Round 1

Amidst the desolate landscape, a crumbling asphalt road stretches out before them, shrouded in an ominous storm cloud that casts long shadows on the ground. The air reeks of ash and smoke, a noxious scent carried on the wind from the ruins of Gravehill. A once-grand church looms in the distance, its stone walls cracked and overgrown with vines, as if nature itself was attempting to reclaim the structure.

Jeane steps forward, her long white hair whipping about her pale face, her crimson eyes gleaming with an inner fire. She unrolls a length of rope with a fluid motion, its cloth hissing through the air like a snake. The door to the church creaks ominously on rusted hinges, as if inviting or warning passersby. In her hand, she clutches a rusted key taken from a dead magistrate in Hellsreach, its significance evident in her fingers' tight grip.

Silra circles the church's perimeter, her silver-blonde hair catching the faint light that filters through the storm cloud. She surveys the ancient stonework, noting where traps might have been set in less forgiving times, but centuries of neglect have rendered most of them inert. Her eyes narrow as she watches Jeane approach the entrance, and she catches her elbow just in time to prevent a potentially disastrous trigger. "Careful," she mutters, nudging her chin toward the stone beneath their feet.

Sister Hale steps between Jeane and the pressure plates Silra pointed out, her hand finding Jeane's shoulder with a gentle but firm touch. The stone beneath them feels alive, as if old magic clings to this place like cobwebs in corners. "Wait," she says, though it's clear Jeane has already entered the church. "The ground is... unsettled." A subtle tremor stirs beneath their feet, and something shifts deep under the city, sending a shiver through Sister Hale's frame.