THEY SPIT ON A POOR MAN / o, raid planning & masks

[roman]

who are these people? why are they in a group? these are all questions that passed through fish's mind as she approached, quiet stalking through the tangled mass of trees and roots and mud and bugs. despite being young in the mind and personality, the water spirit is quite old; thus, her large physique. but, like most supernatural, she has learned to move with little to no trace. her approach is almost completely silent as she follows the sizable group, and her muscular figure nearly impossible to discern from the foliage due to her natural camouflage. a hide covered in thousands of small scales ripple and shift to match the surroundings--a fantastic advantage for any creature who stalks for a living. nobody knows who fish is. but she knows of them, those strange mud creatures who live in her lands and hunt in her waters. fish used to only watch them, but recently she has taken up the hobby of following them around and pretending to be part of the group when interacting with strangers. today, she decides to join them on this "raid." she has no clue who "vlad" is or what a typhoon might be, but the moment she hears "fighting," her interest is piqued. there is nothing a good rough 'n' tumble.

the scaled beast trots through the assembled creatures, camouflage dropping the moment she enters the clearing. instead of a constantly shifting myriad of colors, fish's scales are now an iridescent, oily black; as polluted looking as the water in which she resides. although everyone is beginning to move already, her interest is captured by a dog sitting by himself. "hello, dog," greets fish with a smile, though she is only mimicking what she thinks a smile looks like. "my name is fish. you are a cute dog." and if he allows it, she moves to give the creature a gentle pat on the ahead before darting off after the others.