Round 102

As the stormy sky above seemed to darken further, the party stood frozen in the inn's common room, awaiting their next move amidst a cacophony of thunderous rumblings. Sister Hale stepped forward, her weary eyes fixed on the tunnel entrance, her silver holy symbol clutched tightly in one hand as she spoke firmly, "We can't keep running from this." She paused, glancing at Silra, whose teal eyes gleamed with cold calculation as she stared out into the storm-darkened graveyard.

Silra swiftly gathered items that might be useful in a fight, her lithe elf body moving with practiced efficiency as she moved around the room. The lantern on the table caught her attention, and she hesitated for a moment before continuing to gather supplies. As she did, she pressed her palm flat against the cold glass of the window, feeling the rhythmic thudding from beneath the earth – a heartbeat that seemed to match the pounding in her chest.

Sister Hale moved toward the center of the room, her symbol clutched tight in one hand while the other traced symbols of warding through the air. "This is no time for standing still," she said, her voice steady despite the fear that gripped her. The ground groaned again as she spoke, and dust swirled around her feet, but she pressed on, her eyes fixed on Silra as if seeking guidance or reassurance.