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>>4711732

You’ve also acquired to key objectives, and made progress on each. You learned of a dangerously knowledgeable individual in Hawksong: “V. Rilney”, probably the pen name of the eccentric noble Lord Yosef, who knows of the Reptilian race and its grand design for man’s destruction. Your masters have tasked you with his capture, interrogation, and neutralization.

Perhaps even more importantly, you have been assigned to use the superior disguise abilities of your filthy half-human bloodline to infiltrate The Hawksong Mages’ Tower, and to learn the details of a mysterious new defensive program. Some research (and a few semi-strategic gangbangs and muggings) has led you to believe it involves the Paladin King’s heavy investments in the excavation of a ruin to uncover some form of ancient dwarven enchantment. In pursuit of this, you have seduced, intimidated, and coerced the son of the chiefmost excavator into a very-grudging informant and convinced your ‘boyfriend’ Edwin into bringing you as his plus-one to an upcoming Mages’ Tower fundraiser.

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>>4711733

You’ve just finished another shift at The Pretty Kitty as an exotic dancer. Worn out from some rather persuasive sexcapades with Edwin of Engel to earn that invite, you politely excused yourself after the closing group dance number to clean out your room in the brothel behind the lounge. Madam Mina seems concerned (in what you think might be an almost maternal fashion, not that you have much experience with mothers) that you’re leaving to move in with a ‘john’. Even if you thought her concern well-founded, though, your mission benefits from the new arrangement; so too does your purse, as with Edwin paying for your room and board, you get to keep more of the money from your dancing. Mina doesn’t know the details—cannot—but she accepts your decision with stonefaced ambivalence. The ample coin you provide from patrons and escapades probably doesn’t hurt.

However, your rival headliner Estellia—a human female who used to be the most popular attraction in The Pretty Kitty’s selection of dancers, before you came along—is less amenable.

“What, you think you’re better than us now?” she demands, flanked by the quiet twins Tricia and Alicia. “Too good to even sleep in the same building? Weren’t too good to sleep with MEN here, when you were whoring it up.”

What do you do?
>Ignore her and leave; you have more important matters than her attempts to be a rival to your cover identity
>Mock her; point out her obvious jealousy with your popularity
>Apologize if you hurt her feelings, and suggest that she should be more respectful when talking about sex-work, since you are both coworkers with working girls
>Threaten her with physical harm if she doesn’t step aside right fucking now
>Other

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>>4711735
[This is also a good time to bring up your stats, such as they are. When facing a matter where success is not guaranteed or terribly likely, failure has notable consequences, and I’d feel railroad making you fail or cheap forcing a success, I will roll dice. Currently, that is 1d20 for most tasks, but 2d20 (taking the highest) for tasks involving: politesse, seduction, intimidation, stealth, or dance. This is based on choices you’ve made. You also have an inherent bonus to disguise attempts when relevant, an use human magic items without your Reptilian race’s usual penalty, and you have a decreased difficulty to rolls wherein you fight an untrained opponent hand-to-hand due to martial arts training. Lastly, you have advanced your magical potential… A little. Unlike most adult human(oid)s, you have a chance to become a mage… Maybe. As a general rule, DCs are 15, but disguise, magic item use, and favourable melees as discussed have DC 10, Rolls will be used somewhat sparingly.]

>>4711735
>>Apologize if you hurt her feelings, and suggest that she should be more respectful when talking about sex-work, since you are both coworkers with working girls
Act meek to keep our cover safe

>>4711736

YOU WERE WARNED!

QUEST DELETION IN 3 . . .

2 . . .

1 . . .

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>>4711760
[The masters say no.]

[The rest of your, carry on. I'll keep this thread going with my usual 2+ posts a day, barring interruptions]

>>4711735
>Apologize if you hurt her feelings, and suggest that she should be more respectful when talking about sex-work, since you are both coworkers with working girls
and add if her problem is us sleeping with men, we're amenable to sleeping with women (seduce her)

>>4711735
>>Ignore her and leave; you have more important matters than her attempts to be a rival to your cover identity

also its a good idea to post a link to the archive, qm

>>4711735
>>Ignore her and leave; you have more important matters than her attempts to be a rival to your cover identity
And let's keep our guard up in case sshe tries to attack us.

Rolled 8, 2 = 10 (2d20)

>>4711831

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/4672285/

[Good point! Posting soon.]

>>4711779
>>4711756
>>4711796
>>4711906
>>4712095

You attempt to ignore this meaningless distraction and simply pass on by. In the past, you have allowed Estellia's imagined rivalry or occupy your time and drain your energy to maintain your cover, largely through flattery and niceties. Now, though, with your actual mission making important strides and another place to stay… Why bother?

The twins move forward to form a bulwark against your progress, though, and you suppose you have no option. They both look unenthusiastic, but you know that their senior dancers has these two human littermates wrapped around her finger, and punching your way out will do little to help you stay under the radar. Affecting deference, you tell them in your accented Northwestern Common-Tongue:

“I'm sssorry if I upsset you. Sstill, should you sspeak sso dissparagingly of our coworkerss profession?”

Estellia clearly does not expect this. “What? I don't--"

“If you're upsset about my ssleeping with men,” you add, unable to help yourself from teasing a vulnerable human, “I alsso am amenable to the fairer ssexxx.”

Estellia flushes bright red and, to your surprise, takes a swing at you. It seems you either misjudged the nature of this woman's grievance and obsession, or else you were altogether TOO accurate. Either way, you struck a nerve. Ducking her blow is no difficult task, however. While a skilled dancer, the mammal is no martial artist, and you secretly are. The two twins, stunned to see this turn to physical violence, freeze.

Before you are forced to defend yourself further, though, you hear a voice like a roar straight from some primeval jungle: your feline employer, Madam Mina, has joined the fray.

“WHAT IS GOING IN HERE?”

Estellia attempts to frantically pun the blame on you, claiming that you conspire against her and the whole brothel… But Mina will have none of it.

“Nobody stays star attraction forever, Estellia,” Mina tells her harshly, with the knowledge of personal experience perhaps. “Cope with it, or find a new career.”

Estellia falls silent, dropping her eyes, and she and her little retinue shuffle off. You give Mina an appreciative nod (though, typical for the cat-faced woman, her own feelings on the matter are still difficult to read), and you depart yo go about your day.

What do you do?
>Meet with Boss Leo and the wererats to discuss applying pressure or putting a tail on someone
>Meet with Lady Zivic, and her mysterious southman retainer Mister Tokunbo, about the occult arts
>Meet with Roth, your Reptilian contact in the city, to discuss the progress on your mission(s)
>Meet with Agatha Johan and his uncle Oxford, you celebrate your successes and mooch a breakfast
>Head to the Hawksong Royal Library to do some research
>Scope out the Tower
>Other

>>4712127
>Meet with Roth, your Reptilian contact in the city, to discuss the progress on your mission(s)
Guys it's time we've returned to the rootss, even if you dislike Roth. Zivic could be a valuable ally, or a very big problem and telling our reptilian contact about her iss nesessary.
And dear QM, please don't then ask if we want to turn our mind 180° at the last moment and lie to him or pretend we don kno nothin and just came to look like an idiot. It's frustrating and makes it too easy to shit up the quest.

>>4712127
>Meet with Agatha Johan and his uncle Oxford, you celebrate your successes and mooch a breakfast
>>4712164
we don't have anything particularly new to tell Roth and haven't advanced the specific mission he's given us

>>4712170
In case it was unclear:
We should go tell Roth about Zivic, instead of keeping it a secret.
Again, he might just agree she is an asset, but reptilian HW needs to be informed there's a human who knows they exist and tries to learn important things from one of their agents she contacted. Alone we can't even determine what she really is up to, let alone deal with this entire circus if it turns out to be something bigger.

>>4712164
[If you garner a bunch of specific support for this post, sure. Otherwise, when you get there, if there isn't sufficient support for sharing that SPECIFIC detail with Roth, it doesn't get shared. I don't consider any misgivings on The Infiltrator's part, or individualist deviation from her mission, to be "shutting up the quest", personally. If people by an already want to advance the way you do, they won't vote to keep secrets.]

>>4712164
+1
an order from High Command would be good

>>4712816
>>4712179
>>4712170
>>4712164
One thing has been bothering you for a couple days now, and you decide it'a time to relieve you guilty conscience and address it. Ever since you learned that Zivic and her retainer Tokunbo were aware of the Reptilian conspiracy, you have kept it to yourself.

Your local contact, a hot-tempered Reptilian operating under the assumed identity of a human blacksmith named ‘Roth’, has made a habit of belittling you and reacting with dismissive aggression to your proposals and strategies. This is right and fair, as he is a pureblood and you a degenerate, but it led you to keep your contact's knowledge to yourself for fear that Roth would simply order their execution out of spite. You now realize that was wrong—maybe always realized it. Today, you set out for his smithy to make it right.

When you arrive, the lights are out and the chimney billows with no smoke. He is not yet open, you suppose, but you have no doubt he is awake in the darkness. You knock timidly on the door, dreading this discussion. When he finally opens the door and looks down on you with muted disgust and irritation, it foes little to quell the serpent-coiling of your troubled gut.

“Why are you here?” he asks in your native tongue, once the door has been closed and, as is his cautious custom, quadruple-locked.

“Am I interrupting, superior one?” you ask deferentially.

“All things are more important than an ape-blooded degenerate whore,” he replies.

“…Yes. Well, there are positive developments.”

You begin the discussion by telling the pureblood of the good work you have done, learning of possibly-enchanted dwarven tablets tied to the city defenses. He nods along, but then asks:

“And do you know what they do?”

When you cannot answer, his disapproval and unsurprised disappointment shames you. Childhood conditioning drives you to earn this older, superior being’s approva, though.

“I have earned the affections of a foolish human noble who has invited me to enter the Tower as his guest, though!”

“I wonder how you arranged that,” he mocks you knowingly.

“What else is my body for, if not to serve the Grand Design?” you counter. Roth can only grunt and accept this truth.

“Have you made any progress on the other matter?” he asks. “The author, Rilney, who knows of us?”

“Ah… About that, actually… He may not be the only one.”

“WHAT did you say?!” Roth practically roars, face reddening with rage.

>>4713140
You explain about Zivic, and how she approached you at your work, invited you to her manor, and revealed herself and Tokunbo as occultists versed in the Reptilian race's way of infiltration.

“I can't believe you would so endanger us with your foolish harlot’s gambit,” Roth snarls, pacing like a caged animal.

“I didn't!” you protest. “They already—”

“This is far worse than Rilney,” he says. “They must be slain immediately. I will handle this. You are clearly the wrong tool for any job but base seduction.”

What do you do?
>Accept his judgement, and focus on your current missions
>Protest that the occultists could be useful to your missions
>Request to neutralize them yourself
>Make the same pitch that you’d id with Rilney: they should be captured and interrogated
>Other

>>4713141
>>Accept his judgement, and focus on your current missions

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>>4713431
When last you’d visited Roth, a part of you had felt that Zivic and Tokunbo were too valuable a resource to waste with a simple covert execution. This time, half-remembrances of uneasy dreams silence those doubts, or at least muffle their protests. You accept Roth’s judgement. You’ve been far too distarctable of late, you tell yourself. Perhaps their deaths will allow you to focus a little better.

With your business concluded, Roth is all too eager to see you leave his home. You compose yourself, not allowing his (entirely righteous and justified, by blood and station) contempt to wound your renewed sense of purpose. This unceremonious dismissal and ejection still leaves a bit of time in the morning to set plans in motion!

Resolved to focus you energies on your current missions, you set your sights on two targets: so-called V. Rilney, the uncomfortably-knowledgeable author of “Protocols of the Learned Elders of the Coming Race”, and The Hawksong Mages’ Tower. In a month’s time, the latter will be your destination one way or another, but at present you are uncertain how you will breach the defences which lay beyond the visitors’ hall open to uninitiated guests. Rilney—Lord Yosef, that is to say—is an easier and more immediate target.

What do you do?
>Head to the Royal Library to gather intelligence on Lord Yosef, a former patron and an author
>Read up on elven magical traditions, in the hope you can awaken some useful spark of magic to help breach the Tower defences
>Turn to Lady Zivic and Tokunbo, in the hopes you can extract some useful occult knowledge before their untimely demise and use it to aid in your plans
>Descend into the sewers to meet with Boss Leo, who might be able to aid you in your missions
>Track down and menace the young merchant Janus into providing actionable intel
>Other

>>4713460
>>Head to the Royal Library to gather intelligence on Lord Yosef, a former patron and an author
Don't see Zivic again or they'll get suspicious

>>4713460
>Head to the Royal Library to gather intelligence on Lord Yosef, a former patron and an author

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>>4713519
>>4713478
You decide to handle the more immediate issue first—you can crack the case of how to breach the Tower later.

For now, you head for the familiar forum of the government-funded but publically-accessible library. Once there, you take in the familiar scent of centuries if paper, leather, adhesives, and minds. Spiraling staircases wind up into higher levels, but the bottom floor on the almost pyramid-shaped building is by far the widest, full of the largest breadth of knowledge and dozens of chairs and tables for the literate public amongst the winding and somewhat haphazard corridors of amassed human thought. This is where you first met Edwin, your boyfriend/patsy… and where you first saw Lord Yosef, or V. Rilney, in the flesh.

Among these rows and rows of books roam the library. Fargus, the old man whom you used to rely upon for advice, is once more M.I.A., as he was during your last visit; taking his place as seniormost royal librarian is Fesliel, a typically willowy and angular elf of indeterminate age. The first time you saw Lord Yosef, he had been arguing with Librarian Fesliel about their removal of his scandalously-implausible and alarmist anti-Reptilian tome from the shelves.

What do you do?
>Search for archives such as birth, marriage, and death records and genealogies to learn more about House Yosef
>As Fesliel directly about the hostile old coot she had thrown out of the library, and where he might be
>Ask Fesliel about her thoughts on “Protocols of the Learned Elders”
>Search for any derivative works sympathetic to Yosef’s ideas about a subterranean race of scaly subversives
>Other

>>4713719
>Ask Fesliel directly about the hostile old coot she had thrown out of the library
And, if we get nothing interessting from the elf:
>Search for archives such as birth, marriage, and death records and genealogies to learn more about House Yosef

>>4713719
>>As Fesliel directly about the hostile old coot she had thrown out of the library, and where he might be

>>4713730
support

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>>4713730
>>4714101
>>4714197

First things first: you approach Fesliel, the eleven librarian, hoping for easy eanswers. Sadly, she has little to give you.

“Oh, hello Ismena!” she greets you. “Have you ahd a chance to read that book I leant you yet?”

“Not ass yet,” you admit. “I wass actually hoping to talk to you about sssomething elsse. You know that old man from a few dayss ago?”

You explain that you’d been meaning to talk to Lord Yosef abo something you’d rea din his genealogies—a convenient excuse since, while having borrowed them, you’ve scarcely had time to read any of his drier, less Reptilian-centric tomes.

“Fargus knows him better than I do,” she admits, referring to the missing human librarian. Her face clouds. “Sadly, he’s… under the weather. It’s… Age, I fear. I remember when he first started working here like it was yesterday, all fresh-faced and eager to help, but…”

Fesliel gets a little misty. Your own lifespan, assuming you die of natural causes, will be close to that of an elf at best estimate. Humans, as you are well aware, live much shorter lives, generally average at under a century. It seems Fesliel fears that Fargus’ tike is approaching. You express your sadness at his ill-health, and the elf suggests you might pay the old man a visit at his home. You agree that this might be a kind thing to do… But, more to the pint, you set about further research first.

The library provides scant information of the Yosef clan, alas, reaffirming your need for Fargus aid. You elaborate but a little on what you already know. Lord Isaac Yosef is apparently from a semi-prosperous banking family rom before the time of the Paladins. Centuries prior, they helped finance the beginnings of Hawksong’s elite military core in a war against an invasion of hostile men and orcs, and thereafter they were granted status and title. Over time, the family fell from financial grace to become artists and authors, supplanted by more dynasties of humans with closer kinship to the royals, but they never entirely fell out of favour.

Most recently, their name has been associated with tragedy: though Lord Yosef’s daughter yet lives, and married another minor noble, his heir apparent Hirschel died under mysterious circumstances; if he is indeed the ‘V. Rilney’ who penned’ Protocols of the Learned Elders’, you know he attributes this loss to your won race and its subversive activities, but the obituary claims the cause to be a fire caused by candles while he fell asleep reading in his study.

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>>4714691
You catch an unexpected lead, however, when you come upon details of the thirty-year-old man’s funeral: Hirschel Yosef’s final rites were performed in his ancestral manor, the address of which you are able to cross-reference with an old map of the city.

What do you do?
>Ask Fesliel about Yosef’s mad ramblings,a nd her opinions on reptilian races
>Pay Librarian Fargus a visit to ask about his friend and his family
>Scope out Lord Yosef’s home covertly
>Pay Lord Yosef a candid visit, masquerading as someone interested in his ideas
>Contact Boss Leo and the wererats about kidnapping or tailing Lord Yosef
>Other

>>4714693
>>Pay Lord Yosef a candid visit, masquerading as someone interested in his ideas

>>4715014
>Pay Lord Yosef a candid visit, masquerading as someone interested in his ideas
Sometimes the most direct route is best.

>>4714693
>Scope out Lord Yosef’s home covertly
Won't hurt to gather building information first.

>>4715226
>>4715126
>>4715014

No need to look a gift mammal in the mouth, you suppose: you opt to track down Yosef under the guise of a curious young reader looking to learn more about the Coming Race of Reptilian infiltrators. You smirk. If only he knew!

You thank Librarian Fesliel—no need to be rude to a useful contact, if Fargus is indeed dying—and head out towards the northeastern edge of town, where the old and storied Yosef Manor. Along the way, you slip your dagger subtly out of your backpack and into your garter, hidden beneath your dress. You never know—you might get a good shot at assassinating or capturing the dangerous human.

Yosef’s manor is much less decrepit and run-down than Lady Zivic’s, and well-staffed. Immediately, you become wary. This will be no simple matter of slitting an old man’s throat and slipping out a back entrance, or intimidating him into accompanying you to a second location. Or… Well, it might be, but you’ll need to work your way around a couple dozen cooks, maids, and attendants.

Along the same lines, you discover that you need to talk your way past a balding, thickly-sideburned old male to even see Yosef. His dress and affected aristocratic manner implies a high status, such as a lowborn human without a fortune of his own could ever be said to have any such status.

“Who may I tell the master is calling?” he asks. “If, indeed, this is something worthy of telling him…” The servant’s tone implies he thinks this unlikely.

>>4715271
“I’m a fan of Lord Yosssef’ss work,” you say. “I wass hoping to disssucsss his ideas in person.”

You see the servant stiffen, clearly rankled or discomfited in some fashion. You realize that, if the servants are indeed aware of Yosef’s writing under the ‘V. Rilney’ pseudonym, they would surely be instructed to help keep the secret f its true author. Luckily, you have brought with you one of the lord’s other, more conventional works: a genealogical tome. You extract it from your book, showing off the name on the spine. You see the servant relax visibly.

“Yes, well… Do come in. Soemoen will show you to the waiting area, and we will see if Lord Yosef can fit you into his schedule.”

You are led by the man just far enough for him to pawn you off on a halfling woman. This female, in frilly maid frock, is clearly miffed to be distracted from a busy schedule of cleaning the expansive estate to watch and entertain some strange, foreign-looking common girl. You can also tell that, while you cannot say why, all of the servants seem strangely cagey around you, as if something about you troubles them.

The human man heads up an ostentatiously-large staircase. While well-attended, the dour attitude around the place makes it feel more like a museum than the sort of party-hosting palatial estate that would justify so much empty space. You wonder if it was otherwise, before whatever events set Yosef on the path to becoming Rilney.

The halfling maid meets your eye but briefly, then looks away. “Mister Callaghan should return shortly,” she says, “but… I wouldn’t cunt on Lord Yosef wanting visitors.”

She doesn’t elaborate as to why.

What do you do?
>Strike up a rapport with the halfling maid, hoping to casually learn more about Yosef
>Sympathize, and reveal your knowledge of Yosef’s difficult recent circumstances
>Hint at your knowledge of Yosef’s odd ideas, and speculate that this may be related to his hermitage
>Ask for a tour of the manor while you wait
>Write-in

[A roll will accompany any options that a servant might be reticent to expound upon or agree to]

>>4715273
>Strike up a rapport with the halfling maid, hoping to casually learn more about Yosef
Something is fishy, we better be careful or hightail it out of here.

>>4715273
>>Strike up a rapport with the halfling maid, hoping to casually learn more about Yosef

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>>4715323
>>4715637

“Sso,” you say, breaking the ice with the awkward little burrowing humanoid standing near you, “What’ss your name?”

“Trubbarrel,” she says, her voice high and tone hiding anxiousness poorly behind professional courtesy. “Tine Trubbarrel.”

“Issmena,” you introduce yourself, extending a hand. “Pleassure to meet you.”

She takes your hand in her much smaller one just long enough for a single shake, then quickly withdraws it. You laugh.

“You know, I don’t bite,” you say. It’s true, generally, unless you’re being paid.

“Sorry,” Trubbarrel says. “We don’t get a lot of visitors anymore, these day. I sometimes think I’ve forgotten how to entertain!”

“The lord of the house doessn’t much like company?” you ask. “I’d have thought ssomeone with sso well-ressearched a book would have lots of sscholarly colleaguess around.”

“B-book?” the halfling squeaks.

“’The Housess and Hisstoriess of the Retainerss and Clericss of Hawkssong’,” you clarify. As expected, she relaxes almost immediately. The servants know what madness—or terrible truth—has taken hold of their master.

“Yes, well… Lord Yosef doesn’t write much. Not anymore.”

“Have you ever read any of hiss work?” you ask casually.

Tine Trubbarrel stifles a little laugh. “I’m, ah, not much for… Genealogies.”

“What do you like to read?” you ask, coming imperceptibly closer even as you bridge the emotional gap.

“Oh, you know… The current events, the odd romance novel, poetry… I guess you could say mostly trashy stuff?”

“Hass Lord Yossef ever dipped his toess into that ssort of thing?” you ask innocently.

Trubbarrel freezes again, like a rabbit in the gaze of a cobra. “Aaah, no. Not… As such.”

“Odd ansswer,” you note.

The halfling titters nervously, avoiding eye contact.

“That bad?”

“Oh,” she says quietly, “you have no idea. Ever since his son and his daughter-in-law both… Well, let’s just say he doesn’t have a lot of colleagues come around anymore.”

“Iss that why everyone iss sso on-edge around me? Becausse they’re worried I’m a fan of… Hiss other literature?”

This genuinely seems to surprise Trubbarrel. “On-edge? I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

Curious. Is she lying, or is it something else, something subconscious? You remember the way that the wererats responded to your true nature, but no other human or demi-human has had that same automatic awareness and wariness of you.

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>>4715695

Before you can give it much more thought or ask further questions, though, sideburned old Mister Callaghan returns.

“Lord Yosef will see you,” he announces.

You are led into a high-up room, meticulously free of dust but also free of comforts. The room has a single desk, old and large, but of good material and well-maintained. Its surface is marred only by a few scant traces of spilled ink. Behind it is a great chair outfitted with wheels in a most unusual and modern style, while on your side of the desk, there are two more typical wooden chairs, hard and unergonomic. The window behind the desk is huge and done up with areas of multicoloured stained glass, depicting glorious knights and enlightened-faced noble merchants, while along the bottom there are strewn-about sundry foes: orcs, kobolds, even a dragon. A tribute to a great alliance and a great war which made the fortune of Lord Isaac Yosef and his family.

Seated at the desk is the man you saw in the library. You somehow expected the same maddened, bloodshot eyes of the other day, but in this context—in his own realm—the man is calm. Isaac Yosef tents his fingers, making direct eye contact with you in a way his servants do not… And yet, you see his eyes are glazed somewhat with age and cataracts behind his curiously-thick lenses.

Lord Yosef stares at you a good, long while before he quietly says: “Well, sit then, sit. Tell me what you’re about, girl. Why are you here, to bother me about ancient history? Out with it.”

What do you do?
>Ask to speak to Lord Yosef privately, without Callaghan there, about ‘his other writings’
>Maintain the facade of being there to speak about genealogies, and attempt to get to know the man
>Tell him that you are actually here to write your own genealogy about the Yosefs, and that youw ere seeking details on their recent triumphs and tragedies
>Tell him that you are of The Coming Race, and see how he reacts
>Ask about the stained glass window, and the events depicted
>Draw your dagger and go for the kill
>Other

>>4715700
>Ask to speak to Lord Yosef privately, without Callaghan there, about ‘his other writings'
>Ask about the stained glass window, and the events depicted

It's pretty rad to see how far my dumb conspiracy book idea from the beginning of this quest has gone.

>>4715700
>Ask about the stained glass window, and the events depicted
>Ask to speak to Lord Yosef privately, without Callaghan there, about ‘his other writings’

>>4715700
>>Ask to speak to Lord Yosef privately, without Callaghan there, about ‘his other writings’

They're onto ussss
>>>/x/28059990

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>>4715776
>>4715799
>>4715854

“I’m actually here to disscusss more recent eventss,” you say.

“Hrm,” is Yosef nonresponse.

“Eventss that a mutual friend may may have written about? A Mister… V. Rilney?”

This gets his attention. He sits upright, removing his spectacles and narrowing his eyes. “How did you—”

“I ssaw you in the Royal Library, arguing with the librarianss,” you say truthfully, “and I began to ssusspect. I’d already been reading your book.”

Yosef gestures for Callaghan to leave and, though he is hesitant, the manservant obliges his master.

“Who are you?” he asks. “What do you want?”

You pivot topics, nodding towards the window. “What is thiss fascccinating display all about? I can guesss at ssome of it, ssincce the Yossefs helped fund the early Paladinss in the Orc and Easstman War, but what’ss with the dragon?”

Lord Yosef doesn’t answer right away, apparently thrown off by this diversion. “Well… Who do you think mustered all those orcs? Barring the odd great chief, most rocs are content to work as mercenaries, as bandits, or as hunters. And the Eastmen? Ha! They’d stay East if they could. Their great empires tend to be insular, barely even trading except to unload the occasional surplus.”

Lord Yosef stands, turning his back to you. A vulnerable, stupid old fool, to do a thing like that… Or confident.

“You see,” he says, “it is always the reptilian races we should rightly fear. The dragons, like the great green drake Vertillion there. Their pathetic, weak, clever little kobolds, who made life hell for the Hawksong men who drove the rocs and men back to their stronghold, only to find it infested by a far more alien force. Men are all more or less the same. Orcs are simple, and ultimately quite reasonable. But the reptilians?”

He trails off, his hands clenching into fists behind his back.

“They won’t let us live. Their view of the world has no place for us. I learned that, in my readings. And for all the ancient, brutal intellect of an elder dragon, or the conniving cunning of a kobold, there are worse things. Subtler things.”

“Shapeshifterss,” you say. “Like in Protocols of the Learned Elderss.”

“Yes,” he says, voice heavy with bitterness, sadness.

He turns back to you. “What do you want? I’ll ask you again. Who are you, and what do you want?”

What do you do?
>Tell him you’re here to learn how to save humanity
>Tell him you’re here out of curiosity, and to see if he has actual evidence
>Tell him you’re here to make a deal, on behalf of The Coming Race
>Tell him that you’re here to silence him [intimidation]
>Silence him with your dagger
>Write-in

>>4715860
>Tell him you’re here out of curiosity, and to see if he has actual evidence
>Tell him that we would be interested in aiding the human race if he shows some proof that he's not some raving lunatic (put it in a nicer way of course)

>>4715860
>Tell him you’re here to learn how to save humanity
maybe seduce him too, or at least fawningly flirt with him

File: index.jpg (7 KB, 285x177)

7 KB JPG

>>4715872
>>4716041

“If what you ssay iss true,” you say, “then you’’re right. This is the gravesst possssible threat Hawkssong—humanity—hass ever faced.”

You stand up, stepping gingerly around the desk. Lord Yosef turns and glances at you warily, taking a step back.

“I only wish to help,” you say softly. “If what you wrote about iss really happening, you’re the only who who sssees what’ss happening.”

Yosef snorts, and grumbles. “If?” he scoffs. “If, if, IF.”

“Well, yesss,” you say. “that iss the question. Your writingss are quite compelling, but… Well, do you have any proof?”

“If I had proof,” Yosef scowls, “do you think that scene you saw in the Royal Library would have occurred? Do you think I’d be holed up here, writing barely-read screeds to hurl not the void at a net financial loss? Or would I be discussing this matter with King Archos instead of you, perhaps?”

“But ssurely you musst have ssomething,” you insist.

Lord Yosef whirls around, and now you see the madness and fury in his eyes once more. “What I HAVE,” he bellows, “Is a DEAD SON. Taken from me by those THINGS, at the behest of Moroth and Marese knows what dark entities, for the mere crime of… off…”

You sense that Yosef feels he ahs said too much. He sighs, collects himself, and carries on.

“If you really wish to help, then tell your friends about my book. My family. But leave this place, and keep my name off of your tongue. I’ve already lost too much, and I have no doubt that they have their eyes on me even now.”

You tense up, ready to take up your dagger in defence of yourself and your race. Despite this, you keep your expression friendly, bemused. “Ssurely you don’t mean me?”

Lord Yosef shakes his head. “No, no. If you were hidden behind illusion, I’d have seen through it.”

He nods to the glasses on the table. Your own gaze flits to them with renewed interest

“That’s my plan,” he says, with a bitter laugh. “Spot a weakness in their armour of illusion, out one of them. Cost me more than a few copper to get those, believe you me. Still, I’d have spent ten times the price to have had those thirty years ago, when my eyes were good enough make still better sue of them.”

What do you do?
>Offer your assistance in this most noble quest
>Ask what happened to his son, exactly
>Seduce the old man, fawning over your admiration of his dedication
>Mock Yosef, attempting to disillusion him and make him doubt
>Knock him out with martial arts and take the glasses
>Kill him now, before he can go any further
>Excuse yourself, and leave
>Write-in

>>4716086
>Offer your assistance in this most noble quest
>Ask what happened to his son, exactly
>Seduce the old man, fawning over your admiration of his dedication

these three, but frame the 'seduction' as much as comfort for a tired, grieving warrior

>>4716086
>Offer your assistance in this most noble quest
>Ask what happened to his son, exactly
>Ask how do the glasses work
>Ask if he spotted any shapeshifters
Would make sense for us to be curious as a human and it's an invaluable information for Reptilianss, cause we will all be fucked if someone can just pull They Live on us.

>>4716465
supporting

>>4716086
>>Kill him now, before he can go any further

He hasn't gone anywhere and we're surrounded by witnesses. Even if we killed everybody and left unnoticed, librarian could recall we asked about Yosef... and conspiracy theorist killed in his own home is gonna raise more eyebrows than his works currently.

We could instead get on his good side and lure him out of there into a trap. We can off him, but I'm sure that higher-ups would love to ask him a few questions about those glasses and other toys he might've obtained...

>>4716691
>>4716667
>>4716590
>>4716465
>>4716120

>Offer your assistance in this most noble quest

“I want to help,” you assert once more.

“and why should you want that?” Yosef asks skeptically, bitter and self-pitying. You suppose thirty years of social ostracization would do that to one of these pitiful, over-gregarious apes. “Why should anyone believe me, let alone try to help me?”

“I believe you,” you insist. “I’ve encountered ssome ssusspiciouss occurencess myself.”

“Oh?” asks Yosef.

You nod, but quickly change the subject, to buy yourself time to come up with something later.

>Ask how do the glasses work
>Ask if he spotted any shapeshifters

“How do these work?” you ask, picking up the glasses and investigating them more closely.

“Put those down!” Yosef barks. “Careful!”

You oblige the human, setting his glasses gentl down on his old desk.

“I’m no mage,” he says after a moment, “so I haven’t the foggiest. But illusion isn’t unknown. As long as what the reptilian shapeshifters are doing is rooted in illusion magic and not true shifting of their physical body like a lycanthrope—and I have reason to believe I’m right about that—then any such magical device which allows a man to peer through illusion should be sufficient. I just have to get one in my sights!”

“Have you ever sspotted one, then?” you ask, curiously. “How do you know all thisss?”

“These beings aren’t new,” Yosef answers the second question fist. “Nor are their tactics. My research suggests that they brought low the elves, before they ever set their sights on mankind. In aeons past, they walked the surface world, high priests to dragons and dark gods. Where they find a mammalian race experiencing the same success… They subvert them, then smash them.”

“But the glasssess,” you press, “they work? You’ve ussed them?”

“Not… As such. I haven’t yet spotted one of the blasted invaders, no.” Yosef sighs. “Not with the glasses, anyway.”

File: a lost son.png (201 KB, 329x322)

201 KB PNG

>>4716805
>Ask what happened to his son, exactly

“But you have sseen one?” you probe.

Yosef grows cold and silent, and his hands begin to ball again.

“Your sson,” you surmise.

“Yes,” the old merchant says quietly. “When they took my boy. One of them had been to my household, like I say in my book. It had eaten dinner with us, laughed with us, conversed with my wife even when she was alive—before heartbreak took her, too. I’d let it hold my daughter, even!”

You say nothing, waiting for him to elaborate.

“It masqueraded as my son’s new lady love. They got engaged. Then, well… She vanished. Only then did my son tell me what she was.” Yosef laughs bitterly. “I didn’t discover them—HE did. Hirschel learned what his so-called lady really was, and insisted that he loved her anyway. He went after her, determined to bring her back.”

Yosef squeezes his eyes shut, expression pained.

“We found his body on the outskirts of town,” he says, “such as it was. Burnt to a skeleton, bits of flesh clinging to it like part streamers. Like he’d been scorched by dragon-fire. Like dragon-fire.”

Yosef looks to you, eyes watery. “Only then did I believe him. Only then did I start to research.”

What do you do?
>Offer to take the glasses and search on his behalf
>Offer to stay with him, and to apprentice under him in his knowledge
>Suggest hat you have contacts (ie. Roth) who can “help”, and suggest meeting with them
>Ask for more details about the Reptilian who masqueraded as his daughter-in-law
>Ask for more details about his son
>Leave for now, but promise to return; you have to report back to Roth before you make another move
>Write-in

>>4716806
>Ask for more details about the Reptilian who masqueraded as his daughter-in-law
Might be useful to know who left the loose ends.
>Ask where you could get the illusion-breaking glasses like his, then ask if you could borrow his pair for now to search for the monsterss
I really wanna try them on Roth to check if they indeed work, then present them to him as hard evidence.
>Leave for now, but promise to return; you have to report back to Roth before you make another move.

Do we know how many reptilians are in the city with us?

>>4716806
>>Ask for more details about the Reptilian who masqueraded as his daughter-in-law
>>Write-in
>Ask what made him sure it was his son's lady love who killed him, and not some rival faction (reptilian or otherwise).

>>4717056
Glad to see you back, RQM.

>>4717064
I've been told there was a mass exodus of the coomers, so I came to check out the brave new post-apocoomliptic reptoworld. Still haven't binged all of the archive between then and now, so my votes might lean towards unrealistically romantic.

>>4717133
bitching about 'coomers' while advertising your own shitty quest is pretty tacky, to be honest

>>4716806
>Ask for more details about the Reptilian who masqueraded as his daughter-in-law
>Ask where he got his glasses made

>>4717213
nobody was bitching or advertising, anon

>>4717503
a QM wearing his handle in another quest is advertising

and this guy spent a coupole posts last thread bitching about 'coomers', to the point he made a big show of dropping the quest over it

>>4717527
Not the first time I see a qm using handle in other quest, and he's not bitching now.

>>4717527
[I don't consider it advertising. I routinely forget to turn mine off. Don't sweat it, Reefside.

Will post soon!]

>>4717393
>>4717056
>>4716832

“Thiss shapeshifter… What wass she like? Did she have any tellss?”

Even as you ask the question, you sincerely hope a serpentine accent wasn't one of them, but you assume it couldn't be, or Yosef wouldn't be telling you all this.

“I'm not certain,” the old merchant says. “You understand how it is, after a… A loss. You look for patterns, to make sense of things. Ha! Many would say that’s what I'm doing with this whole crusade. But no. I don't think so. To me was, it was human as you or me.”

You nod slowly. A skilled operative indeed, then.

“How do you know that she killed him? Did she have fire magic?” A dragonblood, perhaps?

“A fiery tongue on her, a witty young thing. She said that she was from out of town, looking for secretarial positions, but that her attitude sometimes made it difficult for her. She had tremble keeping a job, she said.” Yosef strokes his stubbled chin and muses. “I've since come to believe that it was hiding a patchy backstory. Fabricating a work history to help blend in, hoping to acquire a position as a clerk to a man with connections… Like my Hirschel. “

“But then… Why did she leave, and kill your ssson? Had she already got what she needed?” Why did she leave so many loose ends.

“Who knows?” Yosef shrugs, annoyed at your many questions… Or his own lack of answers, which your questions make plain. “Maybe it discovered that my son had found it out. Maybe he forced its hand.”

Maybe… But the timeline seems wrong, if the merchant's son was chasing after his disappeared Reptilian fiance when he died.

“How do you know it wass her that killed him?”

“What?” Yosef demands, bewildered and incensed. “Who else would it be? What else would or could do THAT to my boy?!”

You let the question drop; it's as likely as not, you suppose, and a man like Yosef is not going abandon a theory he has clung to for thirty years to consider that Reptilians might be okay folks. You instead change topics.

>>4717681
“You know… My eyess are good,” you say, as if the diea has just dawned on you. “Where did you get thosse glasssess? If I had a pair, I could help you, go where you can't. Hunt the monssterss on the street.”

“My girl,” he says, not unkindly, “You seem nice, but I just met you. You seem, , frankly, like a thrill-seeker. How serious are you, that I should buy you so expensive a magical thing? What are you skills, that you’ll wear the things and not attract their attention? How dedicated are you, that if they, THEY, catch you at it, you won't give me up and spoil the whole game?”

He shakes his head.

Yosef returns to his seat and slumps down, turning his back and sighing deeply. “I appreciate your interest, and if you're serious, you're welcome to return here. You seem like a nice girl. You actually remind me of my daughter, when she visited.”

The conversation, it seems, is over. If Yosef thinks you a liability, he probably won't be inclined to tell you who made his glasses, either.

You have neither the device nor Yosef… But, theoretically, you COULD have both.

What do you do?
>Stealthily pocket the glasses
>Kill the old man and take the glasses—he knows too much
>Seduce your way into his good graces
>Attempt to seduce or bribe the staff into smuggling the glasses out
>Leave to update Roth—he needs to know, and he can best decide your next action
>Other

>>4717682
>Seduce your way into his good graces

Rolled 2, 17 = 19 (2d20)

>>4717748

>>4717958
>>4717748
“You know,” you say, slinking towards Yosef’s desk and falling back on an old standby, “I really admire your courage. It’ss amazing, in a way… You’re sso inssightful, to ssee all thisss… And sso strong, to face it alone.”

Yosef narrows his eye and says nothing, but pivots his chair slightly to look you over.

“You don’t need to be alone any longer,” you say, gently resting a hand on his and meeting the old man’s bleary eyes.

“Girl,” he says, clearing his throat. “Your… Admiration is well-taken. I’m flattered. But you’re young enough to be my granddaughter. Even five years ago, maybe… Maybe…”

He clears his throat again, and makes a show of taking a bundle of papers, and inkpot, and quill from his desk. “Well, when a man actually has grandchildren, it starts to mean something.”

You can tell you’ve had an effect, though. Yosef is flustered, the human merchant-lord’s eyes fixating on his papers to avoid looking at you. He shuffles them again and begins to write something, though looking at it upside down, you can tell that he has started it with ‘Once upon a dark and storm night,’ and you take this hackery to be a placeholder to occupy time and attention until you leave.

“I merely want to prove myself trusstworthy to share in your noble mission,” you say, affecting a pout.

He sighs, and sets down his quill carefully, so as not to smudge even his meaningless words on this no-doubt soon to be balled-up paper. “Then ask my man, Callaghan, to fetch you some of my books. Spread them around. Spread the word. And… Keep an eye out, I guess. But tell no one who you met, when you met ‘V. Rilney’.”

Given little choice but to agree, you bid Lord Yosef farewell. Callaghan is less than pleased to send you with a heavy bundle of unsold copies of ‘Protocols of the Learned Elders’, that much you can tell… But eh does so. Wary, unhappy, fearful for their master these servants may be… But they’re loyal.

You leave, a bundle of books richer and a tad wiser as to the threats to your mission and your race. What comes next?

>Hand out the books on the street
>Ditch the books in a bin somewhere and go see Roth
>Visit the publisher named on the bundle’s label: The Gray Press
>Drop the books off at your apartment, and go attend to your study session with Edwin while there’s still time before work
>Other

>>4717964
>Drop the books off at your apartment, and go attend to your study session with Edwin while there’s still time before work

>>4717964
>>Drop the books off at your apartment, and go attend to your study session with Edwin while there’s still time before work

>>4717964
>Drop the books off at your apartment, and go attend to your study session with Edwin while there’s still time before work
We should pick up illusion stuff today, steer the topic towards the illusion-breaking enchantments, then act like they really interest us. Ssay we lowkey would like an item with such enchantment and it would be really cool if he found glassess, or ssomething.

>>4718359
>>4718354
>>4717978
While duty calls, so too does a study session with Edwin of Engel. The tall, gangly wannabe wizard now fancies himself the bit friend of Ismena Rosgard, your civilian identity; you allow this, because the pliable rube pays for your apartment and provides a window into arcane studies. That he has a pretty remarkable phallus just makes the ruse more pleasant.

Today, though, you meeting is abusers and not pleasure.

“Illusion magic?” Edwin asks, caught off guard by the change in topics. “You always struck me as more of the ‘fireball’ type, Izzy.”

“What you don't know about me could fill a book,” you tease. “But I actually thought it might help with my act at work.”

“Ah,” Edwin says, “I see. Well… I admit that I actually always saw myself as more of a fireball GUY. I haven't read a LOT on it, but I do know that the art of illusion is said to be elven. Like, more elven than most magic started, I mean. We can do it, but influencing emotion, perception, sensation… Elves have that down pat. That's what bards are all about, after all.”

“I've heard about itemss tied to that ssort of magic,” you say casually.

“Like enchanted instruments?” Edwin suggests.

“Or glassses to ssee through illusionss to, I, on the other sside of thingss,” you say.

“Oh! Yeah, the great schools of magic have all sorts of stuff like that, you hear about. Can't have any old elven musician influencing a king, after all.”

“Where you people like me even get magic itemss?” you ask.

Edwin places a hand reassuringly in you, clearly taking this for a disparaging remark about your social status. “People like us,” he says, almost hilariously earnest.
“But, uh, they're pretty expensive and hard to come by, even if you’re, ah, well-heeled.”

What do you do?
>Keep studying with Edwin
>Seduce and pressure Edwin into looking into such items
>Flag down Fesliel for her advice on illusions
>Head to work and ask Lasker, the elven musician at The Pretty Kitty, about such matters
>Give up on studying illusion
>Blow off work to consult with Roth
>Write-in

>>4717964
>>Visit the publisher named on the bundle’s label: The Gray Press

>>4719003
>>Seduce and pressure Edwin into looking into such items
sssuch items would make excellent gifts, wouldn't you agree?

>>4719004
A bit late, but you could include that as a write-in! Would mean skipping (or being late to) work, though.

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>>4719032
You slide your hand up Edwin’s leg beneath the table, prompting the jumpy beanpole of a human to nearly leap out of his seat. No matter’ you know how to make him settle in.

“Think about it, though,” you speak quietly, your hand working its magic to hold his attention. “You’ve worked ssso very HARD to learn sspellcraft, and with a ssimple purchase… Maybe we could both truly sstart to masster it!”

Edwin clearly his throat, eyes darting about as if he fears the two of you will be caught. “It’s not an Unexciting proposition.”

You smirk. He feels plenty excited to you. However, you’ve come to learn that blatant sexuality—while fun—is not your most effective tool. You withdraw our hand, and lean into your financier and self-appointed significant other.

“I’d really appreciate it if you looked into it,” you say, looking up at him. “It ssometimess feels like we’re making sso little progressss… But I can feel it. We’re sso clossse!”

Edwin fidgets, still feeling the effects of your wiles and your less subtle lead-in. “Yes. Quite… Close. But I’ll need to see. An object like that isn’t pocket change.”

That’s saying something, you note, for a man who casually carries heaping helpings of gold in his pack without fear of robbery.

You work your magic on the man for the duration of your studies, which—at your insistence and nagging persistence—mainly focus on illusion. It seems the full-body visuals sort isn’t terrible common among men or elves, let alone any other race. This is a point of pride for you, as a loyal Reptilian! It also means that, for their apparent safeguards against such apparently-rare infiltrations, humanity and the so-called demi-humans are ill-prepared for one such as Roth or your full-blooded colleagues!

However, certain bestial races are known to take part in such illusions, especially fox folk of the far-east and certain cow-eared trolls. Items to specifically identify visual illusions are therefore primarily Eastern imports, or ancient and elven. Your thoughts flit back to Lord Yosef’s talk of your people allegedly laying the elves’ low long ago. Fascinating!

Demons, too, of course, and the occultists who work with such dark spirits. You wonder vaguely if Lady Zivic and Tokunbo still live, or if Roth has been busy as you have.

All good things come to an end, though; Edwin ahs to return home, and you have to go to work at The Pretty Kitty if you’re not to be missed.

What do you do?
>Head to work; the stage awaits, and so does your cover identity!
>Detour to Roth’s home, to report back first
>Detour to the sewers to coordinate the next stage of your plan with Boss Leo and the wererats
>Visit Lord Yosef’s publisher: The Gray Press
>Stay with Edwin, and ask to meet his family; The Pretty Kitty is less important than this new aspect of your false identity
>Write-in

>>4719361
>>Head to work; the stage awaits, and so does your cover identity!

>>4719361
>Head to work; the stage awaits, and so does your cover identity!

>>4719361
>Head to work; the stage awaits, and so does your cover identity!
it's hoetime

>>4719420
>>4719475
>>4719481

You give Edwin a lingering hug goodbye—the better to control him, of course—and head to work. Roth’s report can wait, and so too can your next move: you have a cover identity to maintain! If that means indulging in the dance which so enthralls you… Well, that’s just business.

And as with Edwin, it really IS business at its core. As you switch clothing into your coin-festooned silken harem outfit which characterizes your exotic dance routine as ‘Kamunu’, you consider what you will do next. One obvious avenue is Laskar Endingray, self-proclaimed ‘elven bard’ and the sole, skilled musician who plays in Madam Mina’s lounge. He has something of the elven magic touched on in your studies today, and even an instrument that could theoretically have some sort of enchantment.

He’s also strangely attractive, albeit mostly when he’s playing music for you.

You muse over this option as you hurry from your apartment to The Pretty Kitty, to where Mina and the dancers await you. Estellia avoids eye contact, her mammalian hackles up and body tense with continued tension from this morning. The twins glance at you occasionally, but neither Tricia nor Alicia seems keen to start any trouble. Nobody sensible would, you suppose, when their boss is a jungle-cat shaped like a woman. You’ve never seen Mina use her claws, but you’ve seen that she has holes in her gloves to accommodate their deployment.

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18 KB JPG

>>4719734
“How kind of you to join us,” Madam Mina says drolly. “I hope your new accommodations won’t render you tardy in the future.”

You bow your head in false deference to the hairy beast who employs your fake identity and grants you social cover, as you must. You already know you’ve become too big a draw to be the first dancer of the night, anyway. By the irregular, warlike beats Laskar is pounding out on his strange multi-tool of an instrument you surmise it is ‘half-orc’ Grendelia taking the stage today.

Before too long, Laskar is playing your song—subtle, hauntingly exotic, rhythmic with periodic thumps of the foot-drum to signal the bounce of your body or trills to accompany a roll and rotation of your hips. You are up, and with almost automatic ease you settle into the reverie of the elf’s music, and of the dance. You bask in the glow of the audience’s adoring, often-lustful eyes. You remind yourself not to enjoy it too much—you are merely a Degenerate, but even so, the opinions of mammals are nothing to you.

You see few familiar faces today. There is the drunken guardsman who seems to have nowhere else to be, a smattering lesser nobles chattering and drinking amongst themselves—though many fall silent when they see you take the stage, clearly aware of your routine and excited to see it. Janus—the merchant who you indulged in some group sex and then beat, robbed, and coerced into serving you as a contact—is unsurprisingly absent. So too is Zivic, perhaps forever. Edwin, who has been known to attend these sorts of events, is not there tonight. Perhaps, spending so much time with you during the day means he has to spend more time at home during the night; perhaps seeing so many males drooling over you renders the human suitor uncomfortable.

What do you do?
>Attempt to find the hidden magic within the elven music
>Focus on appealing to the crowd, to make potential marks for manipulation or prostitution
>Just enjoy the dance, focusing on your mastery of the stage and your own body—this is YOUR time
>Write-in

>>4719735
>Attempt to find the hidden magic within the elven music

>>4719735
>Write-in

Give a different performance than before: more daring, more straightforward, than usual. It won't do to fall into a routine, no matter how good your routine is. You want people to keep coming to your dance, to feel like they might be missing out on something each time they decide to skip a night; you need to give food to rumors, to make people wonder what else you are capable of. (Not to mention expanding on your own skills.)

>>4719735
>>Attempt to find the hidden magic within the elven music

>>4720006
also something like this

>>4720006
supporting

Rolled 15 (1d20)

>>4720210
>>4720006
>>4719873
Rolling for a post; DC 10

File: fullsizeoutput_81ac.jpg (1.19 MB, 1352x2047)

1.19 MB JPG

>>4720568
Your audience isn't so discerning as to care if you spare some effort to focus on the eldritch rhythms of Laskar's music—at least, that's what you tell yourself. You have a mission, and to achieve that mission you must come to an understanding of illusion magic. You let your eyes slip shut, and you focus on the music.

…But that's not right, is it? No, the Grand Design doesn't require another illusionist. Your race is replete with so-called shapeshifters, who may warp and disguise their appearance with spellcraft and fleshcraft alike. Nor are you dancing for the crowd's sake—your cover could be maintained just as well as a satisfactory-but-repetitive bellydancer. Janus and his ilk, desperate to ejaculate, hardly care for the variety of your repertoire, or the refinement of your technique. You no longer need coin, or accommodation, or patrons and connections.

The music picks up the pace, and so do you. You whirl and spin, half-imagining that your splayed and twirling silks will carry you high on dragon’s wings. You feel the swell of pride and ecstasy that took you your first night on the stage. Why are you here? Why do you want this stage, this music, this magic? The questions swirl around you like a maelstrom, and you ride the uncertainty like a wyvern on a gale.

Something sparks in you, and it doesn't stop. You feel like your heart is on fire, your blood, and when you open your eyes you are surrounded by light, by swirling colour. You fear you've gone mad, fallen prey to some madness or some mind-melting human illness as a result of your work as a prostitute… But then you hear the gasps and see the awed faces. The humans see it, too.

The music doesn't stop, and neither do you. You dance, a flowing and eternal dervish of sensory information that washes over the reality of The Pretty Kitty. You are the stage, the pink lights, the silk, the coins. This is your desert palace, and you are the prophet-princess of a prophetic dream.

You have the mastery you have sought.

When you stop, there is applause, but you hardly hear it. You hear only the music in your soul—the soul-passion Fesliel spoke of. You feel magic. You ARE magic.

What do you do?
>Return backstage to come down from this strange high
>Leave, get some fresh air in the cool night
>Find Laskar Endingray; you need to speak to the bard about what has happened
>refuse to leave the stage; you have these humans bound to you, and you won't give it up now
>Write-in

>>4720611
>Return backstage to come down from this strange high

>>4720735
actually, switching to
>Find Laskar Endingray; you need to speak to the bard about what has happened

>>4720611
>>Find Laskar Endingray; you need to speak to the bard about what has happened

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168 KB JPG

>>4721055
>>4720737
>>4720735
As soon as your shaky legs and mile-high ego have both stabilized to some degree of normalcy, you take your bow and retreat backstage. The crowd is still going wild at the time, but as you depart, things start to quiet down to a murmur. People don’t come to The Pretty Kitty for a magic show, necessarily, after all, and for all the novelty value they ultimately want their next girl and a refresh on their drinks more than the gossip about an unusually high-grade performer. Your coworkers and employer are less willing to move on.

“You’re a MAGE?!” Estellia demands, eyes tearing up in what you take to be a jealous fury. It must seem to her that you have everything and THEN some, now.

“Maybe?” you reply, noncommittally. Are you?

Manuela laughs and you think she’s going to jump on you like a piece of gym equipment for a second, to climb you in sheer excitement. “That was SO amazing! WHaaat! You could do that?”

“I guessss?”

Your eyes dart towards the area behind the curtains, where Laskar’s hidden nest lies. The elven bard is your best chance for answers, and right now that’s what you need most of all. Your travels are stopped by a gloved hand on your shoulder, claws just peaking out from sheathes to snag your shoulder. Madam Mina.

The catwoman’s feline face is impassive, my her tail is low, curling unpleasantly. A bad sign. “What was that?” she asks. “What are you doing here, if you can do that?”

“I promisse,” you quickly reply, “I will tell you everything. Jusst… Give me a moment.”

It’s bullshit, of course—a way to get the felid’s knives away from your skin and your fine fabrics, so you can hurry along to Endingray. You’ll make up an excuse as need be later. You might even tell her the truth of your magic—after all, for all that you’re keeping from her, a hidden talent for magic wasn’t one of your secrets.

Mina releases you, and you carry on. You step lightly, eager to catch Laskar before his next set, but down below you can hear that Mina has taken to stage to say some words and calm the crowd with some drinks. Perhaps nobody is sure how to follow that up, or everyone needs a moment to collect themselves.

>>4721107
Whatever the case, when you find Laskar, he is simply staring at his instrument, lightly running his fingers up and down the strings and nudging the drum near-silently with a tapping toe.

“Bard!” you nearly shout, forgetting your politesse.

“Dancer,” you quips quietly, then glances sideways at you with a faint smile. “Or should I say ‘mage’?”

“I don’t know, should you?” you demand. “What wass that?”

Laskar looks helplessly at you and shrugs. “That was… I’m uncertain. I’ve seen something like that before but… Not from a human, admittedly. NO offence meant to your kind, but you tend not towards that sort of affective, subtle spellcraft. You tend to prefer your pyrotechnics, your shifting of great stones, to moving hearts and minds or weaving rainbows.”

You just stare at him, and then down at your feet. Illusion magic is similar to what you did—what you think you did—but you’ve never seen a Reptilian do precisely the sort of spellcraft you did. And anyway, you’re no Serpent Priest, not even a full-blooded Silkscale! It seems… Alien. Bizarre.

“It wassn’t you, then?” you ask, still half-convicned this is some trick or affect brought on by Laskar’s playing.

Alskar just shakes his head. “I… Don’t believe so. But I could feel it coming on. It was like…”

He stops, laughs, and only stops chuckling when he sees the hint of fury in your eyes.

“What’ss sso funny?” you ask.

“Again, no offence meant at all Kamunu, but… It’s like when an elf-child is in… Well, you’d call it ‘puberty’. Growing up, finding a passion. Sometimes, that passion swells, and fills them and—”


You recall Fesliel’s discussion with you. “They find a magical attunement,” you finish his thought.

“Yes,” Laskar agrees. “You don’t have some elf in you, by chance, do you?”

What do you do?
>Thank Laskar for helping clarify things, and leave to go reflect privately at home
>Return to your shift
>Ask Laskar to accompany you and Edwin tomorrow at the library, to study this new gift
>Dip out early to focus on important, mission-centric things, and to take your mind away from the strange feelings within
>Reply “no, but I’d like some” [seduction]
>Write-in

>>4721110
>Thank Laskar for helping clarify things, and leave to go reflect privately at home

>>4721110
>>Write-in
>Ask Laskar to help us explain things to Mina. He's an expert, not you.
Then:
>Return to your shift

>>4721156
I'll support that

>>4721156
+1
and thank him for help

>>4721110
>>Return to your shift

>>4721156
+1

>>4721489
>>4721315
>>4721197
>>4721159
>>4721156
>>4721139

You see the left’s right ear—the one closest to the stage—twitch, almost like a lower animal’s.

“The show’s about to start again,” he says, having parsed something in Mina’s speaking patterns below. He reaches for his instrument.

“Ssince you’re the exxpert on thiss matter, do you think you could exxplain what happened to Mina?” you ask hurriedly.

Laskar looks a little flustered. “What? I’m no expert! I don’t even know how or why that just happened, honestly.”

“You undersstand it more than I do!” you protest.

Laskar glances between you and the stage below, where you presume your successor is stepping out to dance. “Very well,” he says, “I’ll try.”

He begins to srum and to blow into the woodwind components of the odd elven implement , and his beautiful music begins again. As it rises and falls, you make out the unmistakable jaunty jig of Helga Warchest’s dwarven burlesque. They must have thought it best to follow your dazzling and unexpected mysticism with something fun and light, and with bust for days.

You return downstairs and, true to your plans, you pawn off most of the explanation of Laskar. All you tell Mina is that you didn’t realize you were a mage—if, indeed you do qualify as such.

“What do you plan to do about it?” Mina asks. You get the underlying meaning. She wants to know if you’ll still be working here, for her, as a dancer and/or prostitute, now that you have magical powers.”

You smile, and nod. For tonight, at least, you will finish your shift; beyond that, you will need to think on it. You don’t tell her the last part, but you see her tail flit uneasily. You get the feeling she can sense something of your own uncertainty.

You continue your shift, attending the last dance of the evening—the grand, tip-raising, skirt-hiking line dance with your coworkers—and then set about helping to clean up the customer area as it empties out. Grandiose thoughts and unfamiliar feelings are still swirling round your head, but two decades of rigid, regimented training helps keep them locked up in their own mental compartment, far from your conscious action. You feel strangely exhilarated and energized, even after what should have been an exhausting night.

What do you do?
>Head home to read up on elven magic
>Try to flag down lascar for further explanation and tutelage in this new ability
>Discuss your future employment with Mina (Resign? Reassure her you’re staying? Please specify)
>See about making some coin with ‘wetwork’; you don’t really need the money, but you could use the distraction
>Focus on your other job, and head out into the darkness to do some Reptilian spycraft
>Write-in

>>4721513
>>Try to flag down lascar for further explanation and tutelage in this new ability

Tell him some sort of innocent half-truth regarding our parentage.

>>4721513
>Ask Mina what does SHE think we should do
>Tell her we need some time to digest tonight's events and decide what we to do next
>Head home to read up on elven magic

>>4721522
+1

this is a lot to take in at once

>>4721859
>>4721519
>>4721522

Bereft of all support and guidance, and too overwhelmed to function without it, you begin to lose your moorings. Cast adrift, you do as you were trained: you seek out the instructions of a handler. Roth is the closest analogue, but he's all the way across town… And anyway, he's not exactly what you need right now. Your addled mind settles on the closest authority figure, a mammal but at least a fellow female, an administrator, and a fellow predator. You seek out Mina.

Before her ornate desk, in her dolled-up bedroom-turned-office, you sit before her like your younger self might have stood before those who trained you. You stare straight ahead, and recount the events as you understand them, leaving out only those details it would be foolhardy or treasonous to share; you tell her nothing of your Reptilian nature , but instead substitute Laskar’s theory of elven blood in your family line.

“And now you want to know what to do?” Mina asks.

“Yess,” you say, trying to keep the pleading from your voice. This is outside of your mission parameters, and you ate uncomfortable with that. You need Mina, or someone, to provide new, border parameters to accommodate these emotions.

“Quit,” Mina says.

“W-what?” The suggestion catches you off-guard, like a blow from your blind spot.

Mina’s expression and tone are as neutral as ever; you sense no hostility. Yet she reaffirms her suggestion.

“This is no line of work for those with other options,” she says. “Risking diseases, ever beholden to men and to women of means, ever scorned and easily discarded by those same people who fawn and fondle. Eventually, it becomes the only option, as reputation grows. After a display like that… Your reputation will go. If you dance like that, it’s going to get around what you've done after your dances. Any other avenues open to you now will begin to close.”

You remain silent, taking this in. It makes a certain amount of sense, and yet…

“But I like it,” you say quietly. It was, if Laskar and your own traitorous heart are to be believed, the passion you have for the dance and the music, the mastery and the applause, that GAVE you this gift. Can your magic even exist without it?

Mina sighs, the sound a growl. “You came here seeing to be a high-priced girl,” she eventually says. “Well, you have the body, the outfit, the attitude, the skill. And now you have the hook: magic. You want that, then? I can probably do that for you.”

You hesitate to accept. It's just a lot to digest at once, even for a reptilian who eats several pounds of meat in a single sitting. You tell Mina you need to think about it, and she agrees to the wisdom of this.

>>4722289
You walk home in a reverie, only your ingrained situational awareness guiding you along a safe oath that steers clear of those areas where lanterns are snuffed out. You do not tire noticeably during the walk, only falling into exhaustion when the door is closed and latched to your apartment. You take a deep sigh, and slump down in the still-novel surroundings of your entertaining room.

In time , you muster energy to rummage through your pack for the book you borrowed from Fesliel the Librarian, on the human make who traveled among elven entertainers: “A Jester in the Faerie Court". The tale is mostly creative nonfiction, rather than a serious study, but the tale of a stranger among an alien race, discovering wonders inside himself and strange allure in the bizarre ways of the other beings around him… It rings true even so. The way he describes feeling when his elven lover sings sweet songs makes you think, queerly, of both Laskar AND of Edwin.

Eventually, torpor forces you to close the book. Shortly thereafter, a properly dreamers Reptilian slumber takes hold of you.

When you awaken, you feel more normal, more yourself… But still, you have changed.
[You can now cast illusions and glamours, 2d20 as relevant]

What do you do?
>Go speak to Roth
>Arrange a meeting with Boss Leo
>Go track down Janus, to coerce him into assisting your quest for magic item
>Seek out a magic item shop on your own
>Visit Fesliel at the library to speak to her about magic matters
>Seek out comfort and magic advice from Edwin
>Investigate Gray Press publishing
>Other

>>4722292
>>Other
Go hit the library on: 1. matters of elves and half-elves going through "puberty"; 2. matters of this kingdom's law regarding untrained/unlicensed use of magic, and known ways to detect a malign use of illusions (it won't do to deceive someone with an illusion only to realise we did it in front of paladins' CCV, or something; our illusion-used compatriots are likely trained not to make obvious blunders, but we aren't).

We need to know as much as possible about what is going on with us, AND exactly how much of an advantage, and how much of a danger to ourselves, this new ability is. Laskar's pointed us in the right direction, but it's doubtful he can be bothered for a comprehensive rundown.

>>4722292
>>4722629
+1
Bit chaotic, but makes sense.


Unrelated, but we should ask Mina why did she stay in the brothel with her cat appearance. Surely she could find some other options being one of rarer species in the city.

>>4722629
>>4722670
Try as you might, you can't bring yourself to focus directly and consistently on the mission. Every plan of action you devise drifts back to thoughts about last night, and what it means. What is going on with you? What does it mean? Is it a potential liability?

Luckily, your new apartment is closer to the Hawksong Royal Library than your old one was. You put on your brown peasant dress and head there bright and early; finding it closed, you lingerie about the entrance until it opens, and then head immediately inside. Fesliel greets you (still no Fargus), and you return the greeting and then head right for the Ethnography and Demi-Humans section. Half-elves shall be your best analogue, you suspect!

Ever self-centred, the humans are. You find far more works on half-elves and humans of elven ancestry than you could on pure-blooded elves. There is little talk of anything akin to the magic ‘puberty’ that Laskar Endingray described, but there IS a lot of talk about their inherent proclivity for magic, and their great ability as mages. A part of you wonders if, by playing this lie about your ancestry up, you could gain access to the Hawksong Mages' Tower.

However, this brings dangers yet unknown. You have heard from Edwin that there are many anti-illusion defences in halls of power. This seems both logical and in-line with your training; is this not why Roth and other superior, full-blooded Reptilians even employ Degenerate hybrids like yourself, who do not need illusion to masquerade as ape-men?

You search for books which might elaborate on such defences. Unable to find anything along these lines (you suspect that they’re in The Tower's own library, blast them), you seek outa book on law to learn about regulations on magic usage, and especially illusion. Again, you are frustrated to find little, but gradually and smirking you understand the implications: magic, purview of the mystically-adept upper-class, is largely unregulated. While deceit, fraud, trespassing, and more are crimes in and of themselves, there is no specific penalty for enabling these with magical means.

Still, knowing it to be the purview of Eastern beastfolk and other exotic entities, you can't imagine being caught in the use of illusion with criminal intent would be looked on kindly or without suspicion by any authority who found you out.

>>4722908
Your research absorbs much of your morning, but you still have most of the day ahead of you. Yosef yet lives and remains free, you remind yourself, and you still have no means to neutralize his glasses. By the same token, the nature of the dwarven ruins and the strange rune-etched polyhedron remains a mystery to you.

What do you do?
>Linger in the library, seeking answers with Fesliel until Edwin can come aid you in your search
>Pay Roth a visit to discuss matters
>Look into other means of employment which might benefit from your new magic and bring you closer to the tower
>Seek out illusion-related magic items in library records
>Find somewhere hidden to practice your new magic alone
>Visit Yosef's estate once more to advance your destruction of the man
>Focus on matters of dwarven enchantments for now
>Write-in

>>4722910
>Seek out illusion-related magic items in library records


>>you lingerie about the entrance until it opens

Not sure if a typo.

>>4722944
[Ha! Autocorrect knows what thread 1 was like.]

>>4722963
Don't worry. There's been a misspelling here and there, but your intent is usually clear, so it's not a huge labiality.

>>4722910
>Pay Roth a visit to discuss matters
Let's just talk about Yosef, nothing new on tower and we should not talk about our magic until we can use it properly. Not like that twat's gonna help us.

>>4722910
>>Seek out illusion-related magic items in library records

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>>4722944
>>4722963
>>4723061
>>4723198

>Seek out illusion-related magic items in library records
You spend a while longer in the library, eventually checking out with a few promising books on illusion-related items. There is apparently quite the tradition of cloaks and hats intended to disguise spies, though you find that this is one area where the city’s law has indeed stepped in: their sale is barred.

Conjurers and entertainers are known to wield simple wands which can created streams of colour or simulate basic effects, like a fireball or lighting bolt; the illusion inflicts no harm, but allows almost anyone to appear a wizard!... Well, anyone extraordinarily wealthy, you’d assume. It requires someone quite skilled, usually from the elven colleges, to even make such a thing. This precludes any sort of affordable mass production, and confines their use to courtly entertainers for the most part.

Elven instruments and implements can indeed carry a portion of their ‘passion’, becoming an enchanted tool of sorts in their hands, but this rarely if ever seems to apply to another user who borrows, buys, or steals it. There are a number of fables and morality plays about those who tried and failed to steal an elf’s talent; the purpose of such tales, whether or not they are historical, seems to be a moral about the superiority of good, honest hard work.

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>>4723200
>Pay Roth a visit to discuss matters
While you decide not to tell Roth about your new journey of self-discovery—you can just imagine the vitriol you would endure from the pure-blood—you still need to report back about Lord Isaac Yosef and your progress there. You swing by your apartment long enough to drop off your books and to pick up one from Lord Yosef’s bundle, as well as the Gray press label.

When you arrive at Roth’s smithy, he is busily hammering out ring after ring for a suit of chainmail. He is without customer in the store, though. You clear your throat, and he looks up at you, scowling slightly when he recognizes you.

“Why are you here, degenerate?” he asks in the human tongue.

You hesitate, glancing at the door. Should you not lock up and speak candidly, and in your own tongue?

“You arrived early today,” he explains. “A blacksmith like Roth doesn’t just close his door to customers mid-day, nor does he slack at his work.”

You nod. Then you shall speak with subtlety. You set down a copy of ‘Protocols of the Learned Elders’, which Roth briefly glances at.

“I wass given a bundle of thesse to hand out by ‘Rilney’, after visiting with him.”

“Burn them,” Roth grunts.

“Yess, well… There’ss more where thesse came from. A publisher called ‘Gray Pressss’ sseemss to be producccing them.”

Roth humphs and acknowledgement, not looking away from his work.

“It sseemss that Rilney believess that hiss sson’ss death wass at the land of hiss… Non-human lover, almosst thirty yearss ago. He’ss quite obsssesssed. Hiss colleagues and sservantss sseem not to believe him, though.”

“Ah,” Roth says. “Anything on the Tower?”

“Not until month end,” you say, caught briefly off-guard by the sudden change in subject.

“Well then,” Roth says, “deal with these loose ends. Gray Press. Rilney. Anyone else who saw anything.”

“Well, you ssee, he didn’t sssee anything, neccesssarily… But he might.”

“What do you mean?” Roth asks sharply, looking up with an accusatory glare. His eyes only widen with shock when you tell him about the glasses.

“If he has these, so too might others. That would be—”

“Bad,” you agree.

“Get them,” he instructs. “Bring them to me. We need to ensure that Rilney doesn’t use them. Maybe we can use them as well. Find a way around them.”

You nod, accepting the instructions.

What do you do?
>Ask what Roth knows about other operatives in the city, such as Hirschel Yosef’s Reptilian lady love
>Ask Roth about Reptilian magical traditions
>Ask Roth for back-up or assistance in handling the Rilney case
>Leave to continue in your important work
>Write-in

>>4723198
[Sorry--had written up a reply taking into account the two singular votes before I saw yours.]

>>4723203
>>Ask what Roth knows about other operatives in the city, such as Hirschel Yosef’s Reptilian lady love
>>Ask Roth about Reptilian magical traditions
>>Leave to continue in your important work

>>4723265
>Ask what Roth knows about other operatives in the city, such as Hirschel Yosef’s Reptilian lady love

“Hm?” Roth glances at you. “Does compartmentalization mean nothing to you?”

You narrow your eyes slightly. Yes, obviously you understand that the Grand Design requires each operative to have minimal interactions with others outside of mission requirements. That way, if one of you is captured and interrogated, the mission and the race itself is not compromised. It’s why the very cavern where you were born and raised was so isolated, why you had no childhood friends—only handlers.

“It’ss jusst…. Surely we should identify and plug thiss leak?”

“By the sounds of it, we did, about thirty years ago,” Roth replies shrugging and returning to his work. “Might have even been a part of it, for all I know or care. Sounds like a routine clean-up. Like what you should be doing to this Rilney and all his associates and family. Like what I did with the human woman, the occultist.”

Ah. So Lady Zivic is… Cleaned up.

>Ask Roth about Reptilian magical traditions

Roth rubs his forehead, and you see his nictitating membrane slip shut as if he is trying not to squeeze his eyes shut in sheer annoyance.

“Degenerates don’t have magic. Not ours. One of the only things you’re good for is using magic items intended for humans.”

You nod along, definitely wary about telling him about your recent experiences now.

“But iss there anything we have accessss to, to help me infiltrate the Tower?” you press. “Or ssomethign to negate the glasssesss effect?”

“Bring me those glasses,” he says, “and our SUPERIORS will find out.”

“But—” you begin to protest.

“It’s called ‘need to know,’ Degenerate, and all you need to know is that Rilney needs handling, and that you need to find out what the Paladin King and the Archmagus have planned for city defences.”

>Leave to continue in your important work

You nod again, and depart without another word. Part of you simmers with resentment, and other parts of you soak in shame for your disgusting, misplaced self-importance. Obviously, you should focus on the mission. Obviously, the rest of… THIS… Is a distraction.

What next?
>Pay a visit to The Gray Press to find out what they know
>Return to Yosef’s manor to see about getting those glasses
>Seek information on the rest of Yosef’s family, and their knowledge and whereabouts
>Practice your magic anyway—if the Stars weren’t Right for you to become an illusionist, you wouldn’t have these powers
>Seek out Edwin of Engel for some aid and affirmation
>Write-in

>>4723755
>Pay a visit to The Gray Press to find out what they know
>Practice your magic anyway—if the Stars weren’t Right for you to become an illusionist, you wouldn’t have these powers

We should bait Lord Yosef far away from his home and ask wererats to attack while we're with him. That way we won't be directly associated with his death.

>>4723755
>>Seek information on the rest of Yosef’s family, and their knowledge and whereabouts
>>Practice your magic anyway—if the Stars weren’t Right for you to become an illusionist, you wouldn’t have these powers

>>4724307
>>4724316
You resolve to continue practicing your magic anyway. Why shouldn’t you? It was the Stars and those great being beyond them who told The Serpent Priests to spare your egg, to rear you for this mission, and to send you to this place. Who is Roth to say that the Stars aren't Right for you to become a mistress of illusion and glamour magic?

However, Roth is still a superior pureblood, and he is correct that the mission itself comes first—not that you didn't already know that. You decide that it is best to round up locations for all the relevant humans, first. You don't want to do what Yosef’s son's Reptilian lover did, leaving survivors who will educate their time and energy to the cause of exposing your race's existence and intentions.

You start with the Gray Press publishing company. You have an actual address for them, after all. You find them in the shabbier area of town. This isn’t terribly surprising considering the lurid content they distribute: in their windows you see tabloid headlines about nobility, and exotic adventure tales with titles like ‘I Was Bred by the Fox-Women of Furthest Orient!’ or ‘Goblins Ripped my Flesh!’. It makes sense both that they would publish Rilney's unfocused anti-Reptilian conspiracy screed, and that they would make questionable editorial decisions like the provocative cover.

Inside, you find the staff in something of a scramble. Humans and demi-humans are scrambling about, including a half-orc who hastily shoves past you with only a half-hearted ‘pardon’. At the back, in a heavily-trafficked area surrounded by wooden boards pinned with papers and string, a human man and woman are in frantic conversation with an impressively-mustachioed make dwarf.

“I'm telling you,” the woman says, “It's a murder-suicide. Grief-stricken woman snaps, lonely and broken burns manor down with servants inside.”

“Then where's the Aardan?” the man counters. “Hell, where is SHE? There was no sign of Zivic's body, either!”

“So, what, the Aardan kidnapped her, burned the place down to hide it?”

“Or someone targeted Zivic, and both escaped,” the dwarf chimes in.

“No sign of either of them alive, either, though,” the woman says. “Just watch--they'll find two more bodies.”

It seems Roth’s clean-up has drawn some attention, at least in this story-hungry quarter. You briefly recall Zivic’s half-elf gardener and her rather burly, red-headed head of staff, apparently both now immolated and perished like Hirschel Yosef before them. Speaking of which…

What do you do?
>Approach the three Gray Press journalists with an interest in Rilney/Yosef
>Approach them as Yosef's colleague
>Approach them as someone with information on Zivic and Tokunbo the Aardan
>Approach them as an aspiring journalist
>Write-in

>>4724708
>Approach the three Gray Press journalists with an interest in Rilney/Yosef

>>4724708
>>Approach the three Gray Press journalists with an interest in Rilney/Yosef

>>4724727
>>4725027
You step towards the three at the back of the alleged news-room, clearing your throat. They look up and, in the case of the males, look back down again. The female catches this latter glance, and rolls her eyes.

"Can we help you, Miss?" the dwarf asks. From the way both humans were addressing their debate-points to him, and the general air he presents, you take him to be the ringleader of this little media circus.

"Yess, I think you can," you say. You introduce yourself, and so too does he: Siddug Underhead.

"I'm here becaussse of thiss," you say, holding up your first copy of 'Protocols of the Learned Elders of the Coming Race'—the one you purchased in Sparrowton. Siddug raises an eyebrow, seemingly not even recognizing it, but the male human leans down and whispers something to him, and his granite-grey eyes alight.

“Ah, yes. The mad old man and his lizard-scrawlings. Look, if this is about ‘racial coding’ or what have you, I’ve already had my people publish a clear statement addressing the merchants’ guilds, the Eastern Immigration Office, the elven colleges, and even my cousin’s bloody dwarven corporations: the author and the publisher does not intend for bloody SECRET LIZARD PEOPLE to stand in for any human or demi-human group.”

Hm. Interesting. The book hasn’t had much readership, but has still somehow stoked controversy. What do you do?
>Apply additional pressure, trying to amplify the perceived offensiveness of the book to get Underhead and Gray press to retract it entirely
>Claim to have proof that the author’s theories are real, but in a real manic way; make them fear provoking actual lunatics to violent action
>Tell them that you are actually here on behalf of the author’s estate, asking them to retract it for the sake of the Yosef family reputation
>Ask if they really believe this nonsense; appeal to what journalistic integrity they may have
>Write-in

>>4725067
>Ask if they really believe this nonsense; appeal to what journalistic integrity they may have
Let's see of anyone else needs to be disappeared.

>>4725067
>Apply additional pressure, trying to amplify the perceived offensiveness of the book to get Underhead and Gray press to retract it entirely
>Ask if they really believe this nonsense; appeal to what journalistic integrity they may have
Offer to bring them tinfoil equivalent hats to wear

>>4725704
>>4725167

“Frankly, I think the entire thing reekss of mispalced, undirected xenophobia all around,” you say, affecting grave disappointment. “Ass a reccent immigrant mysself, I wass wondering why it iss that you would publish thiss nonssensse at all. Now that I know you’re a dwarf as well…”

“That’s right,” Underhead says testily. “I AM a dwarf. Do you really think I’d be publishing a book about underground invaders subverting human society if I thought it was somehow covert racial propaganda?”

“What’ss the alternative?” you ask, waving the book like a proper “You actually believe reptilian shapeshifterss are invading Hawkssong?”

You can see the two humans cringe, but Underhead digs in and doubles down. “Is it so far-fetched? We KNOW there is a dragon smoldering in the mountains to the south, that lizardman activity on the coasts is on the rise. And other beastmen can disguise themselves in the east. Why not a reptile one?”

“BeastFOLK,” you correct pointedly. “Thiss iss exactly the xenophobic fearmongering I’m talking about! This entire book iss coded to other, to exxclude, to demonize and foment misstrusst for those not born as part of the local Hawksong population.”

“That’s ludicrous,” the dwarf sputters.

“Do you think that the Paladinss would find it ridiculouss?” you ask. “The merchantile ssuccesss and racial harmony of Hawkssong hingess on cooperation.”

“It also hinges on a free press,” the human female chimes in.

“Yeah,” her male colleagues joins in, emboldened by her interruption. “Who even are you? Who sent you?”

“Jusst ssomeone who wonderss if you wouldn’t be better off invessting in foil headwear,” you quip. “That or noosess, for when the crackpot racissts and speciessiestss you encourage sstart lynching citizenss who act or think differently becausse think think they’re ‘reptilian sspiess’.”

The two humans look taken aback by this proclamation. You hear the man whispering to the dwarf, asking if they’d be liable. The dwarf’s expression is tony, his upper lip stiff behind his moustache, but you can sense his concern.

What do you do?
>Attempt to bluff or manipulate your way into getting additional info out of them (What? How?)
>Turn on heel and leave; you’re done here, for now
>Steal a glance at their reports on the Zivic fire while you’re here [stealth roll, penalty for all this attention directly on you]
>Attempt to use illusion magic to steal the Zivic fire [illusion roll, no penalty but if you fail you will fail spectacularly]
>Write-in

>>4725804
>Turn on heel and leave; you’re done here, for now
lol damn

>>4725804
>>Turn on heel and leave; you’re done here, for now

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>>4725990
>>4725921
You exit the offices of the Gray Press publishing house (such as they are) to return to the streets of Hawksong. Having given them all that to stew on, there is little else for you to do here… For now, at least.

Of course, between your research and your gallivanting around town on matters of sinister spycraft, there is little room in your day to meet with Edwin. Prudence tells you that a needy mammalian male is unlikely to enjoy many such days of unexplained absence, but your dancer and prostitute training has also taught you the value of delaying performance or pleasure to keep one on-the-hook. Plus, you smirk, you know just how to make it up to him.

Lost in such thoughts—it’s not like it won’t be enjoyable for you as well—you head back into the reed lantern district. You are already carrying your Kamunu clothing in your backpack, so as to avoid a time-consuming trip back up-tow to fetch it before work.

However, as the sun sets and the golden glow of the regular lanterns gives way to that characteristic crimson, you recall your conversation with Madam Mina. It occurs to you: this may just be your last shift, if you so desire, maybe even your last day of performing or ‘performing’ for pay ever again.

What do you do?
>Continue performing publicly as Kamunu, dancing nightly and doing ‘wetwork’ as you see fit
>Take Mina up on her offer to become a high-priced and highly-placed escort at private events
>Tender your resignation; this will be your last shift as Kamunu
>Blow off the shift to go do some additional spycraft; why not?
>Blow off the shift to go visit Edwin; secure that source of financing and get yourself some dick
>Write-in

>>4726291
>>Tender your resignation; this will be your last shift as Kamunu
>>Write-in

Make it your dance this time. Not your clientelle's, not madam Mina's. Yours. Mina gave you her blessings to quit and make a more appropriate career; she won't object too much if you cut loose for your last night, not in the vulgar sense, but in sense of no longer caring about anything but your music, your dance, your pleasure, your magic.

Let's see how much you can eke out of Laskar's art when there's no intermediary concern of appealing to anyone but the art itself.

>>4726291
>>Take Mina up on her offer to become a high-priced and highly-placed escort at private events
Time for our promotion

>>4726291
>>Take Mina up on her offer to become a high-priced and highly-placed escort at private events

>>4726291
>Take Mina up on her offer to become a high-priced and highly-placed escort at private events

>>4726291
>>Take Mina up on her offer to become a high-priced and highly-placed escort at private events

If this isn't the VIP ticket into certain events we as a spy have been looking for from the outset, I don't know what is. Looks like hoein' off is starting to pay off.

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>>4727099
>>4727068
>>4726598
>>4726453
You briefly consider giving up the stage and the dance altogether, of giving up Kamunu. You tell yourself that this will be her last performance, but a grand one, and honest, one. You tell yourself that you will resign, take to the stage within the glow of the pink lights, bask in Laskar’s song, and that it won’t be Kamunu who dances but YOU! Then, as is proper and good, you will retire to pursue only the Grand Design of The Serpent Priests.

The moment you slip into that second skin and that silk garment which Agatha Johan made for you, you realize this cannot be. You were never just dancing as Kamunu: you were always dancing as you, the real you. That’s why it awoke your spellcraft. The Grand Design, your magic… Your dancing must surely be a part of it.

“I’ll do it, you tell Madam Mina. “I’ll take the promotion, to do private eventsss!”

Mina only nods. “Tomorrow, then. Tonight, you’re our closer. Make it count.”

You resist the urge to bow your head and salute her like a superior. You compartmentalize again, hiding at least SOME small part of yourself behind a fictional Kamunu. By the time you’ve gotten down to the back-stage waiting area, it seems Mina has told the other dancers. There is an uneasy silence when you enter, as if the gossiping which sometimes characterizes the interactions has sharply stopped. You smile and wave, and before too long you have them all talking again, save the quiet twins and Estellia, who looks torn between some incomprehensible human torrent of emotion; it must be good to see her rival gone, but it must sting to know it is because you are climbing to higher station.

By the time Laskar Endringray starts your music, you are truly pumped to a degree that is unbecoming, but you hardly care. It won’t be Kamunu’s last dance, but it will be perhaps your last time on The Pretty Kitty’s stage. You’ll make it count.

When you take the stage, you can see that the drunken lout of a guardsman is in the audience (of course) but so too is Edwin, looking relievced and excited to see you… And in the darkness of the back, thought you can hardly make it out, you see a flash of rich loam-dark skin that could just be an Aardan. The only human of Aarda you have ever seen around the city thus far, unless you’ve missed one or two in passing, is Mister Tokunbo of the now-immolated Zivic estate. Could it be?

Well, this is a complication and a half. What do you do?
>Dance like nobody is watching
>Display your magic fully, putting on a light-show and affecting emotion to fascinate the crowd [roll required to determine effect]
>Abandon the stage
>Ask the guardsman to check in on the darker human at the back
>Write-in

>>4727177
>Dance like nobody is watching

>>4727177
>>Dance like nobody is watching

>>4727185
>>4727256
You dance as if nobody is watching you at all. You cast aside concerns of Tokunbo—if indeed that is the Aardan occultist—and of Edwin. You focus not on your magic, or your conflicted feelings about it. You focus not even on the Grad Design. You just… Dance.

Music flows through you like water, and you feel the spark in your soul which you associate with last night’s ‘experimental’ performance and the onset of your magic. It doesn’t explode forth this time, though. You know to expect it and, not seeking to draw undue attention, you let it seep out of you like subtlest miasma. If it has any effect, it is to keep all eye son you. Where else would they be, though, with your craft ever more perfect?

You know it isn’t the best or most dazzling performance you’ve ever put on, distracted as you are by so many other concern, but your clearing of your mind helps to make it better than it could be. No doubt some of the mammals are wondering at the lack of magical display—you hear the guardsman belch some confused complaint to this effect—but you get your fair share of whoops, hollers, and applause.

You depart the stage in due time. Now, about the ‘complications’…

What do you do?
>Go see Edwin of Engel
>Skulk to the back, to see if that is Tokunbo
>Speak to the guard about the Aardan
>Speak to Mina about Aardan
>Sneak out to evade possibility of exposure or awkwardness
>Other

>>4727284
>>Other

>Flitter from person to person towards the back, to see if that is Tokunbo; but not skulking — we're likely to draw too much attention to skulk — but basking in that attention, and using it as a cover. It's not unusual for a dancer in such a place to weave her way between the tables, brushing one client on the arm, showing some leg to another, winking to some, licking her lips to some?

>>4727284
>Skulk to the back, to see if that is Tokunbo
If that's really him, we gotta tell Roth that shit went wrong and Tokunbo with Zivic are alive

Rolled 1, 15 + 1 = 17 (2d20 + 1)

>>4727416
>>4727419

>>4727701
>>4727419
>>4727416

Hesitant to draw attention to yourself lest your quarry realize you are in pursuit, you pointedly do NOT skulk. Instead, you transform from sinuous desert princess to social butterfly. You slide down from the stage to mingle with your adoring public. This IS your last hurrah on this particular stage, after all—from now on, Kamunu is for high-rollers and high-priority targets, only!

Speaking of high-priority targets, however, you find that this approach does not catch you an Aardan human. Between all the arm-touches, footsies, winks and suggestive lip-licks—and briefly, politely shaking off Edwin’s more persistent attentions—you are unable to reliably keep eyes on the dark-skinned human. By the time you have reached the back of the room, ‘Tokunbo’ (or whoever it was, if indeed it was anyone besides your imagination) is gone.

You cast a quick, half-panicked glance about. Are he and Zivic alive, and watching you? You recall the chatter at the Gray press offices—no body found. Do they know you were instrumental in their attempted assassination? What will they do to retaliate against you, or the Reptilian race writ large? They might even know something of your interest in the Tower…

Your spiral of anxious schemes and counter-schemes is interrupted. You see that the back door has been left ajar, flapping slightly in a breeze as if someone has just absconded through that particular egress.

What do you wish to do?
>Pursue the possible leak at speed! You can’t let Tokunbo get away again…
>Sneak out after him, lest you give yourself away
>Stay put and visit with Edwin; you don’t know who that was, and you are unarmed
>Make an excuse to leave and go inform Roth right away
>Write-in

>>4727704
>>Sneak out after him, lest you give yourself away
>Sneak out after him, lest you give yourself away

Rolled 17, 4 = 21 (2d20)

>>4727712
Rolling for DC 17 stealth (you are still wearing a coin-festooned harem outfit)

>>4727712
>>4728362
You are loathe to let Tokunbo elude your clutches. Unarmed or no, you are confident in your stealth, and in your martial arts prowess against middle-aged human diplomat (even a supernaturally-educated one). You sneak out the entrance before it closes, padding lightly in close pursuit.

You are right to be confident. Clad in darkness, one could almost forget you are deliberately adorned with coins; though they jingle proactively with each wiggle and pop of your hips on the stage, they now fall silent as death.

As you close the distance, you catch sight of your quarry. You get a positive identification. It is no dark-skinned stranger that you spied, but Tokunbo the Aardan, Lady Zivic's knowledgeable tutor in the occult. This man knows of your true nature, suspects your mission. If he knows who set loose fire upon he and his patron, he has every reason to turn whatever secrets he has over to the Paladins, or to unleash whatever occult powers he lays claim to upon you…

But he hasn't, yet. He left the venue at The Pretty Kitty without taking action or confronting you. What is his game? And where is he going, hunched over and hurrying so that he pays you no heed? You can hear him muttering to himself in some alien tongue—Southern Common perhaps?

What do you do?
>Strike now—take him down before he can act against you!
>Approach him as a friend, and play it cool; ask what he wants
>Take him down non-lethally, and extract answers
>Tail him to his destination, and gather intelligence
>Abandon the chase, and set the wererats on his trail instead while you tend to other matters
>Write-in

>>4728370
>Abandon the chase, and set the wererats on his trail instead while you tend to other matters

inform our crotchety blacksmith boss of this as well - either via wolfrat messenger or personally

which reminds me, we still gotta slide something to the wererats to keep them on our good side

>>4728370
>>Abandon the chase, and set the wererats on his trail instead while you tend to other matters

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>>4728414
>>4728605
You watch Tokunbo go for a short while, slowing in your pursuit. Eventually, an idea strikes you. You slip back into the shadows, and into those areas of the city where Hawksong’s carefully-tended city lights give way to patches of deliberate darkness. As you learned on your first night in the big city, where lanterns are snuffed, wererats often lurk.

You gravitate towards the dingy areas adjacent the river which serves as the city’s main sewer dump-site, and follow it along until you hit uninterrupted night. There, true to form, lurk men with one foot in the realm of Rodentia: former junkies and vagrants, transformed by the curse-bearing bite of a would-be underworld kingpin into a more literal ‘street-rat’. They wear their human skins tonight, but you can see the vermin in them still. Smell it, too.

“Oh shit,” one squeaks, tapping his companion on the shoulder as you approach. “It’s her! Snake-girl!”

“Rosssgard,” you correct the rat-man. “And I have a job for you.”

“We only take orders from Boss,” the other says snappily, albeit not with great conviction. These corrupted men have an instinctive fear of you, as all prey fears natural predator.

“Yess, well, go tell Bosss Leo that there’ss a valuable man on the run in thesse sstreetss,” you say. “An Aardan man, wearing robes, with shaved head. He’ss got valuable information.”

“This about the Tower job?” the bolder rat asks.

“Mind your placcce,” you hiss, and he backs off. “I’ll talk to Leo about it later. Jusst do as you’re told, rat-boy.”

The wererats look between themselves, but they’ve all heard of your arrangement with their master. These two might have even witnessed you make it, in their other form. They slip into the darkness, following the directions you give, and before long you hear two sets of boots give way to the scrabble of spindly claws in a quadrupedal lope… And then silence.

Where to?
>Return to The Pretty Kitty
>Head to Roth’s smithy to warn him about what you’ve learned
>Go down into the sewers to speak to Boss Leo directly
>Write-in

>>4728641
>Head to Roth’s smithy to warn him about what you’ve learned

>>4728641
>Get changed
>Head to Roth’s smithy to warn him about what you’ve learned

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>>4728743
>>4728658
You decide that Roth needs to be informed of what has transpired post-haste. Not so post-haste that you can’t return to The Pretty Kitty for a change of clothing first, though. You’re not about to meet the crotchety, ethnically-superior blacksmith in your bellydancer attire, however finely-made it is. He made not technically, formally be in charge of you, but his critique still leaves you withered. Thus is your conditioning.

Returning to The Pretty Kitty has its own hazards, though. To avoid questions, you are forced to duck and dive around the girl manning the back-office desk—Felia is presumably putting her rather impressive bust and butt to work making coin on the floor or in her room just now—and also avoid any attention from Mina or Edwin. You have more important things to do than finishing your shift or ‘date night’ with Ismena Rosgard’s ‘boyfriend’.

You left your pack in the back room, however, and unavoidably you must return there for more appropriate attire. It is then that your luck runs out: Estellia, your self-appointed rival as Kamunu, is waiting.

“I thought I saw you sneak off,” she says, one impressively-high heel pressing down on your bag in a show of dominance. Her face shows rage, but also confusion and… Concern. “Where do you think you’re going? You may be leaving us, but you’re still on-shift tonight, KAMUNU.”

You don’t have time for this. What do you do?
>Attempt diplomacy, seeking to mend whatever grievance has Estellia so upset
>Sweep the leg and take your bag back from this ridiculous female
>Attempt to seduce Estellia
>Call to Mina for aid
>Tell Roth tomorrow, and finish your shift
>Write-in

>>4729090
>Finish your shift and go to Roth after
Tell her we had to check something and to mind her own bussiness. As for Roth, he has no right to complain since shit's urgent and we have no need to sleep at normal hours if ~3-4 is enough for us.
Tbh I forgot we still didn't finish work, whoops.

>>4729090
>Attempt diplomacy, seeking to mend whatever grievance has Estellia so upset
and a liiiittle bit of
>Attempt to seduce Estellia

hell, maybe she's a super-tsun and will miss us?

>>4729090
>>Attempt diplomacy, seeking to mend whatever grievance has Estellia so upset

>>4729238
supporting

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>>4729766
>>4729568
>>4729238
>>4729237
“I can tell you're upsset,” you say carefully, “but I'm not ssure why. I honesstly got the feeling that you didn’t much like me.”

Estellia flinched lightly, and flushes. You hide a smirk, recognizing something of human behaviour from your timing manipulating them. Perhaps she in fact likes you too much?

“I really admire you,” you say. “I'm going to misss working the sstage with you, watching your performanccess… And I'd hate to end thingss on a bad note.”

Estellia balls her fists, and it takes concerted effort on your part not to shift into a defensive stance. Instead of attempting to strike you again, as she attempted this morning, she takes her foot off of your bag. You step forward tentatively and, when she makes no move to impede your efforts you pick up the bag.

“I just…” Estellia lowers her gaze. “I just don't get you. Why are you even here?”

“Pardon me?” you ask.

“Why are you working a job like this. You're beautiful, you're talented, you're MAGIC. Why are you dancing at a whorehouse? Why are you fucking rich douchebags for silver? WHY?”

Despite your initial instinct, you get the impression that this might be less about you than Estellia herself. You gently rest a hand on her bare, trembling arm, and meet her gaze with your own.

“We all end up here for our own reasssonss,” you whisper, giving her a squeeze.

You are startled when she falls into touch, stifling a sob. You fidget a little at the feeling of her skin on your own; the naked female elf from your grandiose dream springs to mind again as you awkwardly cradle her.

When the strange moment has passed, Estellia silently allows you to leave the brothel with your bag. You duck into an alley for a quick change, unwilling to linger with your strange feelings any longer in that place. You'll no doubt further Kamunu’s reputation among the rest of the staff as something of a flake, but that is considerably less important than your mission.

>>4729975
Even for a trained Reptilian spy, today has been a great deal of walking. You are puffing a little by the time you reach Roth’s smithy again, shivering a little in the cold air as your lukewarm blood fails to heat you against the cold night. You realize you've eaten little today for how much energy you've exerted.

When Roth answers his door, he is predictably disappointed to see you. You hide your exhaustion and hunger, unwilling to show weakness before his stern, judgmental eye.

“Superior,” you say in your serpent-tongue, before the abuse can begin, “I bring you ill-tidings. The human occultists yet live.”

Roth grimaces, but beckons you inside. As usual, he locks his many latches, before berating you.

“Do not speak our tongue so freely in the open!” he says. “Now speak, Degenerate: what do you know?”

What do you do?
>Tell Roth everything
>Demand respect and tit-for-tat information sharing; this pureblood is the one who failed in his mission, not you
>Explain simply that you are cleaning up his mess, and that he owes you a favour
>Ask Roth to accompany you to Boss Leo, to discover how the rats have made out with Tokunbo
>Write-in

>>4729978
>Demand respect and tit-for-tat information sharing; this pureblood is the one who failed in his mission, not you
>Ask Roth to accompany you to Boss Leo, to discover how the rats have made out with Tokunbo

>>4729978
>>Explain simply that you are cleaning up his mess, and that he owes you a favour

It's absolutely a bad idea to ask him to reveal himself as fellow reptilian to the bloody wererats (who for all we know might be serving more than one side here). Compartmentialisationing and so on.

>>4729978
>>Demand respect and tit-for-tat information sharing; this pureblood is the one who failed in his mission, not you
>>Explain simply that you are cleaning up his mess, and that he owes you a favour

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>>4730080
>>4730358
>>4730627
You narrow your eyes. Enough of this!

“My role is Infiltrator,” you say bluntly. “so too is yours. We will both share our information.”

Roth reels back as if you had slapped him with a bogroll. “What did you say to me, Degenerate?”

“It is not this Degenerate who failed in her assassination, oh child of a superior bloodline,” you say, slipping into an older and more formal dialect with a deliberate irony. “You have tipped our hand to well-connected and possibly powerful opponents, jeopardizing us all You will tell me what happened.”

Roth stares at you, eyes flashing red and the air around him roiling again, as you had seen it do once before, as if warped by great heat. You can even feel it brush against you, forcing a step back despite your newfound self-confidence. He must be Dragonblooded, which explains the imperious attitude well-enough… And the fire.

“I cleaned up your initial mess, Infiltrator,” he begins after taking a moment to cool down, “by setting fire to the Zivic manor. When the servants came to put out the flames, I slew them, dragged them into the home to cover the wounds inflicted by my talons with further fire, and then set out to find the humans Zivic and Tokunbo.”

“Did you find them?”

Roth scowls. “The fire and spread over their sleeping area.”

“Did you FIND them?” you ask again, knowing the answer but enjoying the sight of the pureblood squirming under questioning for a change.

“No,” he admits. “I circled the perimeter, however, and no mammal fled that place.”

So either they weren’t home… or they somehow saw him coming.

“Fear not,” you tell Roth, “I will clean up this mess of yours, and I will not even report your ineptitude… Yet. Consider this a debt owed, fellow infiltrator.”

Roth’s eyes and nostrils flare again, and he grows tense… But says nothing as you depart.

You deflate almost immediately as soon as you are out of sight, rattled by standing up for yourself in such an uncharacteristic manner, as well as shivering from cold, hunger, and the onset of involuntary torpor.

What do you do?
>Go to Boss Leo, to see what has become of the wererats and Tokunbo
>Visit the Zivic manor, to investigate the scene of the crime
>Rest; you’re no good to anyone operating as you are now
>Write-in

>>4730689
>Rest; you’re no good to anyone operating as you are now

No one ever votes for timely rest.

>>4730689
>Rest; you’re no good to anyone operating as you are now
nice pic

>>4730689
>Rest.

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>>4731119
>>4731034
>>4730977

You are no fool, to face Leo's mob or an occultist while undernourished and overtired. Nor are you feeling under any obligation to return to Kamunu's shift, you decide. You hunch down against a cool early-spring breeze as winter's dying breath blasts up your skirt with damnable persistence, and you make your way home. By the time you reach your apartment, you are ready to sleep the sleep of the dead. You crawl wearily into bed.

But sleep does not come—at least, not the dreamers torpor of your mother's kind. Instead, you find yourself in another vivid nocturnal hallucination, which your accursed and shameful mammalian kin call “dream". They've been arriving with increasing frequency, you note.

This night finds you uncomfortably warm, in a familiar lounge. The seat is comfortably plush, albeit old and worn. You sit there with tea, tended to by humanoid figures; close inspection reveals them faceless, or of a facial dimension so unpleasant you cannot bring yourself to look at them. This is saying something, for you are trained and conditioned to look at much of the unpleasantness in the world as a matter of course, and without flinching.

You wonder what you are doing here, and why you would dream of such a place. Then, with a start, you realize you are in your menswear—your stealth suit. Your recognize the aroma of the tea, which you wisely decline to imbibe. You see the symbols, sigils and titles of books on geographically-distant surface lands and folk religions, on beings heavenly and (more often) hellish.

You realize your dreams have carried you into Zivic's parlor.

What do you do?
>Panic and flee the building
>Wait and see what dreams may come
>Attempt to use your lucidity to force yourself awake
>Attempt to use your lucidity to manipulate the dream to your liking (how? Specify.)
>Write-in

>>4731623
>Attempt to use your lucidity to manipulate the dream to your liking

become a spectre, an invisible observer to whatever is going to transpire here. Or as close to undetectable as we can be.

>>4731628
+1
We ARE in a stealth suit to set the mood, after all.

>>4731628
+1

We should repay Edwin for ignoring him last night, don't wanna lose his backing.

Rolled 11, 7, 8 = 26 (3d20)

>>4731628
>>4732304
>>4732369
DC 15, 17 for compounded success

>>4732819
good thing it's a dream

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>>4731628
>>4732304
>>4732369
>>4732375
>>4732819
>>4732831

You close your eyes and focus yourself on changing, shifting colour and texture. You pursue an invisibility of sorts, attempting to bend light itself around you with illusion magic. You have no idea if you could accomplish such a feat in real life, but here? In a lucid dream? You shake off an image of Edwin which appears briefly in your mind’s eyes, and focus on making your will a reality within this nocturnal realm.

You open your eyes, and you find yourself one with the plush chair to all intents and purposes. You are a shade, a spectre, beyond conventional sight!

You also find a dozen eyeless maids and butlers staring at you, blurry non-faces fixated on your efforts.

“Dearest Kamunu,” you hear a familiar, feminine voice call out to you from the doorway, “those without living eyes see by other means. By focusing your will, but wielding magic… You only draw their attention upon yourself with a greater intensity, I fear. You may not want that."

You pivot towards the doorway, bringing up a leg. You are ready to spring, or to strike. But what you see is not Zivic. Instead, what looms in the doorway is a massive, thorny beast of a creature. There is little feminine to the thing: a gigantic goat-like humanoid with red skin. When it speaks, though, it is with Zivic’s voice.

“Pardon my intrusion into your… ‘Torpor’, is that the right term? Though It feels much like any other dream to me, I must say. You feel much like any other woman, for that matter… And I’ve known a few , in my time.”

The massive beast of a demon grins wistfully, but it cannot help but radiate a deadly menace as it advances.

What do you do?
>Try to flee
>Strike at this Devil-Zivic
>Force yourself to wake up
>Stay put, and gather intelligence
>Write-in
[Also, if gathering intel, please specify what you mainly want to know]

>>4732840
>>Stay put, and gather intelligence
>>Write-in

"Nice performance. There must be a reason for your intrusion, I believe? I can assure you I'm busier than any other woman. Drop the theatrics and let's talk."

Be disdainful, be cold-blooded, be in control of conversation even if this thing is in control of our surroundings. If it didn't want something out of us (most likely information), it would kill/mindrape/whatever us by now. And it called us Kamunu, so it doesn't really know jack.

>>4732840
>Force yourself to wake up
Let's not be stupid for once.

>>4732897
support. it's our dream, take control

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>>4733204
>>4732984
>>4732897

You lean back in the chair, and with a slow exhalation allow the welled up will and power to escape your dream-form. Your body, such as it is, returns to visibility… But the attention of the faceless ones does not entirely abate.


"Nicce performanccce. There must be a reasson for your intrussion, I believe? I can assssure you I'm bussier than any other woman. Drop the theatricss and let'ss talk."

“And here I thought you were a fan of theatre, dear,” the devil says in Zivic's soft voice. “I've barely been dead a day, and you're already back on the stage! Grief passes quickly for you, does it?”

“Sso you are Zivic?” you ask, somewhat surprised. You'd taken it for a demon wearing her voice, using the memory of her now-ashen abode as a prop.

The Devil-Zivic looks down at itself, taking in its new form. “Well, perhaps not entirely. But something of the vital selfish, the spark we call ‘spirit', persists. If only you hadn't rushed to execution, perhaps we could have discussed the powers which allow this half-life.”

What do you do?
>Pin the blame for her ‘death’ on Roth
>Cut to the chase: ask what the demonic entity wants
>Offer to bargain, and to discuss the occult opportunities which might still exist
>Threaten Zivic with Tokunbo's death, and demand to be released from this dream
>Mock and insult this foolish human who consorts with lesser darkness and soul-parasites
>Write-in

>>4733482
>>Cut to the chase: ask what the demonic entity wants
>>Offer to bargain, and to discuss the occult opportunities which might still exist

>>4733482
>Mock and insult this foolish human who consorts with lesser darkness and soul-parasites.
>Threaten Zivic with Tokunbo's death, and demand to be released from this dream

>>4734765
>>4734430
“I sserve the Dark Godss Beyond and Below,” you say. “What do I have to gain through magicianss’ trickss or parassite pactss?”

“Have you considered that your masters might be overstating their grasp of things?” the Devil-Zivic asks. “Why do such all-mighty beings exist so distant and removed from their chosen people? If their might and reach extend this far, and so exceed that of my patrons, why do you and your mission even exist?”

You scowl at this sacrilege, feeling a gut disgust and outrage surge up into your throat like bile.

“Cut to the chasse!” you hiss. “Tokunbo'ss life iss in my hot little handss. If you have nothing to offer but the blessingss of lesssser entitiess, then I suggest you let me wake now, while I'm sstill in a diplomatic mood.”

“Oh?” the devil tilts its horned head, tapping its chin with clawed talon. “Do you think we have been inactive while you slept, however briefly? Your mother's race may not sleep long, but the dead sleep both always… And never.”

You hesitate. What does Zivic mean? What could Tokunbo, or this demonic remnant of the noblewoman, have done while you were trapped in dreams? How long had in BEEN, in physical reality?

“What iss you game?” you ask quietly.

“We can still work together,” Zivic asks. “That blacksmith and your mutual overlords wish to purge this world of not just weakness and decrepit power structures, but the joys and pleasures of this world. They want to make slaves or food-beasts of all mammals, including one such as you. You must see it. There is another way, a path to knowledge and glory for all who would grasp it.”

The devil who speaks like Lady Zuvic holds out its hand. It leers at you with alien eyes and unreadable intent.

What do you do?
>Take the deal
>”Take the deal" [bluff]
>Swat the hand away with open contempt, and force yourself awake
>Attempt to smite this heretical creature in the name of the true Dark Gods
>Write-in

[Did my best to combine prompts]

>>4735283
>swat the hand away

I want our character to overcome her trials and ultimately win, even against her own people, but not by becoming a devil's slave.

>>4735283
>Swat the hand away

>>4735283
>>Swat the hand away with open contempt

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>>4735753
>>4735799
>>4735848
You swat this conniving creature's hand away. Whatever path you opt to follow, it will not be one of servitude to such a thing!

The Devil-Zivic looks startled at the refusal, but with a shrug, it retracts its hand ..

“Very well,” it says.

As the devil turns and leaves the room, the servants seemingly follow. Whether through dream logic or by way or by way of some sort of ability , though, the do not exit the door, but rather squirm in between books helves, under furniture, and into every other nook and cranny that they can, becoming amorphous or otherwise trusting and contortions their humanoid disguises to do so.

You awake with a start as soon as the last demon has left (or burrowed away in?) the recesses of your dreamscape. It is daylight, a few banner of daylight declaring the sovereignty of the sun and of the material world in your cramped, green-and-gold bedroom. Already, the spectres which troubles your sleep are fading from memory… But in this moment, you can recall Zivic's demonic enterprise.

What do you do?
>Hurry to warn Roth about your dream
>Go see the wererats immediately, to see what has become of Tokunbo
>Go to the library to research demons and dreams
>Visit the Zivic manor to look for clues
>Dismiss the encounter and get some food and reassuring company at Agatha Johan’s home
>Write-in

>>4736187
>Visit the Zivic manor to look for clues
>Go see the wererats immediately, to see what has become of Tokunbo
that demon can be right tho
reptilian politics are far from perfect and we should watch out

>>4736187
[Oof, typos were bad on this one. Sorry, hungover and somehow scratched up my eye, so I wasn't doing a good job proofreading. Feeling better now, but I have a friend over today, so I may not be able to post on my regular schedule.]

>>4736187
>>Hurry to warn Roth about your dream
While hardly threatening so far, this is still above our competence, and we can screw up big time by pretending it's not.

>>4736187
>>Hurry to warn Roth about your dream

>>4736620
>>4736414
>>4736324
If you were getting paid to begin with, this would be above your pay grade, and you know it. Burgeoning illusionist or no, aren't sure how to go about sorting out a situation so metaphysical. This is a matter for Roth… Or, if not him, perhaps he can easily make contact with your superiors.

You slip into your brown dress, sling on your pack, and slip your trusty dagger into its usual place concealed on your thigh. You have no idea what to expect, or how to fight a sorcerer's war, so you prepare for the sort of trouble you were trained for.

Along the way, something that the Devil-Zivic said in your dream hovers on the edge of your awareness, troubling you. The dream has faded in recollection in the manner which dreams are wont to, but you struggle to recall the exchange that created this unease…

By the time you arrive at Roth's smithy, alas, it has still eluded your conscious mind. What you do recall of the dream is more than worrying enough, of course. You hammer on the door, but to tour surprise it swings open, unlocked.

“Roth?” you speak the pureblood's false name quietly, hand sliding towards your dagger.

However, it is not Roth you find, but his anvil, his tools, and his works in rootless abandoned and unguarded. Very uncharacteristic of the paranoid and guarded Dragonblood you know… But without any sign of a struggle.

What do you do?
>Search the premises for clues to Roth's whereabouts
>Hold tight and hope for Roth's return
>Leave this place immediately; if Roth has been made, you could be as well
>Write-in

>>4738476
>Leave this place immediately; if Roth has been made, you could be as well

>>4738476
>Leave this place immediately; if Roth has been made, you could be as well
fuck fuck fuck
>Keep our eyes peeled and find the rats

It's odd that he went missing but we're fine.

>>4738476
>>Search the premises for clues to Roth's whereabouts
he must have left some kind of clue about the threat

But how do you know this isn't a trap? Or that any potential clue we find here is real? If someone more powerful and skilled than us like Roth got kidnapped/killed, then we should do 180 and gtfo.

Oh, and next time we should write our memories to counter the fucking amnesia.

>>4738476
>>Search the premises for clues to Roth's whereabouts

If we do, we risk getting caught or walking into a trap right here, or have a chance to learn something. If we don't, we risk getting caught or walking into a trap anyone else, without ever learning anything until it's too late. We've been traced to Pretty Kitty already, and it won't be too hard to trace us further from there.

We also need anti-illusion glasses ASAP, to maybe counter some of this shit.

Fair point, but why the glasses? Our enemies are not shapeshifters... otherwise we wouldn't be observed by the Tokunbo we know and recognize.

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>>4738821
>>4738620
>>4738572
>>4738520

Training and instinct both tell you that something is very wrong here. You glance towards the door, with your first impulse being to leave this place before you are entrapped.

The Devil-Zivic's words return to you then, setting your skin prickling.

"That blacksmith." it had said, referring to Roth. "and your mutual masters."

You'd never spoken of your contact to Zivic or Tokunbo. Whether Tokunbo was trailing you longer than you thought, or via some other means, the occultists have discovered Roth's identity and your connection to him. There's scarcely doubt in your mind that they have taken some kind of revenge. You wonder what has become of him...

And what might become of you.

As you start towards the door, but you hesitate. You can flee, but to what end? They know about Roth, where you works as Kamunu… What if they know where you live? About Edwin and your library dates, your efforts to undermine Yosef and to glean insight into the excavations? There’s no guarantee that anywhere you retreat to will be safer than here. You are stumbling in the dark, and what you need is to shed some light on the situation.

You step deeper into the smithy, exploring beyond Roth’s workspace and into the home he has made for himself here, on the surface.

You find a barren and disciplined life, laid out in the form of a basic floor-mat for sleeping, with our sheets or pillows. You see several nearly-identical outfits laid out alongside it, and a single dresser. He has no obvious creature comforts, and nothing to give him away if someone were to sort through his things—smart. To your eye, there’s not really anything to look through… But as a Reptilian agent, and a point-of-contact no less, you know there must be resources in a cache somewhere.

You try the dresser first, opening each drawer to find the first real sign of personality in Roth’s life: a smattering of jewelry amongst some nicer clothing that he seemingly deemed too fine to leave laid out on the floor. If he is indeed Dragonblooded, perhaps this is his sad little horde. To his credit, the gold, silver, and copper trinkets he has collected are in some cases quite well-made; he has some taste. Still, apart from maybe ruling out a robbery as the reason for his absence (not that you suspected such), it tells you little about what happened to your ally.

It is when you are closing the last drawer that you find something: a queerly-worn floorboard, scuffed along the side as if loose and sometimes lifted, beneath the dresser itself and barely peaking out. Aha! It is with great effort that your lithe frame—a dancer’s figure, not a Steeltalon’s—exerts the necessary force move the heavy piece of hardwood furniture. To lift the floorboard, and find the cache you sought: a notebook, a locket, a leather scroll-case, a curved ritual blade, and a small box.

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>>4738898
The locket is of mammalian make, to your eye. You focus on it, and you think you might feel something of the arcane about it… But, unpracticed as you are at such arts, it is impossible to say for certain. The ritual blade is a religious implement, you know; you’ve seen sacrifices performed with such tools, when the stars align for gifts to be proffered to the Dark Gods.

You flip through the notebook, finding it written in the fine flowing script of Reptilian hand: a list of addresses, and of names. Agents? Unlikely—nobody as paranoid and diligent about secrecy as Roth would just keep that around, even written in a language his enemies would be unlikely to read. Targets? Maybe. There are some specific dates as well, going back decades. The most recent entries gives credence to your theory: you find both Yosef and Zivic’s addresses among them. Startlingly, you also find The Pretty Kitty’s; perhaps Roth’s prudence is lesser than you’d assumed?

In the small box, you find the a grisly discovery: teeth. They vary in size and shape, but all bear telltale signs of having been exposed to ash and flame. Trophies from victims, you’d wager. Purely sentimental, or retained for a purpose? You cannot say. You also find a vial, tiny and filled with a greenish fluid. Poison? Poison? Narcotics? You cannot say.

You waste no further time here: you pack up what you’ve found and replace the floor panel. You do not bother to mover the dresser back. It would take too much time, and the first attempt winded you considerably. You need to leave now, and not in an exhausted state.

You head out the way you came, but you freeze at a sudden movement. In the window, a curious-looking black bird watches you. It is a corvid of some sort, of a species you do not recognize as local… But you’re no avid bird-watcher. You note that the blinds are open, and you try to remember if the window was open or blinds drawn when you entered. You don’t think they were.

The bird croaks once, and cocks its head. You reach slowly for a nearby hammer, suspecting something occult about this creature... But before you can hurl the hammer or flee yourself, the bird flies away.

You wonder if you are leaping at shadows. Are you losing it to fear? You tamp down those emotions, suppressing them as you were aught, and leave before anything else can occur. Either you've been made, or you haven't; if the bird WASN'T some dark entity under the command of your rivals, there's no reason to stick around and give them any further opportunity to capture or kill you... or whatever they have in mind. You travel at a brisk walking pace, not seeking to attract attention despite your haste.

>>4738900

Where do you go, however?
>Go to Boss Leo and the wererats, to see what has happened with their pursuit of Mr. Tokunbo
>Go to Edwin of Engel, in the hopes that his arcane knowledge can be of aid
>Go to Lord Isaac Yosef's home, for his aid or his glasses (or both)
>Follow the bird as best you can, hoping it will lead you to your quarry
>Return to your apartment, clean house, and go to ground; make them hunt you, if that's their game
>Write-in

>>4738901
>Go to Boss Leo and the wererats, to see what has happened with their pursuit of Mr. Tokunbo

>Go to Edwin of Engel, in the hopes that his arcane knowledge can be of aid

We literally can't get help from human without compromising our identity and mission. Even if don't tell tell him everything, it's more than likely that he'll learn from Zivic, Tokunbo or fill in the blanks himself.

>>4738900
go see boss leo

>>4739791
>>4739870
>>4739963
>>4740023

First things first: you need to know what happened to Tokunbo, your still-living adversary, and to the rats you tasked with hunting him down. You steel yourself for another visit to the sewers.

It’s still broad daylight, a factor which impedes you somewhat in your efforts to inconspicuously enter into Boss Leo’s sewer lair. Luckily, by now you know what several of his lackeys look like in human form, and the gangsters seem to make a habit of posting a sentry. Today, it is one of the weaklings who you intimidated into submission on your first night here. He looks tired, almost nodding off where he loiters, leaning against a building’s brick wall overlooking the sewer.

“Hello again,” you greet him.

The rat-of-a-man snaps quickly to attention, such as his sorry nature allows, and attempts to take a step back before remembering the building is directly behind him.

“At eassse,” you tease, unable to help yourself from mocking a silly little mammal even in these anxiety-inducing circumstances. “I want to sspeak to your bosss.”

“About what?” he asks quickly, warily.

“The hunt lasst night,” you say simply.

“Right,” he says. “Right. Well, there is, but…”

He hesitates, then shakes his ehad.

“Nah, we don’t show routes in or out to nobody boss don’t give permissions to first, if you get me. Not allowed. Plus, Boss is busy. Was a late night. Lot to do today.”

“Thiss iss urgent,” you insist. “A danger to uss all!”

“Well, tell me and I can pass it along?”

He frown, feeling faintly disrespected and suspicious of this arrangement. Boss Leo HAS always been cautious around you, though, and wisely so you suppose.

“What of the Aardan man?” you ask. “Was the hunt a success?”

Again, your wererat ‘ally’ is slow to reply, uncharacteristic of their frenetic energy and fast-paced speech. “Yeah,” he eventually says. “Yeah, we got him, the Aardan.”

“Alive?” you ask.

The wererat nods.

What do you do?
>Threaten and intimidate this wererat into leading you to Boss Leo
>Seduce this wererat into leading you to Boss Leo
>Go through the sewer anyway, attention be damned
>Arrange a meeting at night, and move onto other matters for the moment
>Write-in

>>4740504
>Arrange a meeting at night, and move onto other matters for the moment
No need to act hostile and make rats distrust us since we know they got him.

Does our training contain any instructions on what to do when our reptilian connection gets compromised?
I'm a bit lost, since there's a fuckton of unknowns around.

>>4740524
Reltilian agents, even Degenerates, are given a lot of leeway and discretion. They are not supposed to coordinate with more than one or two necessary contacts, aside from special circumstances; this prevents one error from compromising every Reptilian in the area.

In the event that a Reptilian agent believes they have been found out, they are expected to warn their other contacts, and then to either disappear or (better yet) disappear the mammal know knows too much, though throwing them off the scent is also acceptable and sometimes necessary for a high-profile or otherwise valuable asset.

Some operations require coordination with mammals made wise to your nature, like the wererats have been. This is also allowed, at your discretion, but those that authorities will not trust or believe are preferred. Information sharing with filthy warmblooded races should be kept minimal, however.

In the event another Reptilian is exposed, compromised, or captured, priority one is containment and minimization of losses. If they (and evidence of them and the mission) can be recaptured, that is best. Killing them and destroying or acquiring traces of their presence is also acceptable; this can include slaying the mammals who have earned about them. If this can't be achieved, it can be best to return to am extraction point (like the caves) to coordinate your next action, but this often means pulling up stakes on an entire mission of your own identity is now known. It may mean losing out on the inroads you've made to the Tower infiltration and with Janus' father's company.

You were not briefed on how to handle an undead, occultist dream demon.

>>4740542
Welll shit. Guess we're spending a day at the library, reading about undead, occultist dream demons.

>>4740504
>Arrange a meeting at night, and move onto other matters for the moment
>Write-in

Tell the truth: "Turns out, this man is a sorcerer. In league with a dead witch. Boss Leo might be in grave danger right now. We don't have to meet right now, but it's urgent you pass the warning."

Then ask for a meeting at their time.


DESU, shit sound a bit reminiscent of "yeah, we've found the guy, but he made Leo a better offer and they are besties now". The more friendly we act, the better - someone like Leo won't commit to just one option until he knows all there is to know. Our best bet is to be less of an unknown value than exotic mystics who work for undead dream demons.

>>4740771
I agree with giving them a warning, but I don't see Tokunbo giving them any better offer, being a homeless captive and all.
Plus we are feared by them as a half-snek person.

I'm still a bit confused as to why Roth is missing, but we're just fine. If that twat can infiltrate our dreams, it seems logical that she'd know where we sleep.

I think we should check on The Pretty Kitty as well, to gather as much information as possible. Roth disappeared after we left his place and went to sleep in our house, so if something happened at the brothel, we missed it.

>>4740504
>>Threaten and intimidate this wererat into leading you to Boss Leo

>>4740504
>>Arrange a meeting at night, and move onto other matters for the moment

how overdue are we for a return to the Pretty Kitty by the way?

It's kinda the main job we need to maintain a facade with -

>>4741470
You ditched out a bit early on your last shift, but it's still roughly noon.Your shift starts at dusk, so you have a while before you'll be missed.

Writing up!

>>4740981
>>4740860
>>4740825
>>4740771
>>4740563
>>4740524

While you have vague suspicions of treachery, you are not so certain that these rats are being any sketchier than their usual custom. No need to antagonize them, you reason—what could Tokunbo even offer that you, servant of greater powers than he, could not?

"Turnss out, thiss man is a ssorcerer. In league with a dead witch. Boss Leo might be in grave danger right now. We don't have to meet right now… But it'ss urgent you passss the warning."

The wererat looks unsettled… But is he surprised? You can't tell. He seems compliant enough, but he waits until you have begun to walk away to scamper on home. Troubling, perhaps… But then, you and the rats' relationship has always been one of distrust and standoffishness. It's animal nature, you suspect.

While you await word back from the wererats, you decide to attend to other matters. You are on the back foot and out of your element. It's time to remedy thus.

What do you do?
>Study at The Hawksong Royal Library, learning what you can about the occult
>Visit The Pretty Kitty off-shift, to make sure nothing amiss there
>Practice your magic, hoping to gain an arcane edge
>Purchase better armaments, in case it comes to bloodshed
>Flip through Roth's book, and they to find another Reptilian contact to alert and consult with
>Write-in

>>4741569
>Visit The Pretty Kitty off-shift, to make sure nothing amiss there
but just go by unless something huge happened, then if everything seems alright,
>Purchase better armaments, in case it comes to bloodshed
Safety before everything else.
We need the best armor we can somewhat conceal under a cloak, and a better weapon.

>>4741569
>Purchase better armaments, in case it comes to bloodshed

>>4741569
>Practice your magic, hoping to gain an arcane edge
>Write-in

Seek out Edwin. Tell him, in the most amazed tone possible, a story of how you've awakened some wondrous magical powers, and there was that elf bard and together you figured out you have elvish blood and a talent for elvish magic, and are now going through elvish puberty, and isn't it so wonderful? And of course Edwin is the first person that came to your mind to ask about help in getting a better grip on this magic, and maybe finding a use of it for self-defence, you know, because you were always scared to walk home alone at night but maybe now you won't have to, anymore?

Tl;dr pester Edwin into helping you practice and learn the extent of your abilities, and finding some use for escape or combat if worst comes to worst. Can we bedazzle only a captive audience, or an armed man intent on attacking us? Can we mask our presence, or amplify it to terrific levels? Can we gtfo into what appears to be a solid wall without being discovered? Can we trap someone in a mindscape or create an illusion so offensive it knocks someone unconscious?

Edwin's the one who can help us find answers AND won't ask too many questions if we play our cards right.

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>>4742160
>>4742420
>>4742610

You put aside thoughts of Edwin and your magic studies for a time; you have a few schemes for how you might exploit the magical amateur to refine your own talents without arousing suspicion, but none specific to battling dark occultism. Rather, you opt to arm yourself with powers material, metallurgical.

You take a route across the city that, with slightest detour, takes you through the Red Lantern District, and The Pretty Kitty. To your relief, the place hasn’t burnt down, nor have the guards cordoned it off like a crime scene. Perhaps, if Tokunbo and whatever remains of Zivic plan to strike at the business, they haven’t done so yet? Or perhaps they’ve done something more subtle…

You slip inside just long enough o grab the closest thing to a cloak you can get your hands on: a big, fluffy jacket. The obvious brothel-garb draws some attention as you exit the racier parts of town, as it ahs before. This time, well-heeled on the generosity of Edwin of Engel and your own hard (and sometimes lusty) work, you do not stop to inflict either pleasure or violence on the male mammals ‘bold ‘enough to bark at your retreating rear. You have places to be, precautions to take for tonight.

Luckily, the more industrial area of town isn’t so far from the entertainment district, when you get right down to it. Few of the blacksmiths living in the sorts of quarters where Roth dwells (dwelt?) cater to practicality; as with where you live, these districts specialize in appealing to the whims of nobles and successful merchants. While the part of town you now find yourself in is grungier, it suffers a bit of the same problem: few men or women under the protection of The Paladin King feel the need to strap a sword or mace to their back or belt. Luckily for you, however, ‘adventure tourism’ has become a bit of a fad among the young.

Your coin is not actually in great supply, now that you look more closely at prices; perhaps you might have brought Edwin to ‘massage’ a few pieces of gold out of him, after all? Looking about, it seems you can afford an item of most minor enchantment. Failing that, you could purchase a smattering on mundane equipment and simple armor, and still have coin left over. Then again, you eye falls on one particular set of leavewoven armor—made from alchemically-strengthened and truly massive leaves, molded in a form-fitting way, clearly protective and easily worn under other clothes without attracting attention, but also JUST outside to price range; it matches your (well, Kamunu’s) aesthetic, it would do they job, and maybe with some honeyed words and haggling…

What do you do?
>Buy the mundane equipment (specify if you favour a type of weapon or armour)
>Buy a minor magic item (specify what sort of thing you’re looking for, and be aware you’re likely getting the lousiest possible version of it)
>Attempt to buy the alchemically-treated leaveweave armour
>Write-in

>>4742658
>Attempt to buy the alchemically-treated leaveweave armour
If it's JUST outside of our price range, then maybe we can do ssomething to get it just within? Just be subtle about it, don't want cops called on our ass for indecent behavior.

We could use a weapon other than our dagger, but running to Edwin to stroke his ego and then back here is hardly time-efficient. Maybe we'll have an opportunity to better arm ourselves later.

>>4742893
A reminder: you do also have Roth's ritual knife... But it's not really any more useful in combat than a dagger.

>>4743260
Oh yeah, I forgot. Still would be nice to have a longer blade.

>>4742893
It might cost every copper coin you have and then some… It might be only circumstantially more useful than regular leather… But by the Dark Gods, you would look amazing in that leafweave armour, and you will have it!

You enter the store, eyes flitting from the object of your desire to the shopkeeper. Unsurprisingly, given the floral morif and exotic craftsmanship, you find you are dealing with a half-elf. There are a couple related-looking half lines scampering around tidying and restocking and even misting some of the pieces like one might a fresh vegetable, but at the high, hardwood counter, in a bought of flowers and leaves is a halfblooded female who faintly reminds you of a chevrotain—a mouse-deer, made half-elf by some spell. She is flipping through of a book of fashions with one hand while her other holds her place in a half unrolled elven scroll which is illustrated with depictions of ancient, ancestral elven armours.

You clearly your throat quietly, and the half-elf jumps with a start, snapping book shut and letting scroll curl back up as if by a spring.

“Welcome!” she says, a bit too loud, then blushes at her own overcorrection.

“The sssuit in the window,” you say, “iss there room to haggle.”

“Oh! Oh,” her face falls, and you can tell she doesn't much like the idea. “No, not… Generally on new stock. No.”

What do you do?
>Forget the suit, beautiful and useful as it looks, and get something else she has in your price range.
>Critique her work, trying to coerce her through bullying her craft
>Threaten or intimidate her (specify how)
>Attempt to seduce her into a discount
>Offer her a trade from among Roth's trinkets (specify which)
>Write-in

>>4743813
>Write-in
either via seduction or a down-payment in coin, convince her to hold onto it until we can come back with the remainder.

this outfit is invaluable for a number of reasons

>>4743813
>>Write-in

A half-elf, huh?

Recall Laskar'r music, and start moving to it. Let's dance before her, and see if she accepts that as part of the payment. It's not about haggling, it's about bargaining (and maybe building some sense of half-blood camaradery if she happens to catch on).