>>5128593>>5128723>>5128803>>5128905It is still night-time, and will be for a few more hours—between Irinnile’s wings and your combined aptitude for shadowy stealth, you ought to be fine to sail clear over the heads of Tower Inquisition bloodhounds with their proverbial nose to the ground. How many people really look UP when investigating crimes? Besides, time is of the essence, and traveling ‘as the crow flies’ is faster.
Granted, with the wards you set up to alert you to any Tower agents approaching the Dragonborn’s hiding place, you are less worried than you might otherwise be… But still, brief as the flight is, anxiety nips at your heels the whole way. You cannot help but feel… Unsettled… By Irinnile’s glee in erotic carnage. Is it just the high level at which her <WANT> has been hovering? The consumption of the burned mage-girl’s soul?
…Is it affecting you?
‘Lispy,’ Irinnile murmurs quietly, ‘you know you can’t veil your thoughts from me or nothin’ like that, right? We’re both knocking a round in this hot bod of yours.’
You don’t reply. You’re not sure how to do so yet, or what to say. Luckily, a distraction presents itself: a crow.
Yes, it seems ‘as the crow flies’ was an aptitude metaphor, for a crow—well, one of those strange local corvids which the incubus you once called Devil-Zivic seems fit to animate and use as spies-in-the-sky—has found you. It now flies alongside you, guiding you down to a hidden alcoves amongst winding, ill-planned streets—a dead-end in a series of side-streets and alleys where two buildings of vastly different eras and ages butt up against one another and create a private wedge. It is a prefect place to inconspicuously make landfall.
You land, and awkwardly fold up your wings beneath your cloak. They remain heavy under the cloth, uncomfortable, and they throw off your centre of balance… But they would be useful in the event you need to make a quick escape. You don’t anticipate that need, though: you made a fairly solid (and surprisingly one-sided) pact with this Not-Zivic—this Incubus, this greater demon—when last you paid it a visit. It cannot lie to you, deceive you, not even misrepresent you. It cannot reveal the nature of the Reptilian Conspiracy to anyone.
‘And the bastard’s gonna’ teach us how to hock a mean loogie that can control and spy on people,’ Irinnile adds, with forced cheer, as if to remind you she is still here, still on your side, and still thinks about things other than sex-murder. You can sense her nervousness about your own concerns
