Round 93

As Sister Hale steps back into the market district, her eyes scan the storm-dark sky with a mix of wariness and determination. The air is heavy with tension, the silence broken only by the distant rumble of thunder. Silra follows closely behind, her gaze darting between the cleric's steady figure and the statues guarding the entrance to the shrine. "We need to adjust our plan," Sister Hale says, her hand still clutching the symbol of her faith. "Whatever is buried down there isn't just reacting now, it's hungry." She glances around cautiously before adding, "I can sense its presence, a dark tide that's growing stronger by the minute."

Silra's eyes widen as she feels the ground lurch upward in defiance of their rhythmic pattern, and whatever is buried beneath them has made its decision. The plates pulse wildly under her feet, THRUM-THRUM-THUD-THUD-THUD, and she knows they're off balance on shifting ground while Gravedigger Renn stands frozen like a broken doll. Sister Hale's voice cuts through the chaos, "Silra—I felt it too." She speaks across their channel quickly, her words a testament to the connection between them. The pressure beneath them changed—whatever was listening decided they were no longer worthy—and whatever is buried down there shifts focus to something more substantial.

The storm-dark sky seems to grow darker still, as if the very fabric of reality is being stretched to its limits. Silra's heart pounds in her chest, her mind racing with the implications of their encounter. She knows that whatever is buried beneath Gravehill is a force to be reckoned with, and they'll need all their wits and cunning to survive.