An adorable set of small puppies went after King Kormwind's tail, Wraithvine's clothes, Gikka's tail, and were trying to chase and play with Birbrid and Lilbit. The caretaker apologized as they were trying to care for, and find homes for, this sweet pack of little strays. -- Anon Guest
[AN: Two of these people are in different times and continents. AUGH! Quick thinking: Doesn't have to be King Kormwind IX, doesn't have to be the Gikka already established]
King Kormwind Arachis Felbourne Whitekeep, fourteenth of the name, had wandered off the proscribed path of the Grand Tour. Thus cementing generations of family tradition. Summarised by his four-greats grandfather's assertion and advice that, "the beaten path is boring. Find the corners they want to hide, it's way more interesting."
Were it not for the golden device tangled on his horns, he'd appear like any other highborn Hellkin wandering about with gormless curiosity. It was a very good act.
It would take an expert eye to spot him sneaking coins into the pyg jars or tip jars of the more common folk. It would take a special kind of expert to spot that very same Hellkin working small magics to benefit those in need. A little druidry here, a little wizardry there, some artificing by request, and so on. Hellkin could, after all, imbue magic into runes with the tip of their own tails.
Another 'tell' was that he didn't react to an angry Kobold in his face.
"What's your game? What are you playing at? How can you wander through these tumbledowns with gold on your head?"
"Er," said the king. "Let's see. In reverse order: People tend to stare at the tail, I do believe I'm playing at 'helping' and the game is called Silly Buggers." A pointy grin. Conspiritorial whisper, "I should be watching a bunch of schoolkids recreate a war with cardboard swords and some variety of savoury sauce. This is much better." He looked past the Kobold and attempted to look harmless. "Oh. Hello. Is she with you?"
Wraithvine raised an elegant eyebrow. "King Kormwind? But it's been too long..."
"Just one of them," said the king. "Er. Fourteenth of the name? Which... Kormwind... did you meet?"
"Fourteen? Gods. It's been years since I met Kormwind the ninth. There's been five more?"
"Time passes and Nobles make heirs," the king shrugged. "If I wasn't on this darn tour, I'd be getting married and making another kid to bear the curse." A one-shouldered shrug. "At least here I'm actually useful."
A young pup of a dog began pulling at the hem of Wraithvine's coat. The king, finishing up some runework for a kettle, had a growling, yipping conversation with the animal.
"Babies," said the king. He handed the work to his 'customer', and raced after the pup. Letting Wraithvine and Gikka follow if they would. And they would.
The babies were newborn pups. Blind and mewling on a small pile of rags. Some of them still had umbilicals. The pup that had gained their attention curled up nearby to at least keep them warm.
"Oh," said Wraithvine.
"I can only do small druidry," protested the king. "Meanwhile, you're a legend."
"Gikka? Help the king find a nanny goat that nobody else seems to desire. Perhaps convince her to help the cause."
The king saluted. "Yes, sir!"
The next problem would be getting them homes. A problem for another time.
[Photo by Ayla Verschueren on Unsplash]
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