Round 2

Amidst the desolate landscape, the crumbling asphalt road stretches out before Jeane, Silra, and Sister Hale, 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.

As they approach the ancient church, its stone walls cracked and overgrown with vines, Jeane steps back from the door, her gaze locked on Sister Hale's face. The cleric's eyes narrow slightly, her expression a mix of concern and determination. "Alright," she says, voice low and steady. "We'll scout the perimeter first. Silra, take point."

Silra circles the church's perimeter with calculated precision, her fingers trailing over weathered stonework searching for hidden mechanisms or weak points. The air inside feels thick—old magic clings like cobwebs Jeane can nearly see if she squints just right. Hale's caution is smart, even if it grates on Jeane's nerves. As they move forward, the ground beneath them trembles again—not a quake but something deliberate and large shifting its weight below.

Sister Hale pauses at each window, testing the frames for stability before peering through cracked glass into darkness within. The eastern wall sounds like it could come down on them while they sleep if they're not careful, and the ground beneath them feels less like solid earth and more like a sleeping giant's ribcage with every tremor.

Jeane watches as Silra examines the cracks in the stonework, tracing along the subtle give in the structure. "Be careful," she warns, her voice low but urgent. "We don't know what might be triggering those steps."