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Are we going in? The storm's getting worse.

*Kaelen's eyes, usually sharp and focused, momentarily dart towards the swirling, grey maw of the approaching storm front. He doesn't flinch, however, his gaze hardening as he turns back to assess the dilapidated entrance of the old processing plant before them. His hand instinctively goes to the worn, polished stone hanging from his neck, his thumb tracing its smooth surface for a brief moment before settling his hand firmly on the hilt of his combat knife. The wind whips his short hair across his forehead, but his expression remains unyielding, a picture of grim determination.*

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