Round 4 Transcript

The guard’s eyes flicker over Silra’s gloved hand as she slips the rusted magistrate key into her cloak; his grip tightens on his own blade, and he steps forward, sword drawn, demanding an answer before any further motion is allowed.

I let my hand fall away from the key with deliberate casualness, watching the guard’s sword tip waver between me and the road ahead. His kind is easy to read—they're always counting who's watching, and right now, the storm sky is his only witness. Careful there, sir, I say, voice even. That blade might catch a rusted bolt in this wind if you wave it around too much. I take half a step sideways, not retreating but adjusting my angle so Jeane’s to my left and Hale to my right—not hiding behind them, never that, just positioning where I can see threats and exits. Now, what's the trouble? We're here on church business—restoring the old one for the townsfolk. Good work, honest pay. The key is still warm in my cloak, a heavy promise of leverage against whoever buried it with its owner.

Jeane’s fingers tightened around her dagger hilt as the city guard stepped forward. His armor was old and rusted through in places—this one hadn’t seen real action in years, probably just some local thug with a badge to justify his bullying. The feeling of something moving beneath them grew more insistent, like the stirrings of a vast, slumbering thing disturbed by their presence. “Easy now,” Jeane said, her voice carrying an aristocratic edge that cut through the rain. “We’re just passing through. No need for blades to be drawn over a bit of road.” She moved slightly, positioning herself between Silra and the guard—not as protection, never that, but as a predator might place itself between prey and escape. Her eyes flicked to the man’s sword arm—tensed, ready, but not yet committed. “Put that away before someone gets hurt,” she continued, drawing on her demonic power to darken her gaze fractionally. “The night isn’t kind to fools with sharp toys.”