Her eyes narrow as she considers the implications. If we're going down there anyway, we do it smart and in full control. No reckless rushing that turns this into a desperate fight instead of calculated exploration.