Round 5

In the desolate expanse of Gravehill's ruined city, a lone figure emerged from the shadows, silhouetted against the stormy sky. The wind howled through the ash-choked streets like a chorus of restless spirits, as if echoing the desperation that drove Sister Hale to press on.

Her fingers, worn from countless journeys, brushed against the rough stone beneath her boot, and the concealed spike trap sprang to life, its bone-white spikes retracting with a soft click. The mechanism's hidden spring released, leaving a shallow pit in its wake – a testament to the city's long-forgotten ingenuity.

Meanwhile, Silra moved ahead to the crumbling watchtower, her steps light and deliberate as she scanned the streets for movement or signs of life. Her gaze was cold and analytical, sweeping over the ruins with the practiced eye of a predator sizing up territory.

As Jeane approached, her eyes locked onto the spot where Sister Hale had marked an irregular patch in the road's surface. The sorceress raised her hands, unholy symbol in hand, and called out to her companions, 'Sister Hale—what did you find? And Silra, any movement ahead?' Her voice cut through the wind, steady despite the turmoil that brewed within.

Jeane gestured for them to report as she began casting a spell – her hands weaving arcane patterns as she concentrated on the ground beneath their feet. A faint glow emanated from the symbol in her grip, pulsing rhythmically.