>>5166383>>5166416>>5166468>>5166559>>5166846>>5166991You’ll waste no further time, you decide—you’re going to secure yourself a demon or two, and wrap up this whole hunt. You pack up your things and go, stopping only briefly to inform a drowsy-looking Felia over a cup of tea (boiled water for you) of your proposed strategy for dealing with the matter of no-doubt soon-to-arrive Goldenrod recruits.
“So hire them all, then hang half of them out to dry with no work?” Felia asks, frowning slightly. “That’s going to put a lot of girls out on the street, hun.”
“That’ss bussssinesss.”
“I don’t know,” she says noncommittally, crossing her arms under her tremendous chest.
“Run it by Mina,” you say dismissively. “She’ll undersstand.”
“Don’t you want to tell her yourself?” Felia asks.
“I can’t,” you say with an easy smile. “Busssy day ahead!”
With no further ado, you’re off. It’s quite the hike across town to the southwestern outskirts. When you begin to tire, you make efficient use of the break to reach out through Irinnile’s ectoplasmic network to Inquisitor Felman.
“The items you requested were delivered,” he informs you, as if muttering it to himself. You make certain he is away from his colleagues before he does so, of course. “What… WAS that thing?”
You immediately intuit that he must mean the Dragonborn, having caught a glimpse of it while delivering the Head Chimercicist’s notes and instruments.
‘Do not sspeak of it,’ you command. ‘In fact, forget it altogether.’
“…Understood. I will try.”
It will have to do for now. Does the ectoplasm enable such manipulation of memory? At the very least, he won’t be telling anyone about the liberated draconian scion.
