Round 2

As Jeane Cromwell stepped into the storm-shrouded wasteland, her gaze swept over Gravedigger Renn's cowering form with calculating precision. The wind howled like a chorus of restless spirits, yet she felt its power coursing through her veins, a potent resource to be harnessed. Her voice cut through the ash-choked air, authoritative and devoid of warmth as she declared, "Enough skulking." Silra watched from the periphery, her silver-blonde hair whipping about her face like a wild tangle of moonlight, her teal eyes narrowed in dry interest.

Silra circled Gravedigger Renn slowly, her movements loose yet calculated, every step measuring an angle to reveal potential blind spots. Her voice was conversational but sharp as a blade, slicing through the tension as she asked, "What exactly is so frightening about that church that you need all of us to hold your hand?" The informant's fear was palpable, and Silra's gaze lingered on his trembling form before shifting to Jeane, her expression unreadable.