Rolled 47, 1 = 48 (2d100)
>>5708740“What NOW?” hisses the Chaplain of the Northern Forward Base.
The Silkscale in the doorway—a Reptilian Infiltrator, hesitates, and eventually the Chaplain sighs and beckons him in, where he kneels in dutiful supplication to his resident and ranking Serpent Priest.
“It is Hawksong,” the Infiltrator states. “The situation there is… In flux. The surface-scum have become aware of us again, and have begun to act against us openly.”
The Chaplain regards the Silkscale coolly, suppressing his shock and fear and instead calculating rapidly.
“How much do they know?”
“Few specifics, Superior One, or so it seems. They have not targeted individual operatives, but rather a Paladin-led effort is underway to root out, identify, and detain those SUSPECTED of being of the Master Race.”
“…So the Green Knight is not with them?” the Chaplain notes, recalling the Copper Dragonborn’s report of the magical bane-weapon that human carried—a demonic sword which glowed in the presence of Reptilians, even those wearing Amulets of Disguise or hidden by other such spellcraft.
“No, Superior One.”
“And yet the Succubus does not assist us, either?”
“…No, Holy One.”
Troubling… So the demon and its host were dead, or otherwise out of the equation. Hawksong would purge itself, strengthen its defences, before too long. It would be as it was before the Dragonborn arrived in Hawksong and captured its leadership and infrastructure. The Chaplin’s tail lashed, just once, at the frustration of it all. This hybrid… So like his mother in some ways, and yet his work—more dramatic, more impactful—was also sloppier, the effects shorter-lived! And where was he when he was needed to rectify it? Playing ‘little dictator’ in some kobold warren!
“Still, an opportunity remains.”
