A drunk, razzing the elf, tries to steal hir wizard's hat. Only for the hand to be burned by an angry miniature dragon trying to protect its "lair".
@internutter/challenge-04044-k026-hoard-lair-hat -- Anon Guest
"I tried to warn you," said Wraithvine, who hadn't even put down hir tankard. "A wizard's hat is always protected. You're lucky the booze in your breath didn't light. That's a horrible way to go."
The drunkard was very suddenly sober, nursing a scorch on their hand. "No wand... no wands... How? How'd you do that?"
Wraithvine smiled, smug. Allowing hirself a fragment of gloating over someone who'd been an annoying ass in the last handful of minutes. Ze was functionally immortal, and not immune to a little bit of schadenfreude in the circumstances at hand. "Even I must ask permission to remove my hat," ze said.
The assembled drunkards in the tavern boggled at hir.
"What?" said the antagonising drunk.
Wraithvine offered hir hat a scrap of roast meat. "Permission to move you?"
Only the sharpest eye could have spotted the swift claw snatching up the offering. Only the sharpest ear could hear the muffled, "Awright."
Wraithvine removed hir hat, showing off hir unscathed hands. Lilbit, formerly dozing across hir shoulders, stretched. She oozed down onto the table to sniff the little leather lair for the Faerie Dragon.
There was a tiny, nigh-imperceptible hiss, from the leather pouch-pocket. Lilbit moved away, plopping from table to chair to floor. Thereafter to saunter outside for her own feline business.
Those who saw the hatless Wraithvine realised who ze truly was.
"Oh," said the former annoying drunkard. "Oh I am so very sorry... sir?"
"Sir is acceptable," said Wraithvine. "Though I have lately heard that some are looking into adaptations of 'magister'. You may, if you choose, call me 'mage'."
[Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash]
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