Round 12

The storm raged on, shrouding the ruined city of Gravehill in an impenetrable veil of ash and darkness. Captain Ormond, a man whose face had once held the weight of authority, now trembled with a mixture of fear and calculation as he gazed upon the party members. His eyes darted between Jeane's crimson gaze, Silra's watchful demeanor, and Sister Hale's steady countenance, before settling on the gravedigger Renn, who clutched the small key in his trembling hand. With a deep breath, Ormond spoke, "You've got five minutes. I'll give you access to the tunnels beneath Gravehill. But be warned: whatever is down there, it's not to be trifled with." As he handed Renn the key, a faint rumbling noise echoed from within the tunnel, causing the ground to tremble slightly.

Silra stepped forward, her eyes narrowing as she took in the captain's fear. She could smell the desperation that clung to him like a shroud, a scent that whispered of secrets and hidden dangers. It was a tool, one that could be used to their advantage if wielded correctly. "Five minutes isn't nearly enough time to clear tunnels properly," Silra said, her voice low and even, "but it's plenty to get eyes on whatever dark shape the gravedigger mentioned." She turned to Hale, who stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes fixed on the captain with a mixture of wariness and concern. As Silra moved forward, Hale caught herself, taking a step back instinctively before regaining her composure.

The wind outside shifted direction suddenly, carrying a sound beneath the howl—a low rumble that vibrated through Hale's teeth. She felt a shiver run down her spine as she watched the captain's nervous calculation, his eyes darting between the party members like a trapped animal searching for an escape route. And Silra... she had moved into the doorway before Hale could even finish speaking, her presence a stark reminder that this was what they had come for: rebuilding something old, finding purpose in a dead city. But if whatever lay beneath the earth was big enough to scare armed guards into trying to make a stand, then perhaps they were not as prepared as they thought.

Jeane stepped into the church doorway, her crimson eyes scanning the darkness within with an intensity that bordered on reverence. Five minutes was an insult if they were to rebuild this city properly, she thought, her voice carrying authority despite the threat beneath it. The captain's fear wasn't of them, but of what they might unleash by delving into the depths below. His hand had hesitated on his sword hilt, revealing a truth that Jeane knew all too well: in this world, courage was not the absence of fear, but the willingness to face it head-on.