Like a black shadow borne on too many wings, the Whisperer of Secrets glides through the aether, collecting things that ought not be known. It’s not known if there are many or but one Whisperer, but it always behaves the same way, lapping hungrily at the edge of conversations and in the shadows, relying on its shadowy and ephemeral nature to hide it. The Whisperer of Secrets has been observed clinging to ceilings, perched on columns, hanging about eaves—always above, never below.

But like all who know secrets, the Whisperer also longs to give them away. So it will also tell them to strangers, dropping a breadcrumb trail of forbidden speech to those who dare listen. Generally, the secrets are presented without context, and are therefore useless. Perhaps that is part of its game.

When a mortal wishes for a certain secret, though, the Whisperer will try to make a deal. If it knows the secret, it will trade—secret for secret. But if it does not, the mortal will be borne off, never to be seen again.

High Inquisitor’s Note:
Some speculate that unfortunates who are on the losing end of those deals become the next generation of Whisperers, with all they know rendered secret. Others say that the Whisperers feed on their victims. I believe they are both right.

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