That Which Has Taken a Name
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A deep pond of thick, viscous fluid. A black stone thing made of spikes floats near the surface.
A matter of luck: The odds are strongly against you here (success chance: 20%)
Nothing left to lose
"I hate it here," says the grey-skinned man, to nobody in particular. A thrown pebble bounces off the spiked stone thing. "I have no secrets to take."
- Doing Business in Wilmot's End is increasing… (+2 CP)
The spiked thing bobs silently in the thick water. A glint of light off glass, far off through the mist. Who knows that you're here?
- Doing Business in Wilmot's End is increasing… (+1 CP)