Round 91

As Sister Hale retreated from the bridge's edge, her gaze swept across their precarious situation, illuminated only by the lantern's erratic flame. She unwound fifty feet of rope with steady hands, her voice firm as she proposed a makeshift pulley system to stabilize the creaking bridge. "I'll create a system to hold us back," she said, her eyes locked on Jeane, "you go first." The cleric's hand rested on the belt where the unholy symbol burned against her palm, its warning or call to duty evident in her expression.

Sister Hale turned to face Jeane directly, concern and respect etched into her features. "Seventeen patterns of tactical precision?" she asked, her voice laced with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. Jeane's crimson eyes gleamed with arcane sight as she tracked the movements beneath their feet, her gaze unyielding in the face of systemic pressure threatening catastrophic failure.

Jeane's response was measured, her words dripping with an air of calculated caution. "I see your point about faith guiding us," she said, "but I also acknowledge the tactical wisdom." Her eyes remained fixed on the creaking bridge as she spoke, the wrongness signatures beneath them carrying a mathem...