DS: Early Morning Adventures

"You left your druid behind," noted Jalua. "What is it you're looking for? Gold?"

Borgios shook his head. "No, he'd notice if that showed up in his pocket with me. I'm trying to figure out a way to smuggle some weapons for myself, and also stay in practice for the sorts of things we do. Something like a bag of holding, but smaller."

Jalua considered that, then grinned. "Gloves. Magical gloves. And I just happen to know of someone who has some. They'll only store one item each, but..." 

Borgios shook his shoulders out, tension dissolving into relief. "That could work. That could very well work."

He swept her up, spun her around, and set her back down. "Jalua, you're a genius. What do we need to do get these?"

"Well," she said, "We'll need to rob this merchant. The clan won't object; he keeps trying to stiff us, so an... object lesson like this might even help us. Come on, I'll show you where he lives." 

DS: Inconvenient Family Ties

"You're not one of our clan," said a voice from overhead. "One of us, but... outsider. What brings you here, Outsider?"

Borgios slowed, decided that this was interesting enough to justify postponing his plan. "A job went wrong some months back. I took shelter in the pocket of a drunken druid, who thinks I'm nothing more than a rat."

"And your clan?"

He swallowed. "Hunted by the guard and another band of adventurers," he said. "Father told us to go to ground."

There was a soft laugh, and then the whuff of impact, tuck, and roll behind him. He turned slowly, beheld a seemingly-human woman of roughly his own age behind him. A fellow wererat, of course; born into it, by her smell.  "You have a name?" she asked softly. 

"Borgios," he told her. 

"Jalua," she responded. "You're in our territory, so I can't let you do anything that might draw attention to us. I suppose I'll have to keep an eye on you." 

"Oh?" he asked, trying to sound suspicious rather than intrigued. "In that case, come along. Or lead me where you would." Yes, he was definitely prepared to overturn his plans for the opportunity of some seemingly-friendly company. Keeping himself hidden for the last few months had been more of a strain than he cared to admit.

DS: Friends in Low Places

"...Who? Where?" Borgios kept his voice soft. 

"Down here," said the voice. 

He turned, frowning as he scanned the mouth of the alleyway. 

"On the ground. Just over..." 

"I see you, I think," said Borgios, bending down to pick up a silver necklace with an unfamiliar amulet suspended from it. 

"Yes! That's me. Oh, thank you, kind sir." It was a woman's voice, despite coming from a piece of jewelry. "I do so hate being down in the dirt like that, but my husband Tivros... well, he was drinking, and forgot I was in his hand. If you could return me to him, I'd be most grateful."

What in the Nine Hells and all the elemental planes? A talking amulet was definitely going to be a liability for anything he did tonight. Borgios considered, then decided that the easiest way to handle this was to pass the burden. "I fear my time is limited," he told the amulet. "I must return to being a rat before too long -- a family curse, and no escape from it. But I will deliver you to someone who can see you safely back home in the morning."

"Well, I suppose if you can't do it yourself..." There was hint of... not exactly accusation, but definitely disappointment... in her tone. "...Then yes, please get me to someone who can help."

Borgios turned and retraced his steps up the alley, then set the amulet in Rune's unconscious hand. "There you go," he said, then turned and fled.

DS: I Smell A Rat

Borgios slipped out of the druid's pocket as the two orcs dragged him to the back door and tossed him out into the alley. Neither of them noticed, but then neither of them would likely have cared. Riding around in Rune's pocket was actually a pretty sweet deal: he was warm and clean, and got to eat his share of scraps, and then when Rune wasn't paying attention he could slip out and take care of his own business -- which mostly meant keeping his skills sharp, and remembering how to move around in human form.

It could be awkward; unlike Rune, when Borgios changed shape his clothing and equipment didn't change with him. So his first step was usually to sneak around as a rat until he could find some clothing to steal. 

Fortunately, Rune wasn't the only one who had passed out inside The Old Wastrel and been carried out the back. There were two others, a human and a halfling, and the human's clothing would--

He aborted his transformation just in time, as the back door banged open again, and the two orcs emerged carrying a bloody-faced human. One of the fighters, maybe? Or maybe the woman had injured herself when she passed out. Regardless, Borgios waited patiently -- just another rat -- as the orcs dropped her beside the wall. 

"They should really know better," growled one of the orcs, reaching down to empty the purse at her belt. 

"Eh, good ale can make a fool of anybody," said the other.

When they'd gone back inside, Borgios changed and set to stripping the human male. The fit was close enough -- Borgios had been small and wiry all his life, probably thanks to his heritage -- and when he straightened he felt inconspicuous enough to stroll casually down the alley. The night was warm; likely the man wouldn't freeze to death, and he could drop the clothing beside him when turned back into a rat. 

He had just reached the end of the alley when a voice out of nowhere said, "Hello?" and he very nearly pissed himself. 

StV: The Uncertain Soldier

Paul Caswell sat in a pool chair behind his Alpha Hound and did his best not to gape openly. It was, he reminded himself, his first real mission as a Hound, and he still didn't know how everything worked. This, though... this was a lot to take in. 

He glanced at Tara, but she was apparently focused on the conversation. Either she didn't find this disturbing, or she was much better at hiding it than he was. 

We were sent here to find whatever Deviant was stealing people's bone marrow, he thought, frustrated. Then we find a whole group of Deviants in the damned hospital with the the victims, and Bloodhound -- the Alpha Hound who's acting as our Hunter -- not only fails to give the order to bring them in, but leads them back here to the hotel to talk. Clearly, Bloodhound knew these people. 

Try as he might, Paul couldn't figure it. Was Bloodhound a traitor? She couldn't be. Her own Hunter, Hearne, would have reported her. Was she expecting a bunch of deviants to help them? That didn't seem possible either. He knew her stats and her rep; Bloodhound might be younger than he was, but she'd brought in everyone she'd ever been assigned to capture. 

What the hell was going on here? Mind control? Something else? 

He'd wait, he decided. He'd wait, and watch, and then figure out what he needed to do.  

StV: Florida Man: After The Trial

Hey kid,

I was hoping to see you at the trial but I guess you were busy. It went... I was gonna say "badly," but it's you so... "badly" is better than I expected. Gonna have to spend some time in prison, and that means no drinking and only fighting if I have to. And no powers. I mean, I've still got them, I just can't use them if I want them to let me out. 

But it's a three year stint, and I think I can do it. You were right about the meds. Huge help. I'm very, very angry with you about that. So thanks. 

You were right about the offers, too. Some mercs, some even bigger assholes, but some... I mean, I wouldn't think that many people would want a guy with alligator powers to work for them, especially with my history, but I got an offer from the damned park rangers. Said it'd be nice to have someone on the payroll who could protect the Everglades from Anomalous threats. Pay's not as good as some of the other offers, but there's retirement. 

Hell, kid. Never even thought about that before. Anyway, sorry I didn't get to see you again.

~Florida Man

* * *

Tom Wilson, you fucking idiot, 

I was right there. Red wig, heavy makeup, nice skirt and suit jacket. Any of that ring a bell? You winked at me four times from the witness stand. Swear to Jesus, I thought you'd figured out it was me. And yes, the trial went badly for you, but it could have been so much worse. I was very, very impressed. 

Tell you what. Keep your head down, do the time and stay out of trouble as best you can, and when you get out we can schedule a big old knock-down, drag-out fight if that'll make you feel better. I know I did you kind of dirty bringing you in like that, but I still think you have what it takes to be a lot better person than you realize. 

Meanwhile, you take care of yourself -- in a good way, this time. 

~Cloudburst

 * * *

Kid, 

Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I had no idea. I'm glad you were there, but this. Awkward. I know I can be kind of a creep, but I don't hit on high school students. Thanks for showing up for me. Again.

Might take you up on that fight. Might not. Gives me something to think about besides being in prison, though. Araktul, you really are good at this. 

Keep writing. 

~Florida Man 

 

PotM: Prisoners and Evaluations

He had to be the Moon. Somehow Leandra had found him, and given him a Key, and sent him back to end the Interregnum. Ser Liosha Sobinhan, Chosen Marshal of the Sun, was sure of it. Something had changed; something in the air, in the sky overhead, in the ground beneath her feet. She couldn't see it yet, but that could be the dark of the moon -- the time of hidden movements, stealth and secrecy, and betrayals performed or redressed. 

She could not reveal that to the knights gathered here, not matter how much it might give them hope. It would cause too much of a stir, and despite all their efforts there might still be spies among them.  No, if the Prince had returned he must be preserved and kept secret, and so this was only a lone traveler, uncorrupted, who had stepped in to aid a pair of knights in their time of need, and then nobly submitted to arrest until they could establish that he wasn't a spy. 

There would be other questions as well: he carried blades that were not him. To most of her troops, that suggested a magus who might intend to restore those knights. Keeping him locked away with the blades prevented the knights from asking him too many questions, and increased his value if he did turn out to be an ally. 

It gave this Sean Paul Keegan a certain cachet, but also allowed her to surround him with guardians who would both imprison and protect him. Liosha served the Sun, not the Moon, but even with some things still unknown and other poorly understood, she knew that the return of the Moon was critical to re-awakening the Sun. Their enemy would know that as well, and likely in more detail and with a better understanding. 

With the enemy once more on the move -- actively, not infiltrating and corrupting -- she wanted to keep this quiet for as long as possible. He didn't look like the prince she remembered being selected forty-seven years ago, but if he'd spent all that time in the mortal realms, infected with mortality...

That was the plan, she thought, and was overwhelmed with momentary rage. That was the basis of the Usurper's whole plan...