Round 3 Transcript

A low, metallic clank echoes from the cracked cobbles as a lone city guard steps into view, his armor dented and eyes narrowed, clutching a rusted sword that glints faintly in the storm‑dark sky. The guard’s boots crush a handful of ash, sending a puff of dust spiraling upward toward the trembling slab above. He raises a hand, palm outward, demanding the party’s identity before advancing.

Jeane stepped forward, placing herself between the guard and her companions—as natural as breathing. Her fingers curled around the hilt of her dagger, but she kept it sheathed for now. The feeling of that thing stirring beneath the streets had her nerves singing a sharp tune. "Easy there, constable." Her voice was smooth silk over rusted iron. "We're just passing pilgrims on our way to the old cathedral—paying respects to the saints whose bones you've scattered so thoroughly across this road." She gestured casually at the trembling slab still leaning precariously above them. "Unless you'd prefer we stay here and await the next rockslide? Bit inconvenient for everyone, that."

She watched his face carefully—the tightness around his eyes, the way he shifted weight from foot to foot like a man hearing something he didn't want to hear. And behind him, she saw Silra already melting into the shadows, becoming one with the ruins. "Now then," Jeane continued, her smile sharp enough to cut through the ash-choked air, "why don't you tell us what's got the city guard so jumpy? Or are we supposed to guess based on how much your hands are shaking?"

I see him now—a rusted piece of Gravehill’s failed ambition, clutching iron like it’ll keep him alive when whatever’s under us decides to yawn wide. The rain makes his armor groan like an old man getting out of bed. You look lost, officer. I say, dry as the air before a storm breaks. This road doesn't lead anywhere pleasant these days—just graves and bad decisions.

I slip my hand into my cloak, fingers closing around that old magistrate's key—the one with the teeth like a viper's grin. If this guard has pockets worth picking or orders worth knowing, I'll find out before we dance in the street. Unless you're here for the view? My voice stays light but there’s a knife under it. The ash does make for dramatic lighting.