As you approach the settlement ahead on the sweltering, parched savanna, you are met with the sight of a hauntingly roomy collection of buildings. As you get closer you realize that the largest is a clinic, with several duckfolk coming and going, all with head trauma. Near the cairn at the edge of the settlement's boundaries, you overhear a young bórean chastising a leonian cub:
"No more going to the shallow cave, Gwandoya. From here on out, you can go no further than the glen. Just because you run a bookshop doesn't mean you're immortal. Look at the other folk who went looking for the buckler. I know they say it's gold, but who's seen it? And the pendants of protection the clinic keeps passing out clearly don't work."
Monday, September 3, 2018
The male merfolk before you wears rustic clothing and a gloomy expression. As he pulls himself out of the water you see a long tail follow after, swathed with swooping tropical patterns. After he finds a suitable place to coil this tail and sit upright, you notice that one of his fingers has been replaced with a prosthetic one made from fishbone. Scaly leather stretches where the webbing would be, held in place by rings at the base and tip of the neighboring fingers. "Allow me. To introduce. Myself." says the siren noble in his low, helpful voice, being careful and deliberate with his words. "I am. Lalawethika. Let us discuss. The matter at hand."