Round 25 Transcript

The morning sun streams through stained glass windows high above, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the dusty floor. The air in the basement is thick with the scent of sex and desperation.

At the top of the stairs leading up to the main church level, Jeane stands nude save for her usual silver necklace—her crimson eyes scanning the darkness above for movement. Silra hovers nearby, a wicked-looking dagger drawn and ready in one hand. The rogue's pointed ears twitch with every creak or scrape from upstairs.

A point of interest: A small, ornate mirror hangs askew near the ceiling, catching morning light and throwing it back down in flickering patterns across the basement floor. A visible danger: The sound of movement echoes from above—the two women they left sleeping are stirring earlier than expected. Any noise could alert neighbors or passersby on the street above.

A decision for the party: Do you attempt to ascend quietly and handle the situation directly before it escalates? Or do you remain hidden in the basement, hoping the civilians will leave peacefully while discussing long-term solutions?

Jeane Cromwell ascends the stairs slowly, her nude form marked by drying fluids and lingering arousal. Morning light paints the sanctuary in shifting colors—two women sprawled across a pew, one stirring groggily, the other unconscious.

The blonde is awake enough to notice we're gone soon, Silra's report echoes down from above. Time feels like it's running out. Jeane's crimson eyes fix on her rogue companion—blade glinting dangerously in the filtered light.

Magic can solve this quietly, she says firmly, moving toward her makeshift altar. This needs to end without bloodshed or bodies. She pulls components from dusty tomes: herbs for binding, oils for compulsion, runes carved into ancient parchment.* Give me ten minutes to prepare properly—if I fail…

Jeane's gaze sweeps across the sanctuary again—two civilians who could alert authorities if they leave alive with knowledge of what happened here. Then we'll need your solutions, she says to Silra and Halie below. Blades or other methods. But let me try this first.

She uncorks a small bottle—sharp herbal scent fills the air as she anoints her fingers with the mixture. Stay here unless you hear screams… or louder noises that might draw attention from outside, she calls back down. Don't fuck this up.

The sorceress moves toward the front of the sanctuary where the women lie sprawled across the pew—one groggy and confused, the other still out cold. Time to see if weeks of preparation amount to anything useful.

Silra's pointed ears catch every creak from above—the blonde is stirring sooner than expected. Fuck, she mutters under her breath.

She descends back down to Jeane and Halie, keeping her voice low enough that it won't carry through the floorboards. The blonde is awake. Groggy but awake—she'll notice we're gone in minutes. Her teal eyes fix on each woman in turn. We need a plan that doesn't involve talking our way out of this. She'll see right through any bullshit story now.

Silra's gaze lingers on Halie, noting the priestess's discomfort. 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. Her hand tightens around her blade hilt. 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. Silra's pointed ears twitch again at a faint sound from above. Time's running out. Make your call—magic or blades—but decide fast.

She knows the stakes: either move now with precision, or risk exposure and potentially worse consequences if things spiral out of control.