Rolled 12, 10, 16 = 38 (3d20)
>>6124934While shadowing and surveiling hapless humies to scoop out and sample heir delicious memories sounds exceptionally satisfying—AND like a useful application of your unique skillset!—it also sounds dangerous. An-Yii’s angry eyes stick with you, reappearing in your own memories as a reminder of the risks involved in mental magics of that nature. If you’re caught in the act, you could face a lot worse than a dressing down by your disappointed soul-sister.
You know who WON’T judge <span class="mu-g">you</span>, though? A bunch of dead fish.
You slip through the shadows, evading the dim torchlights to travel a hidden path only possible with darkvision such as yours. Coupled with your natural aptitude for concealment, it is an easy thing to remain undetected. It doesn’t hurt that so many of the town’s men and women gathered in great gaggles to discuss the unsettling events or serve the ‘adventure tourist’ industry, but unfortunately, you’re not ALL alone when you arrive at one of Sunset Lake’s many docks.
You quiet your breathing as you stare from your shadowy perch, crouched atop some crates. Even at this late hour, there are human men hard at work swabbing desks, restocking supplies on their small vessels, attending to matters of routine maintenance, or unloading their catches. The last is the one of greatest interest to you, of course, and luckily the late hour ensures there is a skeleton crew at best.
You hope down, and disappear again, dashing from shadow to shadow, skirting or speeding through islands of light to reach one of the nets hanging high from a hook, full to the gills with freshcaught fish.
<span class="mu-i">”Fucking Hells, another one?!
“What? What’s wrong, Cam?”
“Here, look! See for yourself, George.”</span>
You watch and listen as a pair of fishermen, stout fellows swaddled in treated brown leathers from head to toe, stand beside their catch. One of them reaches inside with calloused hands manages to wrench a single fish (a carp, or a trout, or something? you’re not sure how to tell) out of the slimy, scaly morass. Producing a knife from his pocket, he saws open the centre-mass of the thing, and you ‘ooo’ with quiet fascination at the black-blue blood that seeps out. You’re not a doctor like An-Yii or a Life Mage like your belov—like, uh, Tips—but you’re PREEETTY sure fish are meant to bleed red, like most everything else. You feel the waves of disappointment, disgust, and the undercurrent of dread which seeps out of the two men as they throw the fish down on the dock.
<span class="mu-i">”What do you figure it is?”
“We both KNOW what it is, don’t we?”
“…Right. Well, uh, do we throw them back, or what?”
“And poison the bloody lake WORSE? No… No, we better report it, see if maybe we can get a reward for ‘helping the investigation’.”
“Ha! Good thinking, Cam!”
“Not good enough to make up for another catch like this one… Ugh, what am I going to tell the missus?”</span>
