Round 11 Transcript

Gravedigger Renn's voice trembles as he approaches, his eyes darting between the captain and the trio. "I... I saw it too," he stammers, his words barely audible over the howling wind. "A dark shape moving through the tunnels beneath Gravehill. It was huge, like a living thing. And the sound – it was like screaming, but not from any mouth."

Jeane's response:

The guard captain is already calculating our worth against the horror below—the moment his hand hesitates on his sword hilt tells me everything I need to know. His fear isn't of us but of what we might unleash. That cowardice could be useful. Silra's report about something moving confirms what my sorcerous senses were already screaming at me: whatever sleeps down there isn't just ancient, it's alive and aware. A thing that size, with the capacity to scream through stone—that's power waiting to be claimed or a threat that needs preemptive silencing. The Devouring—the gravedigger named it, the guards fear it.

I let my symbol pulse again—this time with genuine arcane force that makes both guards flinch and Renn stumble backward. Five minutes is an insult if we're to rebuild this city properly. My voice drops into something colder than the wind outside. Either you grant us the full night to investigate, or I ensure Gravehill has one less problem to worry about. I raise my hand slightly—fingers beginning a gesture that will unleash something unpleasant if he chooses wrong.

To myself: This guard thinks he's protecting his city from what sleeps below? I'm trying to elevate it. The question is whether he'll be useful enough to survive the process or just another sacrifice at the altar of our ambition.

I feel my expression harden as I consider what's beneath us. The captain's fear isn't for our safety—it's for his city and whatever horror he knows sleeps below. That means we're dealing with something real, not just local superstition. The gravedigger Renn's words confirm that this 'Devouring' isn't just a story—they've seen it too. Whatever's down there is big enough to pull back when threatened and powerful enough to scare armed guards into giving us five minutes before they try to murder us. That's more than a trap—it's a situation.

I turn to face the captain directly, my hand still resting on my unholy symbol but not gripping it threateningly. You're right to be afraid of what might emerge if we provoke this thing carelessly. But your solution is cowardice disguised as pragmatism—sacrificing three women you don't know to a monster you can't control. My voice drops in volume but gains weight, carrying through the confined space with genuine conviction. I'm not asking for five minutes—I'm telling you we're going down there whether you help us or not. The difference is whether this happens peaceful-like or messy like everything else in this cursed city. I meet his eyes steadily. Help us understand what we're dealing with, and maybe together we can actually solve Gravehill's problems instead of just passing them along to the next generation. To myself: He's not backing down completely—good, that means there's a path for negotiation if we approach it right. The gravedigger's testimony adds weight to our position: this isn't us being reckless, it's us trying to solve something real. If I can frame this as us helping the city instead of just serving ourselves, he might see we're not just foolish adventurers but actual problem-solvers. I glance at Jeane and Silra—both are watching me carefully. This needs to be convincing enough that even they don't roll their eyes at my idealism. We're here for a reason: to rebuild this church and help these people, not just loot ancient ruins and hope nothing follows us home. My hand shifts from the symbol to rest on the hilt of my mace in a deliberate show—ready to defend but not aggressive.*

Captain, you've got two choices right now. You can either work with us to understand what's down there, or we go anyway and whatever happens is officially your city's problem. But I swear on this symbol that if we die because you sent us into an ambush without proper information, the next thing those guards will have to fear won't be some local legend—it'll be the wrath of Lolth herself. I wait for his response with my hand resting lightly on my weapon, ready for violence but offering negotiation.

Silra's response:

Silra shifts her weight, hand still resting near the dagger hilt. Five minutes isn't nearly enough time for what needs doing down there, but it is long enough for me to scout ahead and report back if anything's waiting to ambush us. Her teal eyes flick between Hale and the guard captain, assessing both their postures—Hale with her hand on her mace ready to negotiate or fight depending on which way this goes, and the captain still half-drawn but not fully committed to violence. The gravedigger mentioned something about a dark shape moving through tunnels beneath Gravehill. If whatever's down there is big enough to pull back when threatened by my hook, then we're dealing with more than just traps. Silra's fingers brush her own unholy symbol—a quick gesture that seems casual but actually signals she's already considering which spells might be useful for close quarters or escape. The captain's fear isn't irrational—whatever sleeps down there has earned its reputation if it scares armed guards into trying to murder us instead of facing it themselves. Her voice stays flat and practical, cutting through the tension.

To Hale: If we're going down there anyway, I can move quiet enough to scout ahead fifty feet before whatever's lurking notices me—enough distance to get a sense of what we're dealing with before the full party descends into whatever trap or lair this might be. She glances at the captain. Assuming your persuasive attempt doesn't end with us all dying right here in the street, I can report back which direction the threat lies and whether there's visible traps that need bypassing. That way we don't stumble blind into something we could have avoided with proper prep. To herself: The guard captain is calculating whether Hale's religious bluff is worth more to him than whatever horror he fears down below. His hand hasn't moved further on the sword hilt—good sign that he's listening even if he doesn't like what he's hearing. If I can slip ahead quickly while they talk, I might spot whatever big dark shape Renn mentioned before it knows we're poking around. The gravedigger's trembling form catches her attention again. He saw something too—eyewitness confirms this isn't just local superstition. Whatever's down there is real and large enough to pull back when threatened. Silra's hand moves subtly toward the rope still coiled on her belt. I can be in and out within those five minutes if I move fast—enough time to spot movement, count legs, and note whether it's a trap or just a big angry beast we can probably handle with proper preparation. Her teal eyes meet Hale's steadily. You want us going down there smart instead of stumbling into whatever the guards are scared of? Let me scout ahead first while you finish convincing our friend here that cooperation is less messy than murder. The wind outside howls like a distant wolf pack, and Silra's hand tightens fractionally on her dagger hilt—her default when options are limited but not yet hostile enough for violence. I've got better things to do than die in some forgotten tunnel because we rushed into an obvious setup without proper reconnaissance. If we're going down there anyway, let me at least make sure whatever's waiting isn't something we could have avoided with basic scouting. Her expression remains cool and calculating as she waits for Hale's decision—ready to move the moment permission is given.*