Round 104 Transcript

The innkeeper nods sympathetically as she presents her idea. "I've got some herbs that might fit the bill," he says, rummaging behind the counter. "Mugwort, chamomile, and a pinch of silver dust—perhaps we can use those to create an offering that acknowledges its presence without feeding its hunger." He hands her a small pouch containing the ingredients.

I circle the common room slowly, my teal eyes scanning every angle, every shadow. If this thing feeds on terror-smell like you say, Sister Hale—and I'm inclined to believe it does after what we saw down there—then gathering in one place feels like stacking kindling next to a dragon's den. The rogue pauses by the staircase leading up to rooms above. Whatever is buried down there isn't just evaluating us anymore; it probably knows exactly where we are, which means our position here is known. If it decides this inn is worth investigating based on Renn's lingering fear-smell—and mine—then we're giving it a single location to find all of us at once. I glance back at the bar. The innkeeper's suggestion has merit: mugwort and silver dust could create an ; offering, something symbolic that acknowledges its presence without feeding its hunger. But we need more than just herbs—we need leverage, information, or a plan that doesn't involve waiting here like sitting ducks. I move toward the door leading outside. If whatever's under Gravehill is as deliberate and structured as I think it is, then it won't rush blindly up through the earth—at least not yet. It'll probe first, test our defenses, maybe send... something ahead to scout. My rogue's instincts prickle at the thought. So let Sister Hale prepare her symbolic offering if she thinks it wise—I'm not ruling out ritual entirely—but while she does that, I'm going outside to set up some early warnings: tripwires near the ground, signs of approach in the brush around the building. If this thing sends scouts or tries a subtle approach, we'll know before it gets close enough to surround us. Whatever is buried down there isn't mindless—it made deliberate choices based on our Intent in that tunnel system. I check my dagger's edge absently as I speak. We can prepare symbolic offerings and blessings all we want, but if this thing decides we're prey worth pursuing, then we need more than good intentions. We need options: escape routes marked, alternative locations scoped out, and a plan to split up if containment fails. I move toward the door again, my hand on the handle. I'm not suggesting we abandon Sister Hale's ritual preparation—her theology adjustment might actually work if whatever's under Gravehill responds to formal acknowledgment. But neither am I comfortable waiting here while something ancient and probably malicious decides our fate from beneath the earth. We need active intelligence gathering: what's moving out there, where the pressure is building, whether this thing is even capable of surface movement yet. The rogue pauses, her teal eyes cold and calculating. So here's my proposal: I go outside for thirty minutes to set up perimeter warnings—tripwires, disturbed dirt markers, sound traps if I can find materials. While I do that, Sister Hale prepares her symbolic offering inside, and you two stay alert near the windows with weapons ready. I look directly at Sister Hale. If your ritual requires specific timing or positioning once I return, we'll adjust. But until we have more information about what's actually coming for us—if anything is—I'd rather be out there gathering intel than in here feeling like prey waiting to be found. Whatever is buried down there isn't just listening anymore—it's ; evaluating our meaning, deciding whether we're useful, dangerous, or simply more fuel. And right now, standing around discussing theology while fear builds feels dangerously close to the latter. I open the door a crack, checking the storm-darkened street outside. The ground rumbles again as I do—closer this time? Or just my imagination reacting to suggestion? I'm not saying we should rush out there swinging swords. But neither can we afford to sit here and hope whatever's under Gravehill is feeling merciful today. We need actionable intelligence, and that means someone needs to go outside and look. Whatever is buried down there isn't just some horror—it's a ; deliberate entity with structure and purpose, and we've now given it physical form in this world. That changes everything: mindless monsters can be slaughtered; deliberate entities require negotiation, manipulation, or very careful killing. I take one last look around the common room. So who's with me on gathering intel instead of waiting for whatever's coming to find us? Or is this a party consensus that we trust our fate entirely to Sister Hale's ritual and hope ancient evils respond well to polite requests?

I nod slowly at Silra's words, my grip on the holy symbol tightening. You're right—whatever is buried down there isn't mindless horror, it's deliberate structure and purpose. I look around the common room again, noting the windows, the exits, the layout. If this thing feeds on terror-smell as I suspect—and given Gravedigger Renn's state downstairs, that seems increasingly likely—that means our fear itself is fuel for whatever's awakened under Gravehill. The ground groans again, louder this time, and dust sifts from the ceiling beams. We can't stay here forever discussing options—whatever is buried down there is getting closer to the surface with each passing moment. But neither can we rush out into the storm-darkness without a plan that doesn't involve blind panic. I move toward Silra by the door, my voice low and earnest. Your suggestion to gather intel outside has merit—I won't deny that active information gathering is smarter than passive waiting. And your point about setting up early warnings instead of stacking kindling here is well-made. But. I pause, choosing my words carefully. What if whatever is buried down there isn't just feeding on our fear-smell anymore—what if it's already started sending... scouts? Or tendrils of influence that move ahead of its main presence? I trace the edge of my unholy symbol absently as I speak. If this thing has structure and deliberate purpose like we suspect, then a simple tripwire system might not be enough to detect something moving through shadows or along vibrations in the earth. And if it's already probing our perimeter looking for weaknesses... My heart hammers faster at the thought.*

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. I'm not saying don't go outside—I'm suggesting we layer our approach rather than relying on one method alone. Here's my proposal: while Silra sets up early warnings out there— Godspeed and may your rogue senses stay sharp—we prepare here inside using both practical and symbolic means. The innkeeper hands me the pouch of mugwort, chamomile, and silver dust, and I examine it thoughtfully. This offering could work as a starting point for acknowledging its presence without feeding fear-smell—but I want to do more than just sprinkle herbs around. I glance at Silra. What if we use this time not just to set up physical warnings, but also to prepare a small ritual space near the center of the room? Something that acknowledges the ancient power under Gravehill without worshipping it? My mind races with possibilities— symbols drawn in salt or ash, positions oriented to underground energy lines, maybe even a quiet prayer of recognition rather than supplication. That way, when you return inside with whatever intel you gather, we have both practical defenses and symbolic preparation ready. And if something does approach while you're out there—and I'm not trying to frighten you, just preparing for possibility—then at least we'll have a clear center of meaning established here that might draw attention away from your position.*