Editing Ilsenhoon the Mind Flayer Ministrel (section)

===Chapter 7===
Ilsenhoon soon took to the world, travelling from city to city, town to town, spreading his songs and tales as he went. He never spent too much time in once spot. If he did, he was sure he'd see his gith nemesis, the Spider, stalking him from the rooftops. He didn't like the Spider... The other gith had been chumps, but the Spider was, Ilsenhoon hated to admit it, a worthy adversary.

He'd bought a new guitar, though he still carried the broken remnants of his old one with him. He didn't want to say for sentimental reasons... but really, it was his first guitar. It was what got him in this whole predicament in the first place, he didn't want to just throw it out.

Ilsenhoon occasionally found companionship among adventuring crews. He'd accompany them, patch up their wounded, take a portion of the loot, and then tell stories of it later. It was all win-win, in his mind. In fact, he figured he came out a little bit ahead, as he got loot and stories, and stories were far more valuable.

But his forays with adventurers were usually short-lived, as they grew too unnerved by his nature. Not outright hostile, but he couldn't help but be proud of his race. If that meant berating an idiotic companion for failing to live up to Illithid expectations, so be it. Really he began to pity these humanoids instead of hating them. Here they were, so much potential in them... but they weren't, and didn't want to be, Illithids.

On the road towards his next destination, Ilsenhoon slowly paced onwards. He was in no particular hurry, there would always be patrons to entertain. But as he heard the telltale sound of an approaching wagon, he figured it might be worth a shot to ask for a ride. Sticking out his thumb, he looked backwards to see the approaching cart, but he froze when he saw the driver.

Around the human's neck was a holy symbol. A golden sun, in the middle: a face. A servant of Pelor.

The cart stopped alongside Ilsenhoon, and he lowered his hood. MAY I ACCOMPANY YOU INTO THE NEXT TOWN?

The cleric paused at seeing Ilsenhoon's face, but apparently his reputation preceded him. “You're that flayer minstrel? Yeah, all right, climb aboard.”

MY THANKS, he replied and pulled himself up onto the back of the cart.

“So, ah, I hear you're like a good guy?” The Pelor-worshipper asked.

NOT REALLY. PEOPLE CALL ME SUCH. BUT GOOD IS TOO LOOSELY DEFINED.

The cleric nodded, “I hear you there... So what do you, y'know, eat?”

Ilsenhoon considered it for a moment, I HAVE GROWN RATHER FOND OF YOUR DELICACY, I BELIEVE IT IS CALLED A SHISH-KEBAB. WONDROUS. MEAT, MUSHROOMS, PEPPER. ALL ON ONE STICK. ONLY HUMANITY CAN THINK OF SUCH A DELECTABLE DISH.

The cleric laughed. After a moment, he piped up again, “And is it true that you used to eat brains?”

The illithid examined the back of the cleric's head. Pelor. God of the sun. The wretched sun. If the Empire could just destroy it, blot it out, the world would be theirs. Only a few races could function perfectly in the dark, and chief among them was the Empire of course. Sure the Drow would try to capitalize on it of course, but they would be too caught up with revenge against the elves. And the Duergar, Aboleths and Beholders, well they're all too content in their tunnels. No, if the sun were out of the way, the world would fall for the Illithids.

USED TO? Ilsenhoon asked, inching closer. Maybe this cleric has information that could help. It's a long shot, but he could use the information to secure his return to his people. And he hadn't had a brain in so long... it was just too tempting.

His arm shot out, wrapping around the cleric's neck as he descended upon its skull. This death would be quick, and painless.

Afterwards, he pushed the corpse over the side, but paused. It seemed, somehow disrespectful... Climbing off, he removed the cleric's holy symbol, draping it around his own neck. He also retrieved a copy of the Light of Pelor, which he tucked into a pocket, and then proceeded to dig a grave for the poor soul.

Ilsenhoon trundled along in his cart, his symbol of Pelor proudly draped around his neck. He was considered a chief convert for the church, who tried to use him to sway more people to their cause. Ilsenhoon would have none of it, however. He was simply a casual follower. And besides, they would hate to know how he was converted...

He scribbled in his spellbook, a messy collection of mystical rituals he knew. All copied down in the form of songs, of course. It made them much more fun to perform. He glanced around while passing through the square of a common port destination of his. It was usually quite busy, so workers would manually lead horsecarts through, leaving Ilsenhoon free to concentrate on other things.

But as he glanced up, he recognized his wife among the crowd.