Round 12 Transcript

The guard captain's face twists in a mixture of fear and calculation as he glances between the party members. After a moment, he takes a deep breath and says, "Alright, you've got five minutes. I'll give you access to the tunnels beneath Gravehill. But be warned: whatever is down there, it's not to be trifled with." He hands Renn a small key, which the gravedigger takes hesitantly. As Renn unlocks a nearby door, a faint rumbling noise echoes from within, making the ground tremble slightly. The party exchanges uneasy glances before Silra steps forward, her hand on the hilt of her dagger. "I'll scout ahead," she says, her voice steady. "But I need to warn you: whatever is down there, it's not just a simple trap. There's something... moving beneath the streets."

The guard captain's fear smells like rust and old sweat—he knows something we don't, something that makes him trade our lives for five minutes of peace before whatever sleeps below wakes fully. That kind of desperation is a tool if you know how to use it. I step forward before Hale can respond. Five minutes isn't nearly enough time to clear tunnels properly, but it's plenty to get eyes on whatever dark shape the gravedigger mentioned. Let me scout ahead—if there's a trap or something big moving down there, I'd rather know now than stumble into it with the whole party. My hand slides toward the dagger hilt. The captain's still half-drawn because he wants us gone before we wake whatever made his balls shrink. If we're going down there anyway, might as well do it smart instead of blind.

The wind outside shifts direction suddenly, carrying a sound beneath the howl—a low rumble that vibrates through my teeth. I step back instinctively before catching myself. Captain's still watching us with that same nervous calculation. And Silra... she moved into the doorway before I could even finish speaking. To myself: This is what we came for—rebuilding something old, finding purpose in a dead city. But if whatever's down there is big enough to scare armed guards into trying to murder us instead of facing it themselves... I turn back to the captain. Five minutes starts now. If Silra signals us back before then, we're pulling out immediately whether you like it or not. And if she doesn't come back at all... well, I hope whatever's down there has a taste for priestesses instead of scared little men hiding behind their authority. My hand shifts to grip my unholy symbol—the cold metal is solid and real against my palm. Because if something happens to her because you sent us into an obvious trap, your five minutes won't be enough time to pray for forgiveness.

Jeane steps into the church doorway, her crimson eyes scanning the darkness within. Five minutes is an insult if we're to rebuild this city properly. Her voice carries authority despite the threat beneath it—she's already calculating leverage rather than simply accepting terms. The captain out there is already calculating our worth against whatever horror lies below—the moment his hand hesitated on his sword hilt told me everything I need to know. His fear isn't of us but of what we might unleash. She lets her unholy symbol pulse again—this time with genuine arcane force that makes both guards flinch and the gravedigger stumble backward. He thinks he's protecting Gravehill by sacrificing three women to whatever sleeps beneath? I'm trying to elevate it. Her fingers begin a gesture that will unleash something unpleasant if he chooses wrong. The question is whether he'll be useful enough to survive the process or just another sacrifice at the altar of our ambition. Silra's report about something moving confirms what Jeane's sorcerous senses were already screaming at her—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. And now I do too. To herself: This guard captain thinks he's protecting his city from what sleeps below? I'm trying to elevate it into something useful—either as a weapon or as proof of our power. The question is whether he'll be useful enough to survive the process or just another sacrifice at the altar of our ambition.