Eternity RPC Board
09-13-2016, 11:47 PM
Small as it was, Elke expected the accusatory chittering to have come from a young child hanging from the rafters by his knees. Maybe the innkeeper's boy, or the sons of one of the workers who found this village's paid childcare department to be lacking and had brought the child to work out of necessity. The red-tufted ears and bushy tail, however, weren't quite anticipated.
But they were darling.
"A talking squirrel?" Elke mused, big grin reflecting her intrigue over this curious little fellow.
This was not the first talking animal she had come across. In fact, before her abandonment of her scholastic career back home, she'd taken an entire course on the behaviors and physiology of mystical creatures. The forest, as she recalled, was a hotbed of magical energies, and its residents were often not what they appeared. Squirrels, foxes, toads and raccoons were quite often otherly spirits who had donned a fur coat to blend in with their simple-minded neighbors. It was said to be another form of evolutionary defenses, like the way the plumage of the pheasant would blanch snowy white in the winter to help it hide itself from predators. In a village such as Myerleigh, into which the forest had infectiously encroached, the woodland kin would always be sure to adapt to the manmade structures.
This one in particular seemed to have made itself at home in this inn.
"I'll have you know I'm no troll," the mageling chuckled, crossing her arms over her chest and quirking a brow in a most bemused expression. "I'm just an adventurer on a mission who happened to have a run-in with the kind and pungent haberdashers down the street."
The beast's nose, scrunched as it was now, must have been more sensitive than the girl's. Not that Elke's own nose had grown any more tolerable of the very swampy odor rising from the fibers of her clothes like vapor from a summer puddle. Poor bush tail would not be able to smell right for a week.
In an attempt to win over the animal and salvage the scent glands in its nose to facilitate better conversation, she felt a sweet present was in order. A bit of the mushy plum, sticky with warm nectar and with a saccharine scent, would surely do the trick.
"How long have you been following me, Little Red?" she asked, charm-and-bracelet decorated arm rising up from her overpacked satchel to branch out in offering. "Do you belong here, yourself? A helper of the inn-keeper, maybe?" She extended the fingers not engaged in holding the fruit outward in a perch. "Or," she began more hopefully, "is it possible that you're the familiar of the guest in one of these rooms?"
But they were darling.
"A talking squirrel?" Elke mused, big grin reflecting her intrigue over this curious little fellow.
This was not the first talking animal she had come across. In fact, before her abandonment of her scholastic career back home, she'd taken an entire course on the behaviors and physiology of mystical creatures. The forest, as she recalled, was a hotbed of magical energies, and its residents were often not what they appeared. Squirrels, foxes, toads and raccoons were quite often otherly spirits who had donned a fur coat to blend in with their simple-minded neighbors. It was said to be another form of evolutionary defenses, like the way the plumage of the pheasant would blanch snowy white in the winter to help it hide itself from predators. In a village such as Myerleigh, into which the forest had infectiously encroached, the woodland kin would always be sure to adapt to the manmade structures.
This one in particular seemed to have made itself at home in this inn.
"I'll have you know I'm no troll," the mageling chuckled, crossing her arms over her chest and quirking a brow in a most bemused expression. "I'm just an adventurer on a mission who happened to have a run-in with the kind and pungent haberdashers down the street."
The beast's nose, scrunched as it was now, must have been more sensitive than the girl's. Not that Elke's own nose had grown any more tolerable of the very swampy odor rising from the fibers of her clothes like vapor from a summer puddle. Poor bush tail would not be able to smell right for a week.
In an attempt to win over the animal and salvage the scent glands in its nose to facilitate better conversation, she felt a sweet present was in order. A bit of the mushy plum, sticky with warm nectar and with a saccharine scent, would surely do the trick.
"How long have you been following me, Little Red?" she asked, charm-and-bracelet decorated arm rising up from her overpacked satchel to branch out in offering. "Do you belong here, yourself? A helper of the inn-keeper, maybe?" She extended the fingers not engaged in holding the fruit outward in a perch. "Or," she began more hopefully, "is it possible that you're the familiar of the guest in one of these rooms?"