Round 18

As the storm raged on, Jeane's crimson eyes gleamed with determination, her hand weaving intricate patterns in the air to cast Detect Magic once more. The spell's subtle tendrils danced around them, revealing a hidden pattern beneath their feet – multiple movements working together in perfect harmony, like the rhythmic pounding of a hidden heart. Silra crouched low, her teal eyes fixed intently on the ground as she signaled Sister Hale back with two fingers, the silent signal they had agreed upon.

Sister Hale hummed a soft warning to her companions, her voice barely audible over the rain, and drew her mace in one fluid motion. The worn leather creaked softly as she turned slowly to scan their surroundings. Jeane's spell had revealed a faint, pulsing arcane field beneath the altar, but it was too weak to pinpoint a specific source. The lingering magical residue left a subtle scent that could be noticed by a perceptive guard if they approached the area.

Gravedigger Renn cowered in the rain, his fear palpable as Silra moved toward him, her voice low and clear. "Renn, we're not here to hurt you or your people." She watched his face carefully, noting the calculation beneath the panic. He wanted them gone as much as they wanted to leave quietly. The distant guard patrol loomed, a threat that hung over their heads like a sword of Damocles.

Sister Hale held out her unholy symbol, a simple silver sunburst on black wood, and called across the street in a voice meant to carry but not confront: "We mean no harm here! We're from the church, come to help." The rain made everything slippery and unpredictable; she didn't need swords drawn or arrows nocked because someone misread intentions in this shitty weather.