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A star-worshipping priest? Might this help you pass off as the Liquidity Mage Kurt is looking for?

The slick, soft black silk slips through your fingers.

This might actually work on you, especially with bespoke tailoring.

You can't picture yourself wearing this. You're not even sure an imaginary woman could pull this look off.

Only in the abstract sense.

You could pass off as a Liquidity Mage yourself with this outfit to absolve Kurt of his debt.

That's not discipline...

It does feel like something else is controlling your body.

Massive? That's the second time you've heard about a majestic woman with a gigantic form. You must find out more.

You feel the weight of your fancy toy sword, suddenly.

None of his weight has been regained, but his movements are firm and his presence light.

A spectre in loose fabric, feeling out the contours of his own body -- just in case.

The slightest vibration, ordinary human unsteadiness.

His fingers twitch in jittery bursts. Postictal tremors -- the aftershock of a seizure.

The getup. The fashion. The aesthetics of Luzian mass culture unmistakable even when they're undercover.

The seizure you saw may have been self-induced, but others are not.

He's weaker than he looks. Even these little exertions leave him drained.

His body completes the sentence with another one of its periodic shivers.

Muscles clenched in futile effort.

All vestiges of humanity abandoned. One leg bent wrong.

The command runs through paralysed limbs. The only response the body gives is nausea.

No no, look at the fangs, the poise, the quick eager paws. That's the build of a worker.

Your knees could go at any second, the elation's that strong.

The index finger of your left hand twitches.

Surprisingly fast.

In the time that it would take for you to get the gate open, your tail will have caught up.

You still have them, in fact. On your feet. Right now.

You still have them, in fact.

Under your feet, the buoy and the boat jostling in the sea swell. You keep your balance, just barely.

You cough, it burns.

Oh boy, you're finally going to get your steps in!

Spoken like an old coach haunting the edge of a pitch.

He's slightly baffled by your timing. That leaves him open for a follow-up.

His shirt is very ugly, it must be said.

Natural blink reflexes suppressed, the two children you spoke to earlier stare at the TV in the adjacent stall.

Natural blink reflexes suppressed, the two children stare at the TV in the adjacent stall.

He handles the disc reverently, as if it were a tiny plastic coffin.

And as the audio content was obliterated -- so was PSEUDOPOD.

A reverse pickpocket... devious, difficult. She can do it.

You got a real nice spin on that thing. Smooth.

Collect a sample.

If he did, he moved fast.

If he did, he moved fast.

Gasping afterward like a drowning man emerging for air.

Her jaw slackens, her face seems strange. All the little muscles that form her usual expression have been abandoned in fear.

A pointless series of little gestures meant somehow to communicate death-readiness.

The feeling of a rug being ripped from under your feet. Beneath there is no floor, only void.

It's only when he starts running that you realise how inebriated he truly is.

The mandibles on the stag beetle are fully the size of its body. Obvious physical superiority.

If he did, he moved fast.

305 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 6 of 7