Round 2

As they cautiously push forward, the rusty hinges of the gate creak ominously in the wind, releasing a faint scent of decay and corruption that sends shivers down Sister Hale's spine. The sound echoes through the desolate landscape like a mournful sigh, causing her to instinctively close her eyes, seeking solace in the Light. Silra's fingers brush against something metallic, and she freezes, her eyes fixed on the spot where the tripwire was triggered.

Jeane steps forward, her boot grinding against bone fragments scattered in the ash, and watches as Silra stands still, her fingers still touching the wire—a simple loop of rusted iron, but strung with intent. "Stand still," Jeane commands softly, already moving toward the thief with measured steps. She pulls her unholy symbol from beneath her coat—a black onyx disc set in tarnished silver—and holds it out like a talisman.

The air around them shifts as Jeane moves closer to Silra, and Sister Hale's eyes flicker open, watching as Jeane's boots barely make a sound on the ash. "Stand still," she commands softly, her voice steady despite the darkness pressing in around them. Her fingers brush the edge of her holy symbol as she speaks. "Jeane, can you see what kind of trap this is from there?" The rust on that wire looks old, but they can't afford to take chances.

As Sister Hale speaks, Silra's eyes remain fixed on the ground, tracing the wire back to its origin point: a heavy stone block set just inside the entrance, no doubt rigged to trigger the tripwire. Jeane's gaze follows Silra's, her eyes narrowing as she watches the scene unfold. The smell of old death has a texture now—dry dust with an underlying note of something sweetly rotten.