Post by Pheleon on Mar 28, 2012 15:44:53 GMT -5
The ship was quiet. Too quiet.
This may have had something to do with the fact that it was an ungodly hour of the early morning. It may also have had something to do with the fact that Anon, the notoriously curious, impossible-to-shut-up spellthief, had actually been relatively quiet since returning from the last mission. The spellthief had vanished into his room almost immediately upon returning, and hadn't been seen since.
At least until now.
The changeling slipped through the corridors, their lights dimmed for the night, blending with the shadows almost seamlessly. Every now and then a telltale glitter would give a clue as to his whereabouts, but they were few and far between. A few minutes of silent footsteps found Anon in the main room of the ship. A careful look around, with both normal and Arcane Sight, revealed it to be empty, most of the other adventurers either asleep or in their rooms.
Perfect.
The spellthief made his way towards the vending machine, loosening something hidden under his clothes at the same time. By the time he reached it, his Bag of Holding was in one hand. Aside from the late hour, nothing seemed terribly amiss about his actions - he was also a notorious coward, and sneaking around through the darkness was nothing unusual.
Well, except for the strange bulge to the bag.
And the drops of blood that spattered onto the floor when he squeezed it too tightly.
Glancing over his shoulder one more time, Anon turned back to the vending machine, and loosened the drawstring on the Bag. Almost immediately, the foul smell of gore rose from it. This didn't appear to phase the spellthief, who simply started breathing through his mouth. He reached into the bag carefully, and pulled out a few small objects that, in the gloom of the main room, were impossible to distinguish.
Had one gotten close enough, and had they had even a passing knowledge of anatomy, they would have recognized the objects as hearts.
Hearts that, judging by their size and structure, had come from human children.
Anon carefully fed the handful he was holding into the vending machine, and reached for another, an expression close to absolute boredom on his face.
His morals had always been hovering around somewhere that was just barely socially acceptable, but time aboard the ship had taken a toll on his (admittedly tenacious) grip on sanity. Though it was hard to pin down exactly when he had started slipping, it had been shortly after returning from the infamous Japanese Game Show. It hadn't gotten better. Though his overall personality had not exhibited much of a change - he was as chatty as ever, and still a shameless kleptomaniac - something darker had slunk its way in. There had been hints; more malice in his formerly harmless - if annoying - pranks, a tangible glee whenever innocents were caught in the blast radius of a particularly destructive spell.
The tiny part of him that had always served as a poor excuse for a conscience had finally given up, it seemed, and left the spellthief to his own devices.
This didn't appear to bother Anon in the slightest, whose thoughts were far from his gristly task, focusing more on what he could possibly purchase with the resulting gold, and how he was going to wash the blood out of the Bag when he was done.
12,500 hearts, after all, had created quite a mess.
This may have had something to do with the fact that it was an ungodly hour of the early morning. It may also have had something to do with the fact that Anon, the notoriously curious, impossible-to-shut-up spellthief, had actually been relatively quiet since returning from the last mission. The spellthief had vanished into his room almost immediately upon returning, and hadn't been seen since.
At least until now.
The changeling slipped through the corridors, their lights dimmed for the night, blending with the shadows almost seamlessly. Every now and then a telltale glitter would give a clue as to his whereabouts, but they were few and far between. A few minutes of silent footsteps found Anon in the main room of the ship. A careful look around, with both normal and Arcane Sight, revealed it to be empty, most of the other adventurers either asleep or in their rooms.
Perfect.
The spellthief made his way towards the vending machine, loosening something hidden under his clothes at the same time. By the time he reached it, his Bag of Holding was in one hand. Aside from the late hour, nothing seemed terribly amiss about his actions - he was also a notorious coward, and sneaking around through the darkness was nothing unusual.
Well, except for the strange bulge to the bag.
And the drops of blood that spattered onto the floor when he squeezed it too tightly.
Glancing over his shoulder one more time, Anon turned back to the vending machine, and loosened the drawstring on the Bag. Almost immediately, the foul smell of gore rose from it. This didn't appear to phase the spellthief, who simply started breathing through his mouth. He reached into the bag carefully, and pulled out a few small objects that, in the gloom of the main room, were impossible to distinguish.
Had one gotten close enough, and had they had even a passing knowledge of anatomy, they would have recognized the objects as hearts.
Hearts that, judging by their size and structure, had come from human children.
Anon carefully fed the handful he was holding into the vending machine, and reached for another, an expression close to absolute boredom on his face.
His morals had always been hovering around somewhere that was just barely socially acceptable, but time aboard the ship had taken a toll on his (admittedly tenacious) grip on sanity. Though it was hard to pin down exactly when he had started slipping, it had been shortly after returning from the infamous Japanese Game Show. It hadn't gotten better. Though his overall personality had not exhibited much of a change - he was as chatty as ever, and still a shameless kleptomaniac - something darker had slunk its way in. There had been hints; more malice in his formerly harmless - if annoying - pranks, a tangible glee whenever innocents were caught in the blast radius of a particularly destructive spell.
The tiny part of him that had always served as a poor excuse for a conscience had finally given up, it seemed, and left the spellthief to his own devices.
This didn't appear to bother Anon in the slightest, whose thoughts were far from his gristly task, focusing more on what he could possibly purchase with the resulting gold, and how he was going to wash the blood out of the Bag when he was done.
12,500 hearts, after all, had created quite a mess.