Round 100

The stormy sky above seemed to darken further, as if sensing the weight of their decision. Silra stood by the inn's back window, her teal eyes fixed on the graveyard beyond Gravehill, while Sister Hale leaned against a nearby table, her silver holy symbol clutched tightly in one hand. The cleric's face was etched with worry, her eyes darting between Silra and the tunnel entrance, now choked with rubble.

"We can't keep running from this," Silra said, her voice steady despite the fear that gripped her. "Whatever's coming is deliberate about finding us." She glanced at Sister Hale, then back at the tunnel, where the runes' pulse still echoed in her memory like a warning. The cleric's gaze remained fixed on the entrance, her eyes reflecting a mix of fear and determination.

Sister Hale's voice was barely above a whisper as she spoke, "I feel that wrongness bleeding up through the stone itself—the pressure isn't just geological, it's Intent made manifest." Her words hung in the air, heavy with foreboding. Silra's gaze snapped back to her, her eyes questioning, but the cleric's expression remained resolute.

The silence that followed was oppressive, punctuated only by the distant rumbling of structures echoing through the night air. The stormy sky above seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for their next move. In this moment, it was clear that their decision had set in motion a chain of events that would change everything they thought they knew about Gravehill and themselves.