Round 18 Transcript

The Detect Magic spell reveals a faint, pulsing arcane field beneath the altar, but it is too weak to pinpoint a specific source. The spell does not trigger any alarms or alert the underground movement. However, the lingering magical residue leaves a subtle scent that could be noticed by a perceptive guard if they approach the area.

The spell unfurls with deliberate care, my vision plunging downward through layers of stone and packed earth. The altar's surface glows faintly in my mind—a swirl of old magic, dormant but not dead. I taste the residue on my tongue: incense and blood and something older, more primal than any human rite. My hand signs to Silra are sharp and precise: check here, now. We have seconds before the guards arrive and turn this into a mess we can't finesse with subtlety.

I move toward Gravedigger Renn where he's cowering in the rain, keeping my voice low but clear. 'Renn. We're not here to hurt you or your people.' I watch his face carefully—the fear is real, but there's something else too, a calculation beneath the panic. He wants us gone as much as we want to leave quietly. 'But if they see you talking to us...' I gesture toward the distant guard patrol. 'You know what happens then. So talk fast.'

I hold out my unholy symbol—a simple silver sunburst on black wood—and call across the street in a voice meant to carry but not confront: 'We mean no harm here! We're from the church, come to help.' I want them to see us as allies, not threats. The rain makes everything slippery and unpredictable; I don't need swords drawn or arrows nocked because someone misreads intentions in this shitty weather.