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TheDeathseer @
Almedha your NPC has been found!
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3idolon is gonna award you your prize!
The bubbling sound periodically coming from the Wound has serenading the rhythmic wet crunch of your feet for the past half-hour. You've actually come to appreciate it somewhat: that bright, acrid color sure is a change of scenery anyway. There could be treasures untold in there, you think wistfully, optimistically. But only the most insane dragon might try to dip a toe in that noxious fluid. Or, perhaps, a creature too desperate or stupid to think better of it.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see a small, fluffy, brown thing take a tentative leap down toward that pestilent bank.
Without thinking about it, you sprint toward it. It's either too cute to die that way, or too much meat to be wasted in the toxic sink. And that's when you see
it.
Whatever
it is. A long, crimson body arced out of the pit for a moment, disturbing the bubbles with a dart of movement. Are you stealing its lunch? Are you to serve as a replacement?
No, and neither will that cute little ball of fur. You and the monster in the virulent pool race toward the prize, and it's going to be a close race. As a last resort, you dive.
The beast rises from the pond as you roll away, your wings sheltering your body and the fuzzy thing trying to squirm out of your fingers. It doesn't matter what the thing is anymore: whether it's cute or not, it's cute enough to risk death for. You look up to see your rival for the tiny creature safely ensconced in your hands.
Woundwyrm, Mustelid Murderer
It bears a row of sharp corundum teeth at you, and for a moment, you're sure it's going to come for you. Instead, it lifts a scrawny hand out of the drink, holding a beaker filled with the malignant ooze.
It's smiling, you realize. It points at the thing in your hands and then indicates the beaker in his.
Trade...? Its voice creaks like old bones and the musty cough of pneumonia.
With a gulp, you shake your head.
Immediately it frowns, slapping at the liquid around it. It splashes in the tiniest fit a monster ever did pitch, but it stops after a few seconds.
Fine... It turns and arcs back into the pool. As quickly as it appeared, it's gone.
You take a moment to catch your breath and heart from the fright (or maybe a bit more than a moment). Well, you might as well see what you caught. It's gotta be better than a vial of the Wyrmwound pus.
It seems quite grateful.
