Rolled 1, 8, 11, 12, 16 = 48 (5d20)
>>5170272>>5170331>>5170498>>5170500>>5170863“I need you to hang onto thiss cloak for a while,” you say, beginning to undo the small, snowflake-shaped clasp on the original capelet.
Zi stares for a moment, as if uncomprehending, and automatically accepts the cloak as you hand it to her. Only then, looking down at it and back up at you, does she narrow her eyes in suspicion.
“What’s wrong with it?” she asks. “Is it cursed? Seriously, what?”
“Nothing like that,” you reassure her, and you see the tension that entered her body begin to leave it… Until you explain the next part.
“THE PALADINS?” she shouts, dropping the cloak as if it were aflame.
“Lower your voice,” you hiss, shushing her.
Zi stares for a while, and both of you look about, grateful for the crepuscular habits of goblins and orcs. Her next words are hushed, but no less angry and confused.
“What are you THINKING bringing heat like that down on me?!” she demands, gathering up the cloak in a big, messy bundle and trying to jam into back into your hands. You gently push it back, and she flails in frustration. “Inquisitors were bad ENOUGH, but royal godbothering holy MOTEHRFUCKING—”
You press a finger to your lips, for her volume has begun to rise anew.
“—Paladins?!” she whispers.
“I promissse,” you say, “they have no idea I’m here, they didn’t follow me, and apart from THAT cloak, they have no lead on me.”
Zi looks down at the cloak, then back up at you.
“Burn it,” she says.
“Fireproof,” you reply with a crooked smile.
“Wrap some rocks in it and dump it in the harbour!” she exclaims, as quiet as she can manage.
“I like it,” you say. “It wass a gift.”
“LIFE is a gift,” the goblin counters. “Don’t waste yours, or mine, over a hoodie.”
“It’s valuable,” you say.
“THEN FENCE IT!” she cries.
“Please?” you ask.
The goblin-girl hesitates.
