Round 10

Amidst the tempestuous night, Gravehill's skeletal remains stood sentinel, its ancient stonework shrouded in a veil of ash and rain. The wind howled through the cracks, its mournful wail echoing off the ruins as Sister Hale adjusted her grip on the lantern, its flickering light casting long shadows across the ground. She surveyed the dark road ahead, her eyes scanning for any sign of danger, though she knew they were not alone – Silra's presence was a constant reminder that they were not the only ones searching for answers.

Silra crouched low as she approached the church entrance, her fingers trailing along the cold stone. Those boot prints led here for a reason—either this place isn't empty like Gravedigger Renn claimed, or someone wants us to think it is. The rusted iron door stood half-open, inviting them inside with the ominous promise of whatever lay beyond. Silra shot a pointed glance at Jeane, her expression tense and wary.

Sister Hale's stomach tightened with unease as she scanned the dark road ahead. The abandoned church loomed like a specter against the stormy sky—a necessary project for the city's restoration, but one that felt increasingly precarious. Silra is right about those boot prints. Too neat to be old tracks. Gravedigger Renn—his fear and vagueness still lingered in her mind – had provided incomplete information, leaving them with more questions than answers.