Round 23 Transcript

Morning light casts an eerie glow through the stained glass windows of the abandoned church, illuminating dust particles that dance in the still air. Two women lie sprawled across a wooden pew at the front of the sanctuary—one stirring groggily, the other still unconscious.

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 up the stairs slowly, blade held low against her thigh where morning light won't catch it. Every creak of the ancient wood feels like an alarm bell. At the top, she peers around the frame—two women sprawled across a pew, one stirring, the other out cold. Their nudity and post-coital disarray paint a clear story.

The elf's pointed ears twitch as she listens for more movement upstairs. The mirror on the wall catches her eye—a potential surveillance point if they need to check again without exposing themselves. Her teal eyes track every shift of light across the women's skin, cataloging details that could be useful later… or incriminating now.

Silra's mouth pulls into a grim line as she descends back to Jeane and Halie. The blonde's awake enough to notice we're gone soon. She keeps her voice barely above a murmur. We need a plan that doesn't involve talking our way out of this—she'll see right through any bullshit story now.

Her gaze flicks between them, calculating. Your magic takes time, and we don't have minutes to spare before she starts screaming. Silra's hand tightens around the blade hilt. If we're doing this quietly, we need to move now—before she wakes fully or makes noise that brings others running.

She moves closer to Halie, voice low and practical despite the gravity of what she's proposing. I understand you want no violence. But think about the alternative—years of planning gone because we couldn't make a clean problem go away quietly. Silra's teal eyes are steady, unflinching. There are worse fates than a peaceful death in their sleep than whatever awaits us if authorities show up to investigate murder scenes.

To Jeane, she adds: Your charm spells might work, but what if she resists? What if she screams? We need a backup plan that ensures silence no matter what. The rogue's pointed ears twitch again at a faint sound from above. Time's running out. Make your call—magic or blades—but decide fast.

Jeane Cromwell stood at the base of the dusty church stairs, her nude form bathed in stained glass light, wings furled tight. The sanctuary above echoed with the quiet sounds of stirring sleep—two women waking too early for their own good, it seemed.

Silra's blade glinted as she moved up the steps, and Halie hovered near the basement entrance looking uncomfortable. Jeane's mind raced through magical options, each requiring time they might not have. The blonde is awake enough to notice we're gone soon, Silra reported grimly upon returning. We need a plan that doesn't involve talking our way out of this—she'll see right through any bullshit story now.

Jeane's crimson eyes fixed on the rogue's drawn weapon, then traveled upward toward the sanctuary. Murder? In a church? That's not what we agreed to. She kept her voice low despite the urgency. 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.

To Halie, she added with more gentleness: Your faith in non-violence is admirable, but it's not naive sentimentality that drives me here. Jeane moved closer. 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.

She turned back to Silra, voice firm despite fatigue pulling at every muscle. 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.

Jeane's mind was already cycling through incantations and enchantments that could compel silence. There has to be a way to make them forget what happened here without permanent harm. Something subtle, something that won't leave traces or raise questions later when they're found dead upstairs.