>>6063805he airlock checkpoint floor begins to descend as an elevator. You cannot go downstairs any faster, and you have to do nothing but listen.
Percival rolls his head, his exhausted drawl dragging his words and accent hastening through them in an irregular pattern. "It is a creature both humanoid and insectoid. Devices used to monitor its biological functions shackle it, though some may have been removed since its escape. It stands on two legs, bears four arms, and does wield a passing intellect beyond a simple beast. This creature, accursed by whatever god or man that created it, is acutely aware that it is dying. Food does not slake its hunger. It is always craving and yearning to eat. No matter how much it eats, it cannot feel full. It is driven by the constant sense of starvation to find its next meal, and kill it if it has to. And it can eat anything. Thankfully, we are well aware it is the only one of its kind. If it could reproduce, it would be an ecological disaster."
Heavy metal bangs and slides as the elevator hits the destination floor. Noises come from the heavy metal door as it unlocks itself and prepares to open. Blythe's expression, locked in a soft smile you'd find on someone reading a book int he evening, is unbothered by the words he is uttering and the clattering noise around him.
"Ordinarily, an L2 would not be trusted with such a task. But the Black Swan holds you and your Gaelic friend in her confidence. All agents outside of her esteem have been recalled. All cameras have been disabled. Any else who see the creature must be dealt with. Our only witnesses will be the Gods."
Bluish off-white light tears itself through the door as it parts open, revealing the dark stormdrain lit only by occasional lights beaming straight down and wall-mounted LEDs. You try and steel yourself and grip the haft of your weapon.
In your frantic rushing and confusion, you have until now overlooked the fact that Percival is not carrying a melee weapon. Your eyes only catch a holster of some sort under his baggy robes.
"What class of troll is this?" You ask, measuring yourself up to this thing.
"It is not the scion of mutated blood. It is a <span class="mu-g"><span class="mu-i">thing of the arcane.</span></span> And must be understood."
Without any further explanation, Percival steps forward, snapping his fingers twice like he was gesturing a pet to come along.
"And now, our hunt begins."
There will be time for questions later.
<span class="mu-g">In the heart of your bones you feel something vile.
Roll <span class="mu-s">Attunement</span>: Two anons, roll 4d6.</span>
