Round 4

As the city guards closed in, Sister Hale's steady voice rose above the ash-choked air, a calming presence amidst the tension. Her palms remained open, a gesture of peace that seemed to falter with each passing moment as her body protested the exertion from the ambush. The guards' spears wavered, their eyes darting between the cleric and the party, before one of them hesitated, his hand dropping to his side.

Jeane's words hung in the air like a challenge, her voice cutting through the uncertainty with an undercurrent of menace. The guards' leader took a step back, his eyes narrowing as he searched for any sign of deception. His companion, however, seemed uncertain, his gaze flicking between Jeane and Sister Hale before finally returning to the cleric.

Silra's voice was a whisper, barely audible over the wind, but it carried a sense of urgency as she guided Renn toward the narrow alley behind the crumbling wall. Her eyes never left the guards, her movements economical as she assessed their formation and looked for any weaknesses in their line. The alley seemed to yawn open like a dark mouth, its entrance just large enough for Silra's slender form to slip through unnoticed.

As the guards paused, their spears lowered, Sister Hale took a step forward, her hands still raised in a gesture of peace. Her eyes met Jeane's, a silent understanding passing between them, before shifting to the guards, who seemed to be waiting for some sign of violence from the party. The air was heavy with tension, the only sound the wind howling through Gravehill like a restless spirit.