Round 1

[Narrator | Narrator]
The chapel’s nave lies in ruin, its stone walls cracked and slick with damp. A cold draft snakes through broken windows, carrying the distant rumble of thunder. Flickering candles cling to a heavy oak table, their light throwing long shadows across maps, travel packs, and a battered map of the tower’s ground floor. The air smells of moss and old incense. Here, at this last safe haven before the Whispering Woods, the party sits: Jeane, Halie, Merrin, Seraphine, and Varrika. Their employer—an unnamed village council—has tasked them with retrieving the Time‑Splitting Sword from the accursed tower, a place rumored to be guarded by undead skeletons and shadow demons. Success means the sword is returned, the tower’s curse lifted, and the village’s safety restored; failure or withdrawal leaves the tower’s darkness to grow unchecked. The council seeks each of them’s full commitment to this perilous endeavor.

[Jeane | Sorcerer]
Jeane leans back in her chair, dark eyes scanning the map as she lets a measured silence fill the space between statements. I appreciate the gravity of this undertaking, but let’s be clear—none of us signed up to be martyrs for a village we barely know. What specifically does "full commitment" entail? Are we expected to march into that tower knowing there might not be an escape? And what exactly is this Time‑Splitting Sword capable of? Its name alone suggests more than mere steel and magic. Before I commit my power to this quest, I need assurances the council has shared every scrap of knowledge they possess about the tower's defenders—especially these rumored shadow demons.

[Halie | Cleric]
I set my hands flat on the worn table, feeling the cool stone under my palms. The sacred duty is clear—lifting a curse, protecting the innocent—but we’re not saints sent by the gods themselves. We need guarantees of survival and fair compensation before I sign us up for demon-dancing in some haunted deathtrap. My eyes move to each companion. None of us walked into these woods to die for strangers. Let’s get terms on the table, or I’m heading back south while my boots still carry me.

[Merrin | Rogue]
I shift forward in my seat, hands clasped tightly on the table, trying to keep my voice steady. Look, I appreciate the gold and all, but this tower business? Sounds like a suicide mission. I glance at the map, tracing a shaky finger along the crumbling stone lines. We're talking about undead skeletons, shadow demons, for all we know! I shudder. I didn't sign up to be some hero's wet dream. If we're going in there, I want assurances we've got a real shot at getting out with the sword and our hides intact. And if things go south... I glance around the table, my eyes settling on each face. ...I want it clear that cutting and running is an option. No one blames us if we have to save our own skins.

[Seraphine | Wizard]
I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose, peering at the ancient map with a scholar's keen interest, but my heart beats a nervous rhythm against my ribs. The thought of shadow demons and undead guardians sends a chill down my spine that has nothing to do with the drafty chapel air.
I clear my throat delicately, my voice carrying a precise, measured tone as I address the group. "Before we commit to this... endeavor, I must insist on a thorough examination of any surviving texts regarding the tower's history and the nature of its current inhabitants." My fingers trace the intricate runes scrawled on the map's borders, a small tremor betraying my anxiety. "Some magics are best left undisturbed. We should know what we're truly walking into before sealing our fates so thoroughly."

[Varrika | Fighter]
I shift closer, my scarred hands gripping the table's edge as I meet each of their eyes, one by one. Let me make this plain. We're warriors, not fools. I didn't drag myself through these cursed woods to die for some village I've never laid eyes on. I jab a finger at the map, my voice dropping to a growl. If we're going into that tower, I want assurances we've got a real chance of walking out with the prize and our lives intact. No half-measures, no blind marches to our deaths. I'll stand my ground against any horde of skeletons or demons, but I'm not doing it for free. We need gold, supplies, and a plan that doesn't rely on miracles to keep us breathing. I lean back, my eyes hard as flint. So let's hear the full story before we sign our names in blood. What exactly is this sword? What dangers lie ahead? And what do we get if we somehow manage to pull this off?