>>5785671You received no trouble on your way to meet your father, but then who but the most confident or foolhardy would mess with a party of obvious mages (even Initiates) with a hybrid abomination of natural creation prowl-prancing in their midst? Well… In the desperate and dour narrows of the overcrowded southwestern wall-district, maybe some still might, you suppose. It was there, amidst Hawksong’s most destitute residents where your father made his residence, it seemed… Though the building in question, a temporary inn-hotel of the sort frequented by travelers, was part of an upscale effort to reclaim the area by the idle and upper-classes in the (near, not total) absence of goblins and their ilk since the purges. You wondered, then, if your father was some sort of professional adventurer? An interesting prospect… And a possible explanation for how he met your mother. You realized with a start that you didn’t even truly know that story—the tale of your genesis!
You entered the tavern, the three of you immediately drawing attention—and Muffins a great deal more of it, after a moment.
“what the hell is that thing?” was the egenral sentiment.
“Hey hey, hey!” balked the tavern’s master-or chief attendant-on-duty at least—a burly and green-gray half-orcish specimen wearing a dirty towel about his waist with which to dry spills. “No monsters in the Tumblin’ Lark.”
(That being, you supposed, the name of the establishment.)
“He’s not a monster,” you protested.
“He kind of is,” Pearce noted neutrally.
“it’s very subjective, as ‘monster’ is such a colloquial and imprecise term, but—”
“Now now, let’s call calm down! These fine youngsters are, I believe, with me!”
