>>5193536>20 for stealthBy the burgeoning light of dawn, you are no longer blessed with Irinnile uncanny occult influence to aid in your natural stealth… But you ARE an Infiltrator, and well-practiced by this point. You move fluidly, silently, from room to room. You do not TRUST this Incubus, nor its human acolytes. You want leverage or, better yet, something material.
You find both.
For one thing, it seems the demon has done one better than the communally-living mammals of Goblintown: where they keep their wealth in hastily-inventoried storehouses, this quasi-godling has consolidated the wealth of the people here in a single room. It reminds you of the wererats, from your early days in Hawksong, and how the late and not-so-great Boss Leo kept a ‘throne room’ replete with stolen knickknacks from the surface. This room is better curated, certainly, and more thoughtful in its accumulated acquisitions.
You find more just currency, and saleable goods, too. Among these are even a couple weakly-enchanted items and magical reagents: a stick of engraved, treated wood which you sense great power within, a couple scrollcases not unlike that on your belt, but containing actual scrolls, and a rune-carved stone.
With a bit more in-depth investigation, you find a hidden chamber inside the shelving unit hosting this horde, and inside that hidden space you find a cache of incriminating letters, journals containing confessions of crimes and improprieties, personal belongings without obvious value, even carefully-woven bundles of human hair.
‘Blackmail,’ you think to yourself, and to Irinnile by proxy.
‘An’ th’ means to curse and control people,’ Irinnile notes, almost with as much admiration as fear. ‘Inky has these bitches of theirs on a tight-ass leash. ‘Specially the ones who are into petplay, judging by that one journal.’
The Incubus has means to ruin and discredit any of the humans in its little fiefdom, and the means to kill or control any who go against it. This implies a mastery of magic yet unshared with you, and you shudder to think how much that network of control can now be extended with useful, powerful demonic agents at the greater demon’s beck and call, and ectoplasmic control and surveillance of Hawksong’s prince…
Your work is interrupted by the faint sound of approaching footfalls.
