Round 92 Transcript

I consider Jeane's proposal, weighing the risks against the potential benefits. I take a deep breath, my hand still on the rope at my belt. As servant of faith, I must balance obedience to divine guidance with prudence in the face of uncertainty. My gaze lingers on the rusted key in Jeane's palm, its intensity burning hotter as she speaks. If this key is part of their system, using it as misdirection could indeed disrupt their timeline calculations. I look at Jeane, my expression thoughtful. Seventeen patterns suggest they've been patient for centuries perfecting this containment protocol; let's demonstrate we won't fall prey to it through simple obedience. My voice firm, I make a decision. I'll use the rope to create a makeshift pulley system, trying to stabilize the bridge before you go first, Jeane. I glance at the city walls in the distance, my mind racing with the implications of our plan. Meanwhile, you cast an illusion to make it appear we're crossing, while actually moving upstream or downstream along the cliff edge using your arcane abilities. My gaze returns to Jeane, a hint of determination in my eyes. Let's see if this misdirection works, and what other secrets the rusted key might hold.

Jeane steps back slightly as Sister Hale makes her decision. Very well—faith guiding wisdom rather than blind obedience is a path I respect. Her crimson eyes track the priestess's movements as she begins preparing the rope. You're right to secure the bridge first—I'll maintain my arcane shield while you work, just in case whatever hunts below grows impatient with our hesitation. Jeane watches Sister Hale's careful knots and pulley system take shape, impressed by her practical skill despite the sorceress's reluctance to admit it aloud. Tactical intelligence: fifty feet of rope might not outmaneuver mathematical precision, but it certainly grants physical stability we'll need for this deception to succeed. She mutters under her breath as she traces arcane sigils in preparation for her illusionary disguise.

The rusted key burns hotter against Jeane's palm as Sister Hale works—confirming her suspicions about its tracking nature. This key will make an excellent focal point, she muses softly, though I'd rather not carry such obvious bait if it weren't strategically necessary. Jeane's gaze sweeps across their surroundings one more time, checking for any additional threats or witnesses before proceeding with their coordinated misdirection.

As Sister Hale finishes securing the bridge with her rope work, Jeane steps forward. Ready yourself—I'm about to activate the illusion that we're crossing together. In reality, I'll be moving downstream while you appear to secure our path. She raises her hands, arcane energy crackling between her fingertips as she begins the incantation.

With a sharp gesture, Jeane unleashes the illusion—it's seamless enough that even close inspection would reveal two figures seemingly crossing the bridge together. Tactical intelligence suggests they're watching us right now through this key or other means. She hisses softly, Let's give them what they expect to see while we do what they won't anticipate. The creaking of the real Jeane's boots on stone fades into silence as she begins her arcane displacement downstream, maintaining visual contact with Sister Hale via minor scrying magic. Keep that rope ready—I'll signal when I've reached a safe vantage point for assessing alternative routes. Jeane's voice carries only to Sister Hale through the spell's communication link.

Moving downstream along the cliff edge requires careful footing and arcane concentration to maintain both her physical displacement and the illusion upstream. Seventeen patterns indeed—whoever designed this containment protocol is far more patient than I'd like to face. Jeane mutters as she navigates around a particularly unstable section of rock.

She spots what appears to be an old smugglers' path winding upward—a potential alternative route that might circumvent the bridge entirely. Tactical intelligence: this could provide another way into Gravehill while bypassing their primary containment point. Jeane sends Sister Hale a mental image of the path through their scrying link, adding, If we can secure this as an alternate entry, we maintain tactical flexibility rather than relying on one obvious choke point. As Jeane continues her downstream assessment, she notices something disturbing: wrongness signatures intensify around a specific section of cliff face. Tactical intelligence warning: whatever lies beneath us isn't just tracking—it's responding to our misdirection with increased activity. She sends Sister Hale another mental update through their scrying link, The key's burning hotter now; I suspect they're aware we're not following their expected timeline precisely. Jeane's arcane sight probes deeper, trying to discern what lies beneath. Seventeen patterns suggest they might escalate containment protocols if we deviate too far from predicted behavior. She pauses her downstream progress for a moment, considering options. Sister Hale—my tactical assessment is that we have perhaps ten minutes before they attempt direct intervention. Jeane's voice carries through the scrying link with barely contained impatience. Can you maintain the illusion and rope work while I investigate this intensified activity point? Seventeen patterns suggest it might be their command center or at least a key observation post. Her crimson eyes narrow as she studies the cliff face where wrongness signatures converge most strongly. Tactical intelligence proposes: if we can disable or disrupt whatever operates from this location, we might collapse their entire containment network. Jeane's free hand grips the rusted key tightly—using it as a focal point for her arcane power while also employing it as potential misdirection. But this requires precise timing and coordination—I'll need to know exactly when you've completed your rope work so I can move in with maximum surprise effect. She waits for Sister Hale's response through their scrying link, already calculating arcane vectors and strike patterns in her mind. Remember: our goal isn't just survival—it's advancing toward Gravehill while denying them accurate information about our movements. Jeane's voice takes on a more urgent tone. If you agree to this next phase, signal ready when the bridge is secure and you've completed your part of the illusionary crossing. I'll move into position immediately after. As she awaits Sister Hale's confirmation, Jeane begins gathering arcane energies for what might become a decisive strike—seventeen patterns or not, whoever designed this containment protocol will learn that some prey fights back with surgical precision of their own.

I work methodically at securing the bridge with my rope, each knot pulled tight by years of practice and unwavering resolve. Seventeen patterns indeed—Jeane's arcane sight sees further than most. The unholy symbol on my chest pulses warmly against my skin as I complete the makeshift pulley system across both sides.

As Jeane begins her illusionary crossing, I watch with grudging respect at how seamlessly she disguises reality. May this deception serve God's purpose better than our enemies' calculations. The creaking of the bridge seems louder now—whether from my rope work or something else stirring below, it's hard to say.

Ten minutes before direct intervention, she says. Seventeen patterns suggest they'll respond to deviation with force rather than patience. I test the strength of my handiwork one last time. Very well—I'm ready here. The bridge is as secure as I can make it with fifty feet and steady hands. As Jeane moves downstream through arcane displacement, I maintain the illusion upstream of our coordinated crossing. This feels wrong—deception against unseen foes—but perhaps God smiles upon clever service to a righteous cause. I mutter a quiet prayer for her safety as she investigates the intensified activity point.

The rusted key burns hotter in her palm—I can feel its heat even at this distance through our scrying link. If that key is tracking us, let it burn with false conviction while we act outside their calculations. My hand rests on my mace, ready but not eager for whatever lies beneath the bridge to test our misdirection.

When Jeane signals her readiness from downstream, I prepare to hold this position—appearing to secure the bridge while actually waiting for her report on alternate routes. Seventeen patterns or not, we serve a higher purpose than being mere pieces in someone else's containment game.