Round 10 Transcript

Morning light streams through stained glass windows, casting vibrant hues across the dusty sanctuary. Two women lie sleeping on a pew—Hera and Abby, their clothes slightly disheveled and skin glistening with perspiration. In the main hall, two figures sprawled across a pew, still lost in post-coital sleep.

A point of interest: The morning light filtering down from above outlines two figures sprawled across a pew, still lost in post-coital sleep. Their exposed skin catches the colorful light, revealing the aftermath of last night's activities. A visible danger: Silra stands at the foot of the stairs with a blade glinting in her hand, ready to deal with the awake civilian.

A decision for the party: Do you sneak upstairs to check on Hera and Abby, possibly alerting them to your presence, or do you remain quiet in the basement and discuss your next move?

Halie steps between Silra and the stairs, her arms outstretched in a gesture of peace. The small silver cross at her throat catches the morning light as she turns to face the rogue.

No one dies here today—not on my watch, she says firmly, though her voice trembles slightly. Not even if it means leaving this place behind. She meets Silra's cold gaze steadily despite the fear coiling in her stomach. There are lines we shouldn't cross, even for our goals.

To Jeane, she adds more gently: I can try to cast something—something non-lethal. Put them back into a deep sleep or cloud their minds until we figure this out. But you need to call off the violence too.

She glances at the sleeping figures upstairs, then back to Silra. We're better than this. We can find another way that doesn't make us monsters in our own right.

Jeane descended the stairs slowly into the sanctuary, each footfall deliberate despite the exhaustion pulling at her limbs. Morning light through stained glass cast shifting patterns across the dusty floor, transforming the air into a kaleidoscope of color. Two women lay sprawled on the front pew—one stirring groggily, the other still deeply unconscious. The silence felt fragile, ready to shatter at any sudden movement or careless sound.

Silra moved past her toward the stairs with predatory grace, her hand already drifting to the concealed blade at her belt—a brutally efficient solution that would leave them with corpses to explain. The thought made her skin crawl despite the lingering arousal still thrumming beneath her skin from last night's excesses. Hera and Abby had been just following orders, their bodies used as offerings in service to darker appetites.

Halie hovered anxiously near the basement entrance, her nervous energy palpable even in the gloom. She was right to be worried—two dead bodies here would draw every investigator within fifty miles. But Silra's proposal was equally problematic; letting these women wake and raise alarm would be just as disastrous for their operation.

Jeane stepped forward into the sanctuary, her voice hushed but firm as she addressed Silra's tense back: You're right about one thing—the awake civilian up there is a risk. But murder? In a church of all places? That's... that's beyond what we agreed to. She gestured vaguely between her and the two women upstairs. We can handle this without bloodshed. There has to be another way.

To Halie beside her, her voice urgent now: Can you cast something to make them sleep more deeply? Or create a distraction so we can get closer before they fully wake? She was grasping for solutions that didn't involve violence, but she knew time was running out.

Silra descends the stairs in silence, her movements fluid despite the exhaustion gnawing at her. Morning light filters down from stained glass windows high above, casting long shadows across the dusty sanctuary floor. Two figures lie sprawled on a front pew—one woman stirring groggily, the other still deeply unconscious.

Her eyes scan every detail: the distance to the stairs, the angle of light through the windows, the position of the two women. Each breath is measured, each movement calculated. She's not here for violence—at least, not unless it becomes absolutely necessary.

Halie's words hang in the air between them, a soft barrier against the cold efficiency Silra brought with her. The cleric's trembling voice betrays her fear even as she stands her ground. Naive idealism or genuine morality? Both would need to be managed carefully.

Jeane's intervention adds another complication—her sorceress always had a flair for making difficult situations even harder. The way she framed it though, positioning herself as the voice of reason against cold-blooded murder... It was almost theatrical.