Round 1 Transcript

The Narrator lets the room settle and lays out the immediate proposition in concrete terms, making clear that the cast must answer what is being asked of them before anything can move forward.

Jeane leans back in her chair, fingers tracing patterns on the dusty map. A Time-Splitting Sword? Sounds like a fairytale, not a real weapon. And what does 'retrieving it' actually mean? Breaking into an undead-infested tower run by dark sorcerers to steal their most precious artifact? I don't recall signing on for suicide missions when I agreed to join this... arrangement. If we're walking into that cursed place, I want very specific guarantees about our extraction if things go sour and a substantial cut of whatever value the sword actually has once we've risked our lives proving it exists in the first place.*

I don't sign contracts with death clauses. I came here for coin and purpose, not to feed the woods with my bones. This isn't a game—if we go in, we come out as a unit, alive, or not at all. And if that sword is cursed, I want blessings on it before we even think of touching it. This whole thing smells like rot and dust, but if the Goddess has brought us together for this task, then so be it. But understand this: I won't be party to a heist where we leave each other behind.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, the candlelight casting ominous shadows on the cracked stone walls. A tower full of skeletons and demons, guarded by dark sorcerers? Sounds like a recipe for an early grave. I glance around at the others, my fingers nervously fiddling with my lock picks. I didn't sign up to be undead chow or demon bait. If we're walking into that nightmare, I want assurances we have a real shot at getting out alive. And if there's a chance this sword is cursed... I shudder at the thought. I want to know what we're dealing with before we even set foot in that accursed place. This job feels like a one-way ticket to hell, and I'm not sure I'm ready to buy passage.

The air in the war room is thick with the scent of old parchment, beeswax, and damp stone. I sit upright, my posture perfect as I study the crudely drawn map of the tower before us. The crude sketch feels flimsy compared to the reality we're being asked to face. My eyes flicker from the diagram to the faces of my companions, each wearing an expression of varying degrees of apprehension and skepticism. "A Time-Splitting Sword? That's no mere legend, it's a myth. The kind that gets scholars excommunicated for even whispering its name. And now we're meant to believe such an artifact exists inside that accursed pile of bones out there?" I gesture towards the dark window, where the silhouette of the tower looms like a broken tooth against the stormy sky. "The risks are immense. The rewards... well, if they're even half what you claim, they could rewrite entire histories. But I must ask: who among us truly understands what 'retrieving' such an artifact means? We're not thieves or grave robbers. We're seekers of knowledge, guardians of forgotten lore. If we venture into that place, it should be with purpose, not mere avarice." I tap my fingers lightly on the map, a quiet drumbeat of uncertainty. "And what of the dark sorcerers? They won't simply hand over their prize

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, my scarred hands gripping the table edge. A Time-Splitting Sword? Sounds like a tall tale cooked up by drunks and fools. And now we're supposed to believe it's real, locked away in a tower swarming with undead and demons? I scoff, shaking my head. I've seen my share of dark magic, but this? It's beyond madness.