>>6128846<span class="mu-r">…</span>
“Alright,” <span class="mu-r">you</span> say, rubbing your hands together and ignoring the glares and glowers of the rest of the armoured adolescents. “We;’re good an’ close now. Stick-pokin’ distance, even. Nature-freaks, what are we lookin’ at?”
Yeb-Uit and Khorine join you at the cage, though they maintain more distance than that unlucky half-elf with Green Leif had, in deference to what you all saw happen to HER. A proper study requires close scrutiny, however, and so Khorine directs her twig blight, the human girls begrudgingly have the tall skinny fellow and his weird (talking??) dog help it, and together you extract and restrain the cryptic critter.
<span class="mu-b">Yeb-Uit takes the lead with 2 Survival; Khorine adds +2 for Survival and Feycraft</span>
<span class="mu-b">DC 16, -2 for team effort; rolled a 17, 18, and 19. <span class="mu-s">SUCCESS!</span></span>
“It’s definitely like a frog or salamander,” says Yeb.
“An amphibian,” corrects Khorine, officiously, then frowns. “But not a newt or salamander.”
“Deifnietly not a frog,” yeb grunts. “Too long.”
“Obviously,” Khroine huffs.
“See these, too?” Yeb-Uit adds, reaching out tentatively to brush the frond-like protrusions around the thing’s neck, behind the wiggling, wriggling barbel-whiskers. “Gills,”
“It’s taking in air, though,” Khorine notes. “It’s not dying, for one thing. Nor is it thrashing about as if in death throes.”
“It’s damp,” the elder goblin suggests. “breathing through its gills or skin. Just needs to stay wet. But if it stays underwater, or near to it, what’s with the wings?”
Khorine stares at it for a moment, tapping her cloven toes as if impatient for an answer. As she does, her eyes drift over to you… And stay there, just slightly to the right of <span class="mu-r">your</span> head.
“…What?” you ask, looking around. “Have I got somethin’ on my—OH.”
You follow her gaze to where Hershy—your chimeric, feathery little friend—is all fluffed up and agitated, perched upon your pauldron as he always is. He’s staring daggers at the big, warty amphibious shit, and rattling off a low, reverberating staccato-croak below even your big nilbog ears’ hearing.
“Hey,” Yeb-Uit says, “you said that thing’s a drake, right?”
“A feathered CHIMERA drake,” you say, repeating Tips’ high-faluting wizard description of your pet as you scratch yer her chin and try to smooth his feathers down.
“Drakes are amphibians, too,” Khorine points out. “And they have wings.”
