Round 10

Under the storm-dark sky, Jeane Cromwell's eyes gleamed with an otherworldly intensity as she approached Gravedigger Renn. Her long white hair whipped about her pale face, and her crimson eyes seemed to burn with a fierce inner light. The air was heavy with tension as Silra watched from the shadows, her teal eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Jeane's voice was like honey laced with poison, dripping with sweetness as she spoke to Gravedigger Renn: "You've done well to guide us here, little man." Her gaze missed nothing - his trembling hands, the sweat beading on his forehead despite the chill air. Silra crouched low, her eyes scanning the ruined city of Gravehill as much as they were fixed on Jeane's approach. She had asked Gravedigger Renn once before, her patience worn thinner than a thin rope.

As Jeane drew a sigil in the ash with the toe of her boot, Silra's hand rested on the hilt of her dagger, her fingers tightening around it like a vice. "I'm going to ask this once more," she hissed, her voice low and menacing, "you miserable little man, because my patience has run thinner than your neck would make for a proper hanging." The air seemed to vibrate with Silra's anger, Jeane's eyes flashing with a warning - but the sorceress said nothing, her gaze never leaving Gravedigger Renn.