>>5942916Eventually, you are led to a naturally-lit and welcome space, half-enclosed in intertwined knots of live roots which have been guided into perfect, symmetrical patterns with all the artistry of the calligrapher’s quill or the seamstress’ needle. Both of the girls wow at it for different reasons, while Pearce knocks at it appraisingly and mumbles something about physical and magical defensive properties. Oncyth looks furtively around, hovering near the exit as if wary to be caged in even so beautiful and open a space; the tents didn’t seem to bother him, but perhaps he is also wary of the increased presence of individuals in leafweave or bark armour, or even sun-forged golden chain and plate.
The Thief, for his part, is completely calm, but you see him appraising the defences and defenders in a far more calculating way than Pearce.
“Wait here,” the Ranger Commander instructs you all. “I will not be long. I must send ahead a message and receive permission to bring… Visitors.”
You all sit tight—or stand, for there are really no chairs to speak of. It takes some time, during which you force yourself not to pace or fidget overmuch, and instead busy yourself by giving Muffins a long-overdue belly-rub and making his acquaintance to Veloz. Both his cat and serpent heads follow the little bird with predatory fascination, but a couple flicks on the nose and a firm tone sets a clear boundary. The spectacle of a small, unassuming half-elf admonishing an enormous three-headed monster draws no shortage of spectators, but this facility seems too official for any laypersons to wander in and question you, and the Rangers and other warrior-elves on guard either have already asked you their questions about your companion on the way over or are too professional to do so now while they are meant to be standing as dispassionate and vigilant sentinels.
“Good discipline,” Tower Guardian Pearce comments of these elves, who technically share his profession in a way. “I know I’D be asking what the hell I was looking at, if I didn’t already know Muffins.”
Not all of the attention is positive, though. While you did not CREATE Muffins, the combination of your hat, your company, and the three-headed ‘natural chimera’ seems to be leading to some conclusions by those who, like your own mother, are evidently not big fans of the Theresa Henzler school of Living Alchemy. You try not to focus on those glowers and glares, though, but instead focus on Muffins himself, and on your purpose here.
It isn’t unbearably long before the Ranger Commander returns, and informs you:
“You’ve been cleared to pay a visit to the captive, Master Magus… But only you.”
“What?” Izzy and Pearce demand at once, before exchanging a look with one another.
