>>6140535“How about you, Tzie-Tzie?” Asks Volka as she giggles thinking about the picture you just painted, “I’ll betcha’ got into plenty of mischief when you were younger!”
“Err, yep!” The Durher replies as she nearly trips over an unseen twig, “Never could keep me in one room for long! And gods help ya’ if I made it to the gardens…”
“Gardens!?” Sputters Volka with a low whistle! “You had <span class="mu-i">gardens</span> growing up? More than one!?”
“N-nah,” Tzah-Tzie stammers, “They were uh, they were nearby! Sure smelled nice though! Mhm!”
You’re not even sure where the truths start and the lies end anymore, so you just give the girl a noncommital ‘uh-huh.’
As you continue on your merry way, the clusters of roaming drunks grow larger and more frequent–so much so that you have to stop every now and then to let them pass by!
Dodging past hordes of plastered pilgrims trying to hug you, grope you, and/or kick the crap outta you, you breathe a sigh of relief when Volka points you towards the distant creaking of a rusty metal windmill.
“Look alive, gang! An’ mind your manners when we go inside–the innkeep’s a real piece a’ work!”
You’re about to inquire further when a claw bigger than your head plucks you up by your hood, the startled squeak you hear next to you suggesting Tzah-Tzie got the same treatment! Jogging over to the saloon with a hoot and a holler, Volka all but kicks down the front door with a cheerful “<span class="mu-s">I’M BAAACK, MA!</span>” That sends a poor patron bowling head over heels like an umbrella in a hurricane!
From the back of the crowded bar comes a gruff voice belonging to a Skog with one less eye than usual: “So I see! Take a seat, hon, an’ don’t even <span class="mu-i">think</span> of tracking mud in here…”
>CONTD. 