Round 103

The innkeeper's words hung in the air, punctuated by the ominous rumble of the ground beneath their feet. Sister Hale stepped forward, her silver holy symbol clutched tightly in one hand as she addressed Silra with a sense of urgency. "We can't stay here feeling like bait on a hook, waiting for whatever is down there to make its next move." The cleric's eyes scanned the room, taking in the scattered supplies and the lantern that still cast a faint glow on the table.

Silra moved away from the window, her teal eyes gleaming with cold calculation as she considered the implications of their situation. "So we've awoken something ancient and probably malicious under Gravehill—that's the problem we created for ourselves." Her gaze drifted to the door, where the stormy sky seemed to darken further, like a physical manifestation of their own doubts.

The air was heavy with tension as Sister Hale moved toward Silra, her hand still gripping the holy symbol tight. "Whatever is buried down there isn't just listening anymore; it's evaluating us," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The cleric's eyes locked onto Silra's, searching for any sign of reassurance or determination.