Returning from the absence of time, I start filling in the Triple L Squad on my plan, which earns me an, “Awe man,” from Lil, and an, “Oh sweetie, not again,” from Lu.
Sighing sadly, agreeing, I add, “Yeah, I know. So, um, hold my clothes, gear, and all that for me please Lu? Try to get them to me as quickly as possible when you get the signal?”
Even though Lil knows what my answer will be, he asks jokingly, “What’s the signal supposed to be pal?”
Unable to keep myself from smirking, I toss him the clichéd response of, “You’ll know it when you see it.”
Parsing what I can of the cryptographic rune sequencing that seems to shift and alter in patterns along the outside, I can tell that they’re static, and far easier to crack on the inside. It would take me a dozen nights calculations to come up with a decent chance to possibly predict the sequence in a way that allows me to break the barrier’s channeling network from the outside. Even then, there’s a huge percentage chance that I fry my brain from the backlash of even one misplaced or mis-predicted cryptographic sequencing. Sighing to myself, I admit that I can’t back out of the plan.
We carefully wheel our way down far out of sight of the stronghold, aiming to work towards a frontal assault while still maintaining some element of surprise, so that they can’t all be mustered on us ahead of time. Taking one last glance through the scrying sensors we’ve got set up, I see that Teuila is in motion, so she’s okay. I breathe a sigh of relief. Te’s okay. I loose another shuddered sigh. I know how codependent we are, but I’m glad we now have a method to check in on each other quickly and discretely, from anywhere on the planet. It helps ease my troubled mind, something I’d walk, run, or fly around the world to do in any other circumstance.
Utilizing the dark side of Luni, the shadow she casts, and that of Lil and Lucky as well, I begin to leave my body behind. I count down the seconds, the minutes, as if they were sands in an hourglass. I’ll be exceedingly vulnerable as I return to form inside. Hell, we have to hope that my shadow form can pass through the barrier, or this was all a waste of time. If it is a waste of time, I feel there’s nothing I can do about it. Yeah, that would suck.
I pass through Luni and Lil on my way towards the ground. I’m able to somewhat float three dimensionally as a nearly two dimensional existence. Lu and Lil shudder as I float through them, since I become a literal coldspot that passes over them. It’s so weird to see the always-muddy Rayileklian soil begin to firm up in the sunlight as I flit just above it, floating towards Vorzog’s Keep. Doing my best to not draw attention to myself, I do attempt to remain in the leeward, shadeward side of any little hills, pebbles, outcroppings, luma tulipa, or anything else around.
Okay Reggie, the moment of truth is coming up. Here goes nothing and everything all at once. Hurk. Gurgle. Koff. If I had anywhere to have had lunch in this form, I’d lose it. Keep pushing Reggie, you’re slipping through the barrier. I’m surprised that, and wonder why, the Draconiacs sheltered here are so regimented, well trained, disciplined, and keep up guard shifts and the like. Between their impeccable magical defenses, and the likelihood of them not having been attacked in decades, or centuries, it seems odd that they remain so at-the-ready. Phooph! I nearly rocket inwards into the compound as I’m shunted through to the inside of the barrier.
Whew, okay, quickly, find cover, now calm down for a moment. The heart that doesn’t exist in my chest at the moment, the chest that I don’t have at the moment, is beating a thousand miles an hour. There is absolutely so much incredible firepower and magical power and essence contained in this fortress, and its denizens. I could be obliterated by this, if it all came to bear before I was fully ready. Even if I were fully prepped, there’s only so much I can handle at once, before I start getting sloppy, and taking more and more hits. Scout around Reggie. Carefully, carefully.
Thankfully the shadow-elemental evolutionary form from RS2 at least has a version of the aura senses that has additional tricks to it. They somewhat make up for me not being able to wear my danger-wraps in this form. Somewhat. Take it easy Reggie, try not to pass through any of them. Erm, any more of them. That one’s shivering. Crap on a cracker, there’s just so many of them, and they’re all so alert. It’s almost like they were tipped off somehow. They couldn’t be though, right? Maybe this is in response to the Worldstorm opening up nearby? That doesn’t make sense though.
Maybe they assume that it’s Terrorzin’s doing, since he has a hole opening up somewhere in the Worldstorm? If they didn’t assume that, it’d make more sense to have scouting parties investigating the area that it opened up to, rather than simply being more on-guard at home. Still, my non-breath catches in my non-throat as I imagine that Lu, Lil, and Lucky, are about to be ambushed by stealthy scouting party assassins who went out to investigate the Worldstorm disturbance.
Ow, what the what? Ow. Something, something’s calling out to my brain. That—, that’s Whisper. That Draconiac lieutenant has Whisper tucked into a bandolier! There’s a pinkish psionic vibratory aura pulsating around it, and somehow it recognizes the sheath’s scent on me or something like that. Crap! Can it tell its wielder that someone has approached who has its sheath? I don’t think it’s entirely sentient, let alone sapient, but if it has some sort of psychic warning sensation, like the danger-wraps, I could still be quite screwed. Focus Reggie, focus. Whatever happens, be ready to act. Right, right. Phooph. I don’t actually have any breath to pass a sigh through puffed cheeks, but if I did, that’s what I’d be doing right now.
Grr, about the only places that are safe to transform back that I’ve found so far, happen to be too small for RS2 to manifest in. Too-tight alleyways, behind stone sculptures or furniture, and so on and so forth. Come on Reggie, come on, think, think. There has to be some clue as to a location that—. Well, there isn’t feces and urine all over the yard, so I assume they have a latrine. Ugh.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Hold the phone, we’re not saying you have to dive into the sewage pit, just maybe sit in an unoccupied latrine for a few minutes. That’s what I was ughing about. It’s so corny. It’s as cliché as the line I tossed to Lil earlier. Heh, get over yourself Reggie. No one’s going to know, or care, if you utilize a common trope to infiltrate an enemy stronghold.
Hell, no one on this planet has probably even heard of the word trope, or even knows what would make certain things cliché. That’s all just your buggy-ass Fakeworld memory nonsense. Hm, true. Alright. Yeah, there’s several latrines, and there’s one over this way, and it’s unguarded, and seems pretty sparsely used. This is very close to being, “so degrading.” Y’know, if you really wanted to infiltrate this place at the moment, you could engage the lycanthrope form, and take on your draconic Reggie form. They might not instantly attack an emerald, winged Draconiac. Eh, I doubt it Reggie. Let’s just stick with the plan for now pal, shall we? Sure, sure sure sure.
Of. Friggin’. Course. I went to the farthest stall, in the least used latrine and—. Huff. I’d sigh if I could. Okay lovebirds. Please finish up and leave. Wow. Okay that’s, that’s passionate. Friggin’ hell, can I cut off my return to my form so that I don’t out myself? Should I try to slay them while partially manifested? Maybe I can still pass through this wall a bit into the next stall. Okay, whew, holy crap that was clo—. Oh come the hell on! Oh god that’s awful.
Sure, I managed to use my last few moments of full intangibility to phase through the wall to the next stall, but now this one’s occupied too. I can hear the lovebirds gagging in the next stall. This guy’s either got food poisoning, or his intestines are rotting out from the inside, or something. Oh my friggin’ lord. Hurk. I can’t phase through this wall, and I’m going to vomit if I hear one more rapid plinking splash sound. Well, if I do end up vomiting, it means enough of me is manifested to utilize my breath weapon. I’m sorry Draconiac with the sick stomach, if I’m outed to you, I’m going to have to kill you in probably the most humiliating way possible, by breathing fire to take out all these gases you’re emitting.
The femme lovebird in the next stall cries out, “Oh gods, is that Upchuck? Why’d you have to hurp, take the stall next to ours sicko?”
Her paramour mumbles, “She’s right Chuck, what the fu(4. Rage’s sakes, take that somewhere else. I mean, feel better, but really, come on.”
Chuck here only groans, moaning in intestinal pain. Blowing up the outhouses is not the signal I intended to send to Lil. I also haven’t broken the barrier yet. Wait. Wait I’ve got an idea. I mean, I’m still probably going to kill these Draconiacs in here. I’m a bit loathe to kill the lovebirds, because, I mean, if they’re capable of love and passion, maybe they’d accept mercy, y’know? Huff. It’s unlikely though. I mean, I’ve also got a bit of sympathy for Chuck. His issue’s gotta suck if he’s got a nickname around lack of intestinal fortitude.
Anyway, my poison gas can mix with the gas coming out of Chuck here, and it should knock him out through hypoxia. I might even snag the lovebirds in the knockout gas. I can keep spilling a trail of the gas, keeping this latrine fully flooded, and leaving a low trail as I sneak out. Then, when far enough away, I can send a spark to ignite my trail of gas, making for one hell of a distraction. Crap, I know it’s dark in here, and Chuck has his head between his knees, looking at his own feet, but I’m almost fully manifested at this point. Hurp, I’m gonna puke on the back of his head if he, hurp, doesn’t stop with those horrible noises. Start loosing poison gas Reggie. I know, I know. Sorry you three.
Sighing, I correct myself, sorry you five. Two more male Draconiacs have come in, and are chattering about work detail. They sound extremely friendly, as I can hear the slaps they continue to give one another. Oh god. Am I in a raunchy sitcom? I just realized what the slapping sound was. Screw this lot. Ugh, yes, I know what I just said. I’ve got screwing to the left of me, and screwing to the right, and here I am stuck in the middle with Chuck.
Finally the newer couple notices as one queries, “Is, is that gas? Chuck came rushing in here before us, right? Is that gas coming from Chuckles’s stall? Chuck, you okay bud? Oh, oh god, we’ll, hrp, come back later. Feel better Chuckles.”
I hear the newer pair of lovers beat a hasty retreat. I feel really, really, really sorry for Chuck at this point. I think he’s been passed out for a bit now, honestly. I’m just keeping myself perfectly still, perched above him on the roof of this darkened stall, utilizing telekinesis now that all of my powers have manifested, in order to keep myself locked in place. Hm, I think the previous pair of lovers has passed out from hypoxia as well. I think they were trying to remain silent while the new pair showed up, and when they tried to gasp for breath after that pair left, there was no clean air to suck down.
Oh hell. I can’t just leave these people here to die in a flaming fiery farting distraction. That’s an awful way to go. Though, to be fair, Chuck might be on his way out already, based on those intestinal noises. Hrp. Okay, okay, new plan. Awe man, I liked my hair. I suppose I can eventually shapeshift it back. Let’s get a good look at Chuck. Sorry pal, we’re going to have to strip you, hrp, ugh. I find what I’m looking for, based on scent, Chuck indeed keeps a razor on him, which is a bit weird for a Draconiac, but I imagine it’s to eat thinly sliced cheese, since it smells vaguely cheesy, and he’s got a stash of cheese, despite definitely being lactose intolerant.
Sighing, I make quick work of my hair, loosing my wild mane into the latrine. My SAP are going to make so much fun of me for this. Alright, with spare clothes, we tie up Chuck, and the lovebirds, we steal all of these little bits of equipment, and we practice sounding sick as Chuck. Easy enough, since my stomach is still roiling. Better yet, me trailing gas everywhere will be pretty excusable if anyone notices it. Bury my snout in “my” uniform. Sorry Chuck. Keep expelling breath-weapon gas, packing this latrine with more and more compressed gases. Utilize my senses, as best I’m able, to scout the nearby region of the courtyard, and barracks. Okay, if I put up a slowing field at two ends of this area, they won’t realize that time has slowed for them, and won’t notice me dragging bodies around. One more reason I’m grateful for all the abilities we snagged in orb-time.
Still, I feel naked without at least some powerful equipment. Come on Claíomh Solais, come on. You show up in my hand randomly now and again, what about when I really need you? Please? Come on come on. Yes! Yes yes yes yes yes! Phew. Okay. Now we have more options. Whew. Slow breaths Reggie, take it one step at a time.