"I'm telling you, it doesn't work that way."

The hunched, shadow-faced figures sat in a close circle, breaths raspy in the stuffy air. Papers were strewn over the low round table they were perched at, all covered in mystical scribbles, undecipherable to the uninitiated. The one who had just talked was standing up, a bit apart from the others, and had a large, heavy tome laid out in front of him on the table, pages covered in more arcane garbage.

"There must be something we can do," said another voice around the table. "Isn't there some incantation that can deal with this?"

Around the table, a series of hopeful, encouraging murmurs rose. Some of the members started shuffling around the papers, as if searching for something among them. The man who had spoken first drew a deep, long sigh and raised his voice once again.

"No. We have checked already. There is nothing, and frankly I think we're wasting our time arguing about this," he said, more than a subtle hint of annoyance in his voice. "Time is of the essence."

"You're right, Master," said a third voice among the strange coven. "Are you sure there's no mistake?"

"The scriptures are very clear on this," responded the master, waving a wizened hand indicating the heavy bound tome in front of him. He sighed and sat down heavily on a chair, larger and more ornate than the others. He adjusted his clothing and sat back, rubbing the short beard that adorned his chin.

"With all respect, are you sure?" asked the second voice again. "Is there nothing you have missed?"

"Listen," said the master, clearly annoyed. "We all know the scriptures are not very precise in all matters. There is a certain degree of... interpretation involved at all times."

There came a series of reluctant nods and acknowledging noises from around the table.

"I am the master of this circle," he proceeded. "And that means that I am the one appointed to interpret the writings of those who are even our masters. My word is law."

The voices all dropped. The silence that followed as long, the awkward, embarrassed silence that follows the uncomfortable realization that someone else has got a good point.

"You are right," said a fourth voice. "We shouldn't have questioned you. I guess there's nothing we can do then."

"I'm afraid so," replied the master. "We have wasted enough time on this already. Are we all agreed then?"

A series of solemn nods followed and the members each reached out and grasped a small, vaguely circular object off the table.

"Right. Everyone roll a d20 and add your Will modifier to save against instant death. DC 25."