Raphael's Diary - Chapter 1
[A chapter from a diary penned in Raphael's sybaritic hand]. While I have (over many a sumptuous season) cast the net of my contractual predilections both far and wide, never have I been so attracted to mortals as I am to those infested by the tadpole. These particular fish find themselves splashing towards their doom, towards a steel hook unblemished by bait. How they resist the current! How inexorable its whelm, its tug, its dark undertow! At the other end of the fishing pole, the illithid. How their tentacles must quiver like cooled jelly at the prospect of more catches: more and more each day along the troubled riverbank. This process has a name I sample now aloud, to saver its taste: Ceremorphosis. I shall make crafty use of this development. For with the hook glinting, and death so close, what could loom larger in the stricken fish's mind than the prospect of rescue?