>>5410351>>5410524>>5410628>>5410722>>5410743>>5411343>Donald.>Something loose that won't feel too restrictive to her, and won't raise too many heads.>A thick fur cloak and a simple dress.The magic ebs from your wand, a whorl of green that twists and curls about in the air with a ghostly elegance–before all it once, it courses toward the target like a viper and wraps itself about her. A clothing spell calls for no more than a few implorations toward wild fae, who take toward thread like rats to cheese. A few moments pass as countless fine threads hurricane about the magic..
[...]
“What is that ridiculous outfit?” Your master barks at you as the magic subsides.
“Eh?” You blink. “They’re ridiculous? That’s what my casual wear looks like, my lady. A DUCKWORTH family tradition–”
“That’s why you trot about in your wizard clothes all day. You’re a SIGURDSSON now.” Her nose curls. “Now redo it–give her some dignity.”
“E-eh.. right.” You still think those threads are cool, but you respect your master’s word well enough.
[...]
“Hmmm..” Your master observes. “Better, I suppose.”
“Right?” You echo, eyes alight. “I saw a manner like this in a fashion magazine in the capital once–some style from across the PHORCYS SEA, I believe.”
“It won’t do.” Sigrid says flatly. “Look at her. She’s spilling out of it.”
“Wha–?” You tilt your head. “It looks no less generous than your human wear, my lady–”
“Shut up!” She barks, knocking you up side the head with her staff. A spot of envy, perhaps. “Just give her something to toss over it before she catches a cold.”
[...]
“A cloak, my lady.” The green, threadworn cloak hangs over the eastern wear, a more modest cover-up that affords only occasional glimpses at the body beneath. “What do you think now..?”
“Mmmm.. Fine.” Sigrid shrugs. “Good enough. It’s a GREEN CHAPEL TRADITION to incorporate green triangles into your wear–as in honor of the GRASS–so this will do.”
“Ah.. thank heavens.” You gasp beneath your breath, three clothing spells at once intensely demanding on your body.
“There is one last matter to attend to.” The halfling places a hand on her chin. “It won’t do to call her a mossperson all day–too much of a mouthful. And she refuses my questioning of her name. What do you think?”
>What do you call the mossperson? 