Round 10

The stormy sky hung low over Gravehill's ruins, its dark clouds threatening to unleash a deluge at any moment. Ash swirled through the air, stinging eyes and skin like a thousand tiny needles. In the midst of this chaos, a faint whisper echoed through the narrow alleyway, the words indistinct but the malevolent intent clear.

Silra moved swiftly toward where Sister Hale had been pulled, her eyes scanning the ash-choked street for any sign of the cleric's struggle. The lantern cast flickering shadows on the stone walls, illuminating the same carved symbols Jeane had mentioned earlier—ancient runes that seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy.

Jeane followed closely behind Silra, her gaze fixed intently on the shadowed gap between collapsed buildings where she had been pulled in. Her eyes narrowed as she strained to hear any response from Silra or Sister Hale, the whispering growing louder now and taking on a menacing tone. The air was thick with ash and an otherworldly scent, and the ground beneath them felt like it was being slowly swallowed by some unseen force. Water dripped constantly onto stone, echoing through the narrow space like a steady heartbeat.

As they moved, Jeane's hand remained raised, arcane energy swirling around her palm as she began to weave a spell of protection and illumination. "We can't afford to be split up like this," she muttered, her voice barely audible over the scuttling noise. "Whatever grabbed Sister Hale might be using her as bait to lure us into an ambush." The whispering grew louder still, and Silra's eyes darted toward the sound, her hand on the hilt of her dagger.