Chapter 44: Congrats on your 3rd murder

Zjuan sits with his favored Keequokhachik at the moment, the little gecko-like lizardfolk sitting comfortably on his thick shoulder, paying ‘rapt’ attention to Zjuan’s lessons.

Zjuan grimaces inwardly as the little guy snuggles into his shoulder like it's warm sand, and he can feel the grime and dirt on the [Dimensional Pickpocket] being ground into his nice shirt. He really should make them clean themselves before these little sessions of positive reinforcement.

Zjuan is a conceited naga.

His shirt is a sleek, purple, faux-silk, additionally padded by the thin layer of fat beneath it. Zjuan strives for the trappings of wealth and luxury, but doesn’t quite have the means to achieve them. Nice clothing, but not exorbitant. A bit of fat that shows he never goes hungry, can even eat just for the joy of it, but he still works too much for him to have that kingly look. Rings, only two of which are enchanted, but no jewelry or piercings beyond that to not compromise his natural camouflage and maintain his ability to disappear. Rings can be removed.

The end result is just a slightly portly chameleon naga in nice clothing, and a very snuggleable shoulder.

One of his turreted disconjugate eyes swings to the lizardfolk nestling into his shoulder, and watches as their eyes shut in comfort.

He feels a flare of frustration that is quickly tamped down.

“Sticky, are you paying attention? This is a very important lesson I'm trying to give you here.” Zjuan's best attempt at a ‘soothing’ voice melifluates to Sticky, and the lizard snaps to attention, tensing on his shoulder.

“Yes, yes! Sorry!” Sticky shouts, directly in Zjuan's earhole.

He winces, and continues, a bit of venom making its way into his tone.

“Ya know, some would kill for this kind of instruction, if you're good you may even level.” Zjuan says, his other eye rotating to the doorway.

He activates a skill, and can sense a small cluster of the Keequokhachik that are supposed to be plucking jewels and melting gold from stolen jewelry hovering outside the room, eavesdropping.

“Which is why anyone listening in who hasn't earned it and should be working had better either get back to work or spy well enough that I don't notice them!”

Zjuan senses the eavesdroppers scatter and, shaking his ringed fist, yells after them “If you want to be a [Spy] you'd better not get caught!”

He clears his throat.

“Where were we?” He asks, one eye on the trembling lizard on his shoulder.

“Right. The book.” Zjuan says, shutting the binder on his lap.

“This book, while not technically a magical item, is still something we could call an ‘artifact.’ Can you tell me why?” Zjuan asks, fatherly condescension dripping from his extendible tongue.

His independent eye watches as Sticky stews in thought. He can practically smell the smoke from the metaphorical enchantments of his simple brain burning out trying to think.

Despite Zjuan having a bit of resentment and disdain for the Nagal duty to the Keequokhachik, he still does his best to give the abandoned, troublemaking, and perhaps criminally insane lizards he's taken into his care the life skills they'll need to survive on the fringes of society.

Having a cabal of [Thieves], [Smugglers], and [Street Urchins] to do his bidding isn't so bad either.

“Um…” Sticky says.

“Is it cuz it's valuable enough or… it's got a bunch of spells written in it?”

“Not quite.” Zjuan says, flicking Sticky’s nose with a claw. “But you're on the right track.”

“Think about why having spells would make it an artifact despite it not being a magical item. What would make it valuable? Power. The right book is worth a fortune to the right people just from how powerful the information would be. A book that proves a king doesn't have royal blood is worth far more than an enchanted sword.”

“Ooohh. Power.” Sticky's eyes alight in interest.

Despite Sticky's level of intelligence— or lack thereof— he is actually one of Zjuan's highest level underlings. A Yuan-ti level [Dimensional Pickpocket] owing to the lizard's persistence, ambition, outside-the-box thinking solely when it comes to to thievery— but mostly the kleptomania.

Zjuan wouldn't bother with this much instruction otherwise. Sticky might genuinely make something of himself. Zjuan feels some instinctual part of him affected by the thought, getting slightly choked up— and buries it.

He continues his explanation as a thumb claw rubs against a bookmarked page deep in the binder.

“This book is not only linked to a skill, but contains information that would be incredibly powerful in the right hands.”

Sticky didn't realize the significance of what he had, but Zjuan does. The newly-leveled [Oracular Crime Boss] understands just how much anyone mentioned in this journal would give for knowledge of their future, and he fully intends to extort them for all they're worth.

After he gets every level and skill out of it that he can.

Maybe it's time he tries magic again with the spells inscribed within. He's definitely going to have to pay a certain casino a visit.

“So, what does—” Sticky begins before Zjuan clasps his claws around the lizard’s mouth tightly.

“Hold on one second.” Zjuan says, slightly ungently prying the gecko pads from his nice shirt and setting the lizardfolk on his chair.

Sticky looks up, a startle lingering on his expression, and Zjuan notices some of Sticky's skills unwittingly activating, concealing the little guy against his chair.

Sticky watches as Zjuan's camouflage capable scales begin to shift like a soothsaying mood ring into blacks and crimsons.

“I just have to check something for a moment.” Zjuan says, and begins to stalk off— before turning back to point at the incorrigible lizardfolk.

“Don't touch anything.”

The door slams.

Sticky waits patiently— for a minute or two.

After crawling along the room and the ceiling, making sure that Zjuan isn't testing him and secretly in the room somewhere, he drops from the ceiling back into the butt-grooved velvet chair, and creaks open the plasticy journal.

He begins to leaf through it with his dextrous adhesive fingerpads, looking for interesting bits.

The sound of a tearing page is followed by the “uh-oh.” of a very-much-in-trouble lizardfolk staring at half of a very valuable page stuck to his sticky fingers.

Zjuan is a nervous naga.

He knows how tenuous his meager success is as a low level [Crime Boss]. His stream of coin coming solely from the varied Keequokhachik he's taken in, creating a small self-sustaining farm-to-table flow of [Thieves], [Forgers] and [Counterfeiters], [Smugglers], and [Fences]. He knows how fragile his position is, and he hates it. It makes him anxious, and that anxiety makes him angry.

He storms down the hall of the abandoned subterranean waystation his little gang had taken over and spruced up and checks again.

[Estimate Production Value]. The number rapidly drops, and his steps hasten.

He picked up the nervous habit of frequently checking the general value his operation is producing ever since he got the skill. A major mistake or one of his Keequokhachik gets pinched and the number drops. One of his underlings levels and the number jumps.

Zjuan rounds a corner to the room where he should have a group of the younger or less ambitious lizardfolk plucking jewels from a pile of rings and necklaces to be sold as magical ingredients. His suede shoe kicks open the door, and the lizards inside jump, some skittering beneath the table to hide. His eyes swivel, and he snags a stolen silver sapphire necklace off the table, inspecting it as his other eye flits about, examining the scared faces. He schools his expression, and attempts to shift his blood red scales to the purple of his shirt.

“You're doing well.” He says. “Forgive the scare, I'm handling something.” Zjuan turns to leave, peeking back over his shoulder.

“As you were.”

He enters the hall again, moving slower this time.

[Estimate Production Value].

Dropping, but slower.

He moves, attempting to be less rash and hasty, knowing that his skill is an estimate and may just be reflecting a recoverable problem. One of his better [Thieves] joking about quitting maybe. He'll sort it.

He unbuttons his shirt slightly, letting it rest just past his shoulders, and the scales on his head begin to shift to camouflage with the hall. He used to be a [Sneakthief] and still has a skill or two from the days before he started taking in and training enterprising lizardfolk.

With his head nearly invisible, he approaches a small leisure room. He rests his earhole an inch from the wood, and his eye attempts to peek through the crack in the thin reed-wood door.

His other eye flicks down, and his camouflage is compromised as the color drains from beneath his scales.

In the dim hall light, he watches the pool of cold reptilian blood leak from beneath the door and ruin his suede shoes.

He jumps back, instincts of a [Sneakthief] warring with the instincts of a [Crime Boss]. The latter reacting quickly to try and prevent a spill from ruining his faux-respectable appearance, and the former knowing the blood will leave footprints.

Zjuan swallows hard around his tongue twitching in his mouth, and calmly removes his shoes, avoiding stepping in the growing puddle with his bare grippy footclaws.

It's strange what you think of in life or death moments, the subconscious mind taking over and allowing the conscious mind to wander. As the [Crime Boss] creeps around to the other side of the door, he thinks of how his approach to the situation reflects on him as a naga. Namely, that his first instinct upon seeing— what is likely all the blood from a Keequokhachik on his floor— is not to rush in and try to save them from themselves, but to assume this wasn't an accident and to assess the threat.

His conscious mind wanders until the eye is placed against the door gap, and is forced to piece together what it's seeing from the barest of clues in color and shape.

Rime blue, blood red, that silly green hat he got Shehopli for her hatchday he made up the date of. Zjuan sees the shattered frozen corpse of a child, sprinkled over the lacerated remains of another. As far as he can tell, there are no survivors.

Then again, he didn't linger to look for long, half-running as he silently slinks back down the hallway. His mind reels as he moves deeper into what he generously calls his “compound,” denial telling him that his lizards may have just been playing with a dangerous artifact they hid from him, before landing on something actionable.

He activates a skill, one of two gained from his most recent level up and nearly forgotten beyond the experimentation he'd done earlier today— too soon to have been his first thought when the eggs started to crack.

[Foresee Complication].

He doesn't expect the skill to activate— skills like these usually being a once a day sort of thing— but it's well known that some cooldowns can be pushed at great expense to oneself in dire circumstances.

Zjuan’s mind forcibly empties, and his slovenly imagination focuses like an [Artist] using a [Flash of Inspiration] skill. His mind paints in vivid and clear imagery—

Death.

Eternal and unending Death. A practiced death of re-dos and predestination. A death of inevitability, where every second you spend is one you won't get back so make them count. Forever, Death.

When Zjuan's mind returns, his nose holes bleed, his eyes strain to see, and his mouth tastes of iron. He isn't sure how much of that is backlash from what he saw or from straining the cooldown of his skill.

He leans against a silent wall, and feels his other new skill activate. The passive.

[Anticipate Opportunity].

He has an opportunity to survive this, if he just runs. Grab nothing and run as far and as fast as he can, leaving that damned book behind.

The book?

The book.

Of course. The owner probably has some kind of oracular class or skills. Of course they'd find it.

Zjuan moves to listen to his skill, having lived his whole life in the wider world he understands a skill’s significance— but his feet stop.

He turns to look down the hallway, towards where the Keequokhachik disassemble jewelry for him. He hasn't even seen the threat yet. He can't— he can't leave this all behind can he? Even beyond a naga’s responsibility, he can't let this life he's built for him and his lizards with blood, sweat, and tears just fall apart at the first sign of danger!

The skill is only [Anticipate Opportunity] it doesn't see everything. He can still salvage this. He just has to be fast and careful. He's a God Damned [Oracular Crime Boss] and he will save them.

Zjuan Xazcli is a nervous and conceited naga.

He is going to die.

He moves through the little hole in the ground he tried to carve out a life in, not deeper, but towards the entrance. He passes the blood puddle where his shoes steep, and hopes the rooms closer to the entrance weren't all cleared.

Zjuan wipes the blood from his head with his nice shirt, and re-camouflages his head. Listening, then peeking around corners before moving past them.

He assures himself as he peeks into empty rooms, that his Keequokhachik have a chance. One of the skills he got for upgrading to [Crime Boss] was [Gang: Natural Concealment], granting his underlings a lesser version of his camouflage before they use their own skills. They have a chance.

He peeks into a solo sleeping room with heated blankets. A reward for well performing lizards. He sees a form curled up within it, and panickedly scans for crimson seeping through the blankets.

Zjuan creeps in and ungently wakes the [Smuggler].

The cute lizardfolk blinks in confusion and trust. Her gaze twists an atrophied part of his biology and culture, the danger posed to this simple and innocent creature actively hurting him.

He whispers to her.

“We’re being attacked. Get to the jewelry room, evacuate everyone and meet me at the rally point. You remember the rally point?”

“We're being—”

He shushes her.

“I can help fight them! They're not taking our loot!” She whisper shouts. The monitor lizard wakes, territorial.

“No. You can help by getting people out. Go. Go!” Zjuan orders.

She opens her mouth to protest, and a small earthquake shakes the subterranean home for a single second, causing her naga to stumble.

She scampers off, and Zjuan moves on.

He edges towards the entrance of the waystation, a skimmer stable they half-assedly turned into a fake bar as a front that lets anyone who stumbles across it know they're in the wrong place.

He peeks down the hallway that should lead to the back of a sliding bar shelf hiding the hall he stands in and—

It's gone.

Not just the hidden door the— the hallway. It's just…

Gone.

Sand drips from the sides of the pit, falling slowly— too slowly— to the cooling bottom where wood and charred corpses bake glass.

Zjuan's heart stops, then thunders with fear and anger. He steps back around the corner and feels the tips of his right foot stick with resistance. Like trying to walk through heavy water or pull free from mud or quicksand, but without that same friction. Just drag.

He yanks his foot, and most of his leg moves but the tip of it still just drags along, until suddenly it jerks back nearly stumbling him.

He breathes for a second, confused, before muddled sound echoes oddly off the edges of the walls, like a whisper before the actual voice, and finally scrapes its way through the [Slow] spell and to him.

He hears human voices, young, male, and nearly identical except for the cadence. A few of his stealth skills activate as he listens from around the corner.

“Yeah, but I got stabbed by a lizard playing cards!”

“You've gotta stop thinking of them as lizards— and hold still!— They're not animals, and they're not children. Lizardfolk and Naga are two different species from the same planet. This guy right here, is a grown ass man—”

They're referring to a specific Keequokhachik. Does that mean they have one in front of them, or gesturing to a corpse? Zjuan wants to lean and check but… there's a mage. What if his camouflage isn't enough?

“—well, young adult.”

That narrows down which one they're talking about. Kelpi?

Zjuan's nerves twist in his gut like an ulcer, and he finds himself peeking around the corner, revealing as little of himself as possible.

He sees two short humans, with black scarves covering their heads and faces, sun goggles over their eyes. They each wear a bright blue coat, one stained with blood as he dabs a healing potion against the wound. The other holds up a small skink-like Keequokhachik in his arms. Kelpi’s mouth moves but no sound comes from it. He's alive.

The blue coat rings a bell. Zjuan wasn't at the City of New Life during the attack but— is this some kind of gang? Did sticky pickpocket one of the terrorists?! His [Appraisal] skill bounces off of them, but due to the spell he knows at least one is a [Mage].

“The Naga are essentially their caretakers while the Lizardfolk are ‘simple and innocent’ beings. It's very condescending and strange to an outsider.” The masked human holding Kelpi continues.

Zjuan is already stripping out of his clothing before he realizes it. He hasn't had to resort to this in ages, but these humans are gonna kill Kelpi— who has already dropped his tail in stress. He can see it slowly rolling down the crater of dirt and sand.

Zjuan tucks his two magic rings under his tongue and begins assessing the area that the spell affects, taking inventory of his options as they chat.

He may have been a better [Sneakthief] than a [Crime Boss].

Maybe I should have stuck to that? He laments.

His pride disagrees.

“It's like if neanderthals and humans still lived together. But, like, if we openly acknowledged neanderthals as dumber and compensated. No, not quite. More like if dogs suddenly became sapient.”

Zjuan's indignance rises as they butcher the Nagal duty— Keequokhachik aren't dumb just… simpler. And they're likening them to dogs. His gang is evidence of their competency. Though his anxiety builds at the thought of being caught using lizard labor. He'd be punished far more harshly if he was found involving Lizardfolk in crime.

He steps out from the corner, dragging a claw along just barely within the radius of the spell until he finds the edge of it.

“Point being; we're morally allowed to punch this guy if he doesn't start talking. Just don't let a naga catch you.”

Zjuan stops in his tracks. They're interrogating Kelpi. Kelpi is a good fence. His first capstone skill was [Underestimated], and he's got [Compelling Deal], if he hasn't wasted it. He can probably wriggle his way out of this situation. Zjuan finds where the spell ends, tiptoeing to where the stone hall meets the charred pit, and stances himself still a dozen feet away from the trio, but ready to snag Kelpi from them if they decide to hurt him.

The [Silence] spell ends, and the lizard’s high and raggedy voice resumes.

“Bug-sucking sla— oh my voice is back.”

Kelpi makes an ‘oop’ sound as the one holding him passes him off to the other, saying “You handle this. I already know where the binder is cuz I've done this before, but you need to find out to prevent a bootstrap paradox.”

What? What does that mean?

The other man receives the lizard and his under-arm grip manhandles Kelpi with his weird fleshy fingers as the [Fence] tries to wriggle out.

“Alright,” the masked man says.

“Where's the journal?”

Kelpi makes a convincing show of it. “Journal? What journal?” And is summarily shaken in the grips of the ape-man.

“What?! You think they'd tell a lil guy like me? I'm small time!” Kelpi's leaning on his [Underestimated] skill now.

The masked man doesn't buy it.

“Gossip travels. White book. Plastic. Talk.”

Kelpi plays up the act, giving his voice accurate desperation. The sound claws at Zjuan.

“Any stuff we allegedly acquire I wouldn't hear about until it hypothetically gets handed off to me! I don't know—”

Kelpi gets shaken again, like a toy, and when he stops the man looks an elbow beneath him, freeing his hand, where frost begins to dangerously build along the palm. He holds the icy hand near Kelpi’s face.

Zjuan bites hard. His face tense as a spring.

Kelpi hurries to reply. “Listen, I'd be dead if I tell you! But… maybe we can cut a deal?”

That isn't true. Zjuan wouldn't be mad with Kelpi for squealing in this situation. If the gang got arrested and he was talking to [Investigators], maybe, but here? No. This is just Kelpi using the ‘I shouldn't be doing this’ sales tactic.

“You promise to let me go if I tell ya, and let me enforce that with a skill, and I'll tell ya where the book is?”

There's the [Compelling Deal]. Zjuan’s claws tighten in approval.

The masked man seems to think for a second before replying.

“Deal.”

The frost dissipates from the man's hand and he extends it for Kelpi— an odd human gesture that Kelpi is apparently familiar with as he shakes it.

The human sets the lizardfolk on the ground and says “I was gonna let you go anyways.” As Kelpi smooths out his little brown jacket.

“The Boss has the book. Personal rooms way at the end of the hall. 2 rights and 2 lefts.”

The skink blurts this out before quickly darting off, shouting over his shoulder.

“[No Take-Backsies]!”

The men chuckle to themselves as Zjuan almost crumples, suddenly exhausted as the tension drains from him.

He thinks about whether or not he could ambush these two, they certainly haven't noticed him— yet. But they've been distracted, he has no weapons, and let’s be honest— he's no fighter.

He curses himself for not taking a weapon with him, and races to get ahead of the two as they enter the broken entrance to his little hideout. He gains a good lead as they stop to stare at a pile of clothes on the floor.

Silent for 2 halls, quiet for 1 more, and sprinting down the last, Zjuan leaps over a coagulating puddle and slams open the room to the jewelry— and nearly gets a bolt to the face for his trouble.

A stern-faced horned Keequokhachik reloads the specially made crossbow while the monitor lizard [Smuggler] charges the door. 3 of the workers shovel the jewelry into bags behind them.

Zjuan shouts “Ish—”

“It's me!” Uncreatively from around the door, still naked, after removing his rings from his mouth.

“Zjuan! What's going on?!” One of his wards and underlings asks him.

“Just grab what you can and go! Back door! We're running out of time!” He replies.

“Actually,” the man standing behind Zjuan begins.

“Time's up.”

As Zjuan turns, the light in the hall dims in comparison to the compressed lightning raging against its confines at the tip of the man's finger.

The human with the sparking spell turns to his compatriot.

“Camouflage. Let's see…” he says, digging through a bag of holding at his side.

As the human is distracted, Zjuan ducks and dips and the hall goes white. The [Lightning Bolt] strikes the stone of the hall and the edge of Zjuan's belly. He scrambles, his camouflage failing and his less athletic form making him slightly clumsy since the last time he used his [Hasty Escape] skill.

Zjuan runs straight down the hall, activating one of his magic rings to leave a translucent yellow barrier in the hall behind him, leaving only about 8 inch clearance on the top of the rectangle.

He hears that barrier shatter as he reaches his room. He slams the door behind him and grabs the cudgel leaning against the dresser by the door.

Zjuan panics, grabbing valuables off the top of the dresser and—

“Uh…” a voice says from the corner of his room.

Zjuan turns, his fingers twisting around the ring of [Acid Arrow], to find a little gecko man half-hiding in the dark corner of his ceiling.

“Should I go?” The lizardfolk asks, wincing slightly.

“Sticky!” Zjuan exclaims, letting out a breath of relief and frustration.

Zjuan's face pales and he throws open a door of the dresser and begins tossing on pants as he realizes he's exposing himself to a Keequokhachik. He racks his brain trying to think, and catches the tail end of an approaching mumble on the other side of his door.

“—ou can handle the naga. I've got the little guy.”

Zjuan readies his cudgel, pants unbuttoned, waiting to ambush when his door is kicked open.

There's a knock at the door.

Zjuan shares a look of incredulity with Sticky.

His door explodes.

Zjuan is thrown to the floor, his cudgel rolling to the side, and his head rings. The two humans step in and he twists his ring. A clear yellowish liquid flies at the front human in a thin arrow. A purple [Shield] spell is already up before he even finished twisting, the front human not even looking his way but exactly at where Sticky hides, nearly invisible, on the ceiling. He jerks his arm forward and blue paint flies from the can, creating a stripe of blue across Zjuan, lying on the floor.

Zjuan assesses in a fraction of a second. He compares the front human’s dismissive casting, bored body language without an ounce of tension or fear against the other, who is slightly twitchy, mildly disturbed, and constantly looking at the first.

“Wait!— I'll give you the book!” Zjuan yells, wincing at the rookie mistake of yelling ‘wait’ first before the important bit.

In the empty second where he doesn't get evaporated, he scrambles to fill the time with words they'd want to hear. One eye on the humans, one eye finding his cudgel.

“You're just here for the book, right? It's yours. Haven't even read it yet.” He lies.

“Just take it, and go.”

He can rebuild. He lost some good workers and his pride rages at how close this is to begging but— he's got his newest skills. He can rebuild his operation around that, maybe get more skills like it. He's been through worse.

Zjuan looks at the two humans. He can't quite see their expressions, but lizardfolk aren't the most expressive in the face anyways, it's about body language.

The first doesn't care, or doesn't believe, as if all of this is already decided. Certain. He might just kill all of them so there's no witnesses. Then again, why wear the masks and goggles if they don't intend to leave witnesses? No sandstorms here. The other keeps looking at the first, unsure of what he's supposed to be doing. The first looks frustrated with him, and seems to roll his eyes under the goggles.

The front human sighs, then speaks like he's reciting from memory.

“I’d love for that to be how this happened… but it's not.

In a second here Sticky is gonna jump from the ceiling cuz his [In Position] skill is freaking out with the predestination, you're gonna shoot another [Acid Arrow] at me, and I'm gonna kill you cuz I've had [Magical Overclocking] building the entire time while we've been talking and I'm fit to burst.

And by me I mean him.”

He points a thumb in a loose glove over his shoulder at the other guy, who twitchily— waves?

There’s a confused and awkward silence for a moment, then Sticky leaps from the ceiling.

He is caught mid-air by a [Slow] spell, something grabs his slowly falling form and a [Telekinetic Throw] sends him sailing back down the hallway.

Zjuan tries to be clever, he still thinks he has a chance. He twists his ring and sends his [Acid Arrow] at the lesser human, twists his core, and his tongue lances out to snatch the cudgel off the floor where it rolled.

What Zjuan doesn't see, focused as he is on grabbing his cudgel, is a ring on the man’s finger flash, and his [Acid Arrow] divert its path and splash against the back wall.

Arrows of acid are still arrows, after all.

Zjuan's body goes numb mid-twist, and he feels something crack and a stabbing pain as his suddenly rigid tongue snaps.

The [Oracular Crime Boss]’s face is frozen in a rictus of surprise and pain, his flash frozen corpse bisected as it twisted.

I lower my hand, panting, as my breath fills the air. I let [Magical Overclocking] drop and nearly collapse from the sudden ache throughout my body, like the day after getting your ass beat, or exercising too hard.

Scab Cy brushes frost off the binder and snaps it out of the frozen chair, his footsteps crunching against the frost covered floor. He pats me on the shoulder and I wince.

“Congrats on your 3rd murder, kid. I'll buy you a cake.”

He walks back towards the entrance.

I just stare for a moment, and the frozen eyes of the chameleon naga stare back.

***

Sticky leads the surviving Keequokhachik to the rally point. He hears their account of things in-between the bitching, moaning, and panic.

It seems pretty much any of the gang who didn't fight the attackers were spared. But even Sselti, the horned lizard with her special crossbow, was only wounded, and could be healed. They were even able to take plenty of product in bags, as well as some stashed gold. If Kelpi can fence some, they'll be fine.

Sticky desperately resists the urge to turn back. Zjuan drilled into their heads that if they had to bug out, they'd wait at the rally point for a day, and if he didn't show— assume he got pinched. Or worse.

Zjuan was a decent naga, despite it all. Best Sticky had.

He can't help but think it was his own fault. He stole the book. He jumped on them. He—

Knows better than to blame himself for what’s already been done.

All that's left…

The [Dimensional Pickpocket] pulls a scrap of torn paper from his pocket.

…is to look to the future.