Riverfront View [Pre-Game, Early Morning, The Ditch, Open]

[Makeshift]

Ignaeus' reticence disappears as quickly as it appeared. He almost lunges toward Krol and the rat he's holding. Ignaeus looks at the cranium rat and his raspy breath is momentarily suspended, as he reaches toward the soft belly of the rodent with his long finger. The finger cuts strangely smoothly into the flesh, sinking into the fur of the rodent with ease. Ignaeus pulls the guts out and dangles them in the air before his eyes, looking at them as they loop and slither over his knuckles with a gory life of their own.

"Ah yes... A truth most vile..." His voice grows steady, losing it's hoary and raspy qualities little by little, growing more rich and cultured with concentration and an aspect of him, once lost now regained, at least in echo.

"I see... The Broadsword... A vent... Whispers by leeches..." He quiets in thought, then he lowers the guts and looks at Krol.

"You wish to receive your reward? Yes... A future... Something to give you a leg up..." He briefly glances at the guts. "...Godsman."

"I'll tell you what I see here, in this flesh and this blood, this book of veins and acid. I will tell you some more, because unlike some-" A glance at Ikkit, and then back to Krol. "I know the shape of your hands. I know your kind, one who peddles the petty magics and illusions that you magelings concern yourselves with. That most hungry of lies is arriving soon... It goes by many names, it is sought by much greed, it laughs in the dark, as it tosses a reaction mass of truth at you all. Balance." He says the word with gravity, neutral in his regard to it, but acknowleding the power it holds. "A truth wrapped in onyx and pages. It is a vagabond daemon, petty magics and ill will hiding the greater part of it. It makes you all so hungry. You will consume it, as it laughs. And as you make it a part of you, it will make you a part of it."

Ignaues pauses, lowering the guts to the ground, discarding them wil tenderness. He then points at Krol with one long, offal stained finger.

"My advice... Godsman... As you fatten yourself up, to be a morsel to the Old Man..." His voice regresses, the richness falling away like a shell.

"Guard your secrets, guard your lies..." He mumbles, lowering himself back to the ground. He begins to turn away, and to shuffle toward the Ditch, back where more sad and broken things lie.

(You receive Advantage on your next Wisdom Saving throw, Krol.)

[Ikkit the Bastard]

Ikkit observed the whole performance with the air of a goblin whose early goal of getting the barmy "seer" an extra rejection has, despite failing, turned out all right on balance.

"No refunds, cutter."

He stooped to collect the dead rat's head.

"Chalk it up to education."

[Krol]

"Didn't ask for one. I'll let you know what the hell he was taking about if his words ring true."

[Ikkit the Bastard]

"Find any whispering leeches, I'd suggest legging it."