Round 1

As dusk descended upon Gravehill, the party stood at the edge of the ash-choked road, their lanterns casting flickering shadows on the ruined landscape. The air reeked of smoke and decay, heavy with the weight of neglect. Before them, the skeletal remains of a once-grand church rose like a monolith, its stone walls cracked and worn.

Jeane's eyes scanned the road ahead, her gaze sharp and calculating. She gestured for Silra to take point, her movements precise and commanding. The rusted key from the dead magistrate felt cold in her palm, a potential tool or trap—she intended to find out which. As they moved under cover of darkness, Jeane's voice cut through the heavy silence like a blade. "Stay close, stay quiet," she said to the others.

Silra circled the perimeter of the building slowly, her fingers trailing over the cracked stones, feeling for any give or hidden mechanisms. A rogue's work was often solitary, but even she knew when it was wise to keep her companions informed. She glanced at Jeane and Sister Hale, their faces set in determined lines as they followed her lead.

Sister Hale raised a hand for patience, her tone measured and firm. "Wait," she said, her eyes sweeping over the crumbling church facade. She noted the deep cracks that spoke of long neglect, but also the solid stone construction beneath the decay. As she moved forward, her boots crunching on scattered brick and ash, the unholy symbol around her neck caught what little light remained.