Round 20 Transcript

Morning light filters through the stained glass windows of the abandoned church, casting warm hues across the sanctuary. Two women lie sleeping on a nearby pew—Hera and Abby, their clothes slightly disheveled and skin glistening with perspiration.

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?

Time is running out—one of the women upstairs is already stirring, and every moment that passes increases the risk of discovery.

Silra moves toward the stairs with predatory grace, blade glinting. Every second Hera stays awake increases their exposure risk exponentially. The sanctuary feels suddenly too small, too exposed.

She glances at Jeane—understanding the sorcerer's aversion to murder in a church, but not sharing it. Not now, when failure means prison or worse. Halie's moral qualms are background noise.

The elf stops halfway up, voice low and urgent. Time's running out. If we let her wake fully and scream, all our planning goes to waste. I can be quick—silent—and this problem vanishes before it even properly starts. You have magical solutions? Great. But they take time we don't have.

Silra's teal eyes fix on Jeane steadily. You want to gamble on your spells working perfectly, without a backup plan? Fine. But if she wakes and calls for help, all three of us are looking at very different futures—cellmates instead of cult leaders. That's not speculation. That's what happens when civilians who stumble onto your operation start talking.

To Halie, without turning away from Jeane: Your faith won't stop cops from breaking down that door if we get reported. Mine might keep us out of jail long enough to disappear and try again somewhere else. Silra's grip tightens on the knife hilt. I'm not enjoying this. But I'm also not naive enough to let sentimentality derail everything we've built because we couldn't make a messy problem go away quietly.

She pauses, waiting for their decision—willing to proceed if either agreed or stayed silent, but prepared to pause if they insisted on trying other methods first.

Jeane Cromwell descends the stairs into the sanctuary slowly, her movements measured despite exhaustion pulling at every muscle. Morning light through stained glass transforms dust motes into floating jewels, painting the room in shifting color.

Two women sprawl across the front pew—one stirring groggily, the other unconscious. Silra stands at the base of the stairs with a blade glinting, already reaching for it—a brutal solution that makes Jeane's skin crawl despite lingering arousal from last night. Halie hovers near the basement entrance, clearly uncomfortable with violence but equally afraid of discovery.

Jeane's voice cuts through the tension: You're right about the risk. But murder? In a church? That's not what we agreed to.

She moves closer to Silra and Halie, keeping her tone low. We can handle this without bloodshed. Give me a moment to consider magical options—Halie might have something useful too. If worst comes to worst, I'll charm or compel them into silence.

Jeane's crimson eyes fix on the stairs where Hera stirs more actively. We're running out of time. One of them is already awake enough to be a problem if we don't act quickly and quietly. She glances between Silra's drawn blade and Halie's worried expression. I won't let this operation fail because we panicked and made rash decisions.

To Halie, she adds with a touch more gentleness: Your faith in non-violence is admirable, but it's not naive sentimentality that drives me here. We need a solution that leaves no evidence—no bodies to discover later when authorities investigate for other reasons. Think of it as… ethical pragmatism rather than cold-blooded murder.

Jeane's mind races through possible spells and enchantments. There has to be a way to compel them into silence without permanent harm. Something subtle, something that won't leave traces or raise questions later when they're found dead upstairs.

She turns back to Silra, voice firm despite fatigue: Stand down for now. Give me five minutes to consider my options—the spellcasting might take time, but it'll be worth the effort if we can solve this quietly and permanently without resorting to blades or bloodshed.