Round 1

As dusk settled over the ravaged landscape of Gravehill, the party stood at the edge of the ruined city, the wind whipping through their hair like skeletal fingers. Jeane adjusted her pack, the weight of her sorcerer's tools digging into her shoulder, while Silra rummaged through the depths of her bag for a canteen of water. Sister Hale gazed up at the darkening sky, her eyes squinting against the fading light.

Jeane circled the perimeter of the church grounds with measured steps, tracing the eroded stone by the remains of a fountain. Something about this place felt... wrong. Not undead wrong, but built wrong. A distant sound carried on the wind—a cry? Or just the city groaning around them?

Silra moved with practiced silence around the church perimeter, her keen eyes scanning every inch of stone and ground. Ash is piled high here—too high for just neglect. Somebody's been tending this ruin more recently than the stories suggest. She crouched near the main entrance, tracing her fingers along the doorframe while Jeane watched with wary respect.

Sister Hale looked at the ash-choked doors of the abandoned church with dread mixed with duty, keeping her unholy symbol visible. Silra's lockpicking tools scraped softly in the pre-dusk quiet. "Sounds like she's almost through," Sister Hale said, glancing around the street behind them—still empty, but for how long?