Round 1

As Jeane pushed forward on the ash-choked road outside Gravehill's ruined city, the storm-dark sky hung heavy with foreboding, its clouds boiling like churning black water. A lone lantern cast flickering shadows on the ground, struggling to pierce the gloom. The entrance of the abandoned church loomed before them, a dark and foreboding presence that seemed to draw them in despite the danger.

Jeane's hand instinctively went to her unholy symbol, its faint pulse against her skin a reminder of the power that lingered here. She drew the rusted key from her belt, its cold metal fitting perfectly in her palm. "Silra, scout the perimeter—find any watch points or guard patrols," she ordered, her voice carrying over the wind. "Hale, keep that light up and ready to move inside." As Jeane inserted the key into the ancient lock, it scraped audibly, protesting the rusty mechanism.

Silra circled the church's facade with a predatory grace, tracing the mortar lines with cold fingers as she listened through the walls. She could feel eyes on them, watching from the shadows. "Jeane, your magistrate's key is probably useless; these locks haven't seen oil in decades," she noted, testing a rusted iron latch with a gloved hand. But Jeane's orders were to proceed, and so they pushed forward, the stonework seeming to watch them with an unblinking gaze.

As they reached the entrance, Sister Hale lifted the lantern higher, its weak flame guttering in the ash-heavy wind. "Wait," she cut through the order, her voice sharp as a knife. This wasn't some tomb raider's treasure hunt; this was consecrated ground, profaned by time and neglect. The stonework was pitted and stained, bearing the symbol of the old faith above the door—a faded carving worn smooth by weather and perhaps more intentional erasure. Jeane's unholy symbol grew warm against her breastbone, a reminder of the power that lay within.