Roll up and see the stealthy clown, so silent and so mute.
You'll never hear him coming and you'll never see him shoot.
He skulks around in secret and he gets the best of you,
and when you die you'll rage and cry and curse his padded shoes!
You'll never hear him coming and you'll never see him shoot.
He skulks around in secret and he gets the best of you,
and when you die you'll rage and cry and curse his padded shoes!
It took me about an hour, quite enjoyable in its way, to work my way down to within a stone's throw of the lamp. It was flat-on-your-belly stuff, an inch at a time, listening to the darkness, and twice some mysterious radar stopped me just in time while a shadow ahead resolved itself into a prone Gunner, waiting motionless for unwary stalkers. Each time I had to retreat painfully slowly and take a new tack, with my clothes full of itching sand and my stomach feeling as though it had been through a bramble bush. Then I struck what looked like a good line along a fold of dead ground, worming forward until I was close in to the bridge, snug in a patch of inky shadow, with the lamp not twenty yards ahead, just asking for it. Talk about your Chingachgook, thinks I, and was bracing myself to dive the last few yards when a voice out of the night offered me a cigarette. It was a Gunner captain, sitting still as a post within a yard of me; he had been watching my progress, he said, for several minutes.
"I'd have challenged, but you seemed to be having such fun. Gin, by the way."
Whenever you see nothing, remember that you may be looking at a Nosferatu.
—Vampire: The Masquerade - Clanbook: Assamite
Jess Black here. Listen, everyone's got a specialty. Mine is putting arrows through the heads of people who want to kill me. I'm good at this. I'm really good at this. They won't see me coming. Won't hear me, either. Animals, too. They can sense an apex predator. They won't mess with me. I don't screw around. I'm joining the resistance.
Masters of the mystic arts can hide in plain sight. The shadows seem to slide around them; crowds seem to swallow them; their faces seem to blend into a haze of barely-recognizable features. Strangely enough, they're hard to pin down in other ways, too. Birth records get lost. Pictures blur. Papers get mysteriously misfiled. As you can imagine, people like this are hard to track down. Lucky you - you happen to be one of them.
—Mage: The Ascension - Sorcerer: The Hedge Wizard's Handbook
Odo: How did you get in here?!
Koloth: I am Koloth.
Odo: That doesn't answer my question!
Koloth: Yes, it does.
Koloth: I am Koloth.
Odo: That doesn't answer my question!
Koloth: Yes, it does.
