Chadstone was fraught with indecision. Follow the Ancients and demand to know what they were doing to his game, or keep an eye on the girls? The Ancients were up to something, and he refused to let them malinger on the threads of his delicately-woven web. Chadstone closed his eyes, invoked a rune, felt his mortal form dissolve and reform as shadows. Then he set off.
As an afterthought, he cupped his palm and whispered a rune so water pooled on his shadow-cool flesh, another rune so he could see the girls.
Time for good old-fashioned confrontation.
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