“You look good...just like a traveling magician,” Vic said. In front of him Baal stood, adorned in a costume of garish silk sashes and trinkets. Deuce stood behind him, as Perfo finished stitching up a seam on her similar brightly colored outfit. “This isn’t going to work and I feel like a fool,” Baal snarled. “Sure it will,” Vic said around a needle he had clutched in his teeth, “the Imps will think you and Deuce are lost entertainers and that was your ship that went down. We’ll ambush the stormie hunting party, get some uniforms and walk into the garrison like it was a Celanon marketplace.”