>>5767402>>5767427>Hmmm...stuff Gale into your pack. Alarm bells going off in people's heads isn't what you need right now.Anyone who wasn't a buffoon would get suspicious if a talking magic orb got spotted. Best not to freak people out. Lots of folks had reasons to hate the Masters and Wars, Elf or no.
The reaction could be...poor.
You reach a hand over.
"Alright Gale. Compromise. Into the pack with you, ok?"
He hums in agreement. You nestle the glass sphere among your bedroll, and carry on down the hill. You do your best to put on a confident front. The image was perhaps ruined by the current state of your hygiene, but that's the brakes.
As expected, you do start to turn heads once in Littledot proper. A stare here, looks of utter surprise there. An Elf come into town was, as you thought, not common. And the beards! So many beards. Scandalous to be honest.
"You haven't been lynched", Gale mutters, muffled by the leather pack. "Good start."
It is your first time in a human town, and the differences with Cycletree are stark. Where the great gear-tree of your kyndred is built up, like a twisting vertical spear-Littledot has built wide. Where Cycletree's great mechanical limbs turn and pop around the day, here it's open sky.
A simple place. Maybe underwhelming. But what had you expected? Wire-Cars and Meks? Urban luxuries. Not here.
There is only one building that rises above two stories that you can see, and judging by the sounds of laughter and smell of food, it must be the tavern.
Indeed, a sign hangs above the door. On it, is the symbol of a red tankard. Nearby, a drunken farmer gawks at you. He scratches his gray beard and mumbles something about fairies.
'The Ruby Tap'
"Ok Willow", you tell yourself. Sword at side, polite smile on face, you enter.
Now, Littledot is a small town, and all, but the smell of baking bread and beer or ail assail you. It is thick here. Twitching your little Elf nose, you almost sneeze.
The tavern is fairly full, with plenty of humans sitting or standing about, having themselves a drink or meal. Several give you looks, although most are not hostile.
Most.
One man, a big musclebound type with a nasty facial scar, stares you down. The curve of it makes you think of an elven sword. Nervously, you sit yourself at a table, avoiding his steely gaze.
"That one is trouble", Gale advises.
You almost chastise him for speaking up, but you hold your tongue. Nobody could have heard him, but talking to yourself would look really damn weird.
Subtle. Be subtle, but firm!
"Um..hello...madam.."
You are broken from your thoughts by the form of a fat, sweaty human in aprons. Bald and bearded, with a worried face.
The owner? To be sure, a few patrons cut off their own conversations to watch.
"Hello", you respond simply. "Lovely place."
He nods, eyeing you cautiously. His brows scrunch together, in thought.
