Young Writers Society

Spoiler

Name: Hieronymus Heel
Age: 10 years (mentally much older)
Species/Race: Homunculus
Appearance: Very large, swollen head that's quite soft and covered by a very loose gray knit cap, which is tied under a receded chin with a neat bow. Three withered arms, one of which grows out of his left shoulder blade and turns a wooden crank, which moves a pair of ingeniously crafted wooden leg prosthetics to compensate for his shriveled natural legs. The prosthetic device is steered by a series of strings tied to the fingers of his other two hands and is a four-legged structure, sort of like the carriage in the animated Beauty and the Beast. He has mismatched eyes both in size and color--the large one is brown and the small one is hazel. His body is very stocky but extremely emaciated, which emphasizes his severe scoliosis. Some of his teeth are growing out of the wrong parts of his gums, giving him a jutting underlip and making it difficult for him to close his mouth. His upper lip is almost nonexistent. He has two extra pairs of ribs, which makes it difficult for him to bend, and his limbs and neck are all double jointed. His ears are extremely undersized, as is his nose. He has no nipples but does have a very large scar where his belly button should be. He's about as big as a cat and, in addition, to the hat, wears a loose burlap skirt-wrap and a tattered shirt. He has extremely sensitive skin--sensitive to anything from the wrong fabric to the light of the sun to sand.

It was nearly noon when Hieronymus Heel returned to The Bird's Helm, the inn in which he had reluctantly taken up residence. The sky that day was cloudless and threatened to burn Hieronymus's already itching flesh in the most horrible way, so he found himself huddled under a table waiting for scraps to drop from customers' plates. The day had been unproductive--this town had no books nor any alchemists or artificers to speak of, and there was only so much one could do even posing as a little person. Hiding his head and face was difficult enough without his legs and arm posing a problem, and he'd been nearly stomped on in several shops while making inquiries.
He retreated early from his endeavors and resolved to save money by scrounging, which was more lucrative later in the day when the drunks could keep next to nothing on their plates. Hieronymus himself never drank; he was far too small and besides, drinking dulled the senses. A hounded creature such as himself couldn't afford to slip up.
Hieronymus turned the crank sideways to bend and reached for a scrap of bread that had fallen from the customer's table and nibbled on it quietly, glancing around to gauge if anybody had seen. It seemed they hadn't, and so he crouched there chewing, a few crumbs falling to the ground from his mouth.

(@TheMultiColoredCyr)

Spoiler

Name: Kivvien of Murral
Age: 28
Species/race: Avioid
Appearance: A thin, roughly five and a half foot tall humanoid frame with a coat of feathers with a sparrow-like color pattern, thin and small over his face, growing thicker at his hairline and vanishing into the cowl of his cloak. His knee joint bends in reverse, that spot being the turning point from thick feathers to scaly stick-like legs ending in large taloned claws. His arms are coated in longer feathers, which may have been used for flight many generations before but were no longer useful, end in a set of sharp, three-fingered hands. He wears large, elaborate robes and carries with him a satchel filled with his books and scrolls.

Kivvien dusted off his robes and took a deep breath. This was it. He was going to debase himself, stoop to the level of requesting the assistance of thugs and thieves for the most important of quests. It was utterly unbelievable that the reputable fighters had adventurers had turned him down, and yet here he was, outside The Bird's Helm, far from his cushy castle chambers and libraries of notes and references to fall back into should his experiments go awry.

Perhaps he should have spent a bit more time ensuring this cure would function as needed.

No, there wasn't time for that. The dark had reached the eastern border already, and there was talk of its pace accelerating. Kivvien had to act now.

He pushed through the doors and strode through the crowd of dining drunks to the bar, where he ordered a cheap drink - here was not the time nor place to start advertising his moderate wealth - and moved to join a table of halfway drunk adventuring types. Broad-shouldered men with daggers on their belts and equally muscled women with swords on their backs.

"Greetings," he said to the few of them who spared him a glance, "how goes your evening?"

He received a few grunts in response before they returned to their previous conversation, one of the women telling a tale of facing a monstrous creature in the forests east of the village.

"The demonic thing was only three days ride from here," she was finishing. "The nasty creatures are getting bolder."

Hieronymus heard this tale too, and risked darting to another table nearer to the speaker. He had heard the demons were drawing nearer and nearer, but he'd had no idea they were that close! He'd only seen a demon once before, stretched out on the table of his master's workshop. It had been uglier even than Hieronymus himself, with a trumpetlike mouth filled with square teeth and a body like a fish and a rat all at once. The master had vivisected the thing with gusto.
An Avioid had entered the inn as well, looking completely out of place in his noble scholar's clothes and well-groomed feathers. Hieronymus stared at him, intrigued. Perhaps he had books on him.

"So close!" Kivvien commented in surprise. "Were there any others?" A lone demon straying further than the rest was far less worrying than a pack, though he wasn't sure exactly how comforted he would be about even a single demon being so close to here.

"I can't know for sure," she said gruffly, "I didn't stick around to search."

Kivvien nodded his understanding, "I can't imagine facing such things without proper compensation."

The adventurers laughed at that. "No amount of coin is worth my neck," one of them said.

Perhaps this place was more dangerous for Hieronymus than he'd originally thought. He'd been mistaken for a demon before, several times. The innkeeper was only letting him stay here because he'd given him the last of his master's gold. It was a hefty sum, and now Hieronymus was only left with a few silver pieces.

"Do you truly lack such confidence in your own abilities that you think a few nasties from below will do you in?" Kivvien inquired.

"There's a thin line between confidence and arrogance, boy," the man responded.

"Oh of course," Kivvien said, "with the tools in your arsenal it would certainly be foolishness to brave the darkened lands for mere coin. But if you were provided with something that could kill the beasts..." He watched the faces of his audience. The surrounding tables were all as roudy as ever, but before him, Kivvien had grabbed the attention of his new acquaintances. He tilted his head to the side.

"Oh nevermind it," he said, waving himself off, "You fine folks haven't a need to trouble yourselves with such matters. As you yourselves have agreed, no amount of gold and glory is worth the risk."

He subtlety watched their reactions as he sipped his drink. He had not lost their attention. Good. This may actually work.

Hieronymus watched the young avioid with interest. What was he up to? Was he trying to hire people? Did he think he could take on the beasts?
He must be a great mage of some sort to have such confidence. Perhaps he would offer enchantments to those he joined him.
Hieronymus eased himself toward the edge of the table he was under, cranking his legs slowly along until he could peek out to get a better look. What a fascinating prospect! He would have to be careful if he approached this mage, though; mages were generally even more repulsed by homunculi than standard alchemists were.

One of the brutes leaned forward, toward Kivvien so he could smell the booze on his breath. "You got something that could kill the slimy fuckers, boy?"

Kivvien kept his composure and smiled politely, "Something in that vein," he said noncommittally, "It's more of an enhancement to regular weapons. Fascinating stuff, I've spent much of my education on it. But enough about my work, how about yours?"

The man grunted and exchanged looks with his buddies. He leaned back in his chair. "Let us get you a drink, young scholar. Tell us more about that gold you mentioned before."

Kivvien pretended to be puzzled. "Are you suggesting we talk business?"

The thugs exchanged looks, no doubt thinking him gullible. Someone to swindle or rob.

"Yes," their apparent leader said, "Let's talk business."

Kivvien nodded, "Oh, well in that case, I shall accept that drink."

What followed was a long-enough-for-Kivvien-to-realistically-fake-drunkenness conversation in which he let the thugs believe they'd gotten information from him by their own cleverness. He carried little gold with him, and said as much. He convinced them there was a large reward, land, gold, servants, all waiting if they succeeded. He made it sound easy. Just coat your weapons in his concoction of magical liquid and fight your way through a few hundred miles of darkened lands to the center of the spread, where the hard job would be Kivvien's.

Most of that was sort-of true.

He swirled the last of the booze in his cup and traced an incantation into the tankard with his finger. Alcohol turned to water, and he downed it, dropping the cup on the table and announcing that he was off to bed.

"I'll...meet you all here at...midday tomorrow," he slurred and got up.

The brutes let him stumble to the desk where he secured himself a room, making a show of dropping some gold coins at the desk and scooping them all up again.

Hieronymus had heard enough. This fellow was obviously looking for strong, brutish mercenaries, not withered intellectuals like himself. He slipped toward the stairs while the avioid was at the counter and headed up to his room. Perhaps he could talk to the avioid anyway, when he was alone, and see if he might have information valuable to Hieronymus's own goals.

Kivvien headed up to his room, hurrying up the stairs and locking the door behind him. There was quite a high chance after that display of him getting robbed, if this places reputation was to be trusted anyway. This would hopefully work out this time. He would prefer a reputable knight or soldier but he didn't have the time or budget to be picky.

With the promises he'd had to give it was likey best whoever he hired die once they'd outlived their use anyway. In that way this could be a blessing.

Hieronymus had already gone into his own room, but upon hearing the avioid head up, he opened the door with some difficulty and peeked out. He'd have to take a chance. Mage or not, the avioid had knowledge and Hieronymus was in desperate need of that right now. He exited his room warily and trotted towards where he'd heard the door locked. Upon arriving he looked up at the doorknob, took a deep breath, and knocked, making sure his hood was still pulled over his head and that the cloak concealed his prosthetics.

There came a knock at Kivviens door just as he shed his second layer of robes. He pulled them back on - his wand was on the inside pocket, which could be a threat, if an empty one, if needed - and tentatively cracked open the door, prepared to continue his drunken charade. When he looked out however, he at first saw no one, until his gaze dropped to see the hooded top of a very short individual.

"Can I help you?"

Hieronymus opened his mouth to speak, then stopped abruptly. Could he do this? Should he? This avioid might very well crush him to death if he realized what he was. But...
"I beg your pardon, sir," he said in a shaking voice, then cleared his throat and started again more steadily. "I beg your pardon. I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with those gentlemen downstairs. Are you truly making a move against the demons?"

Kivvien looked down the empty hall, listened only to hear the ruckus from downstairs. "You best come in," he said, opening the door wide enough to allow the small creature inside. It was risky, of course, as with most things Kivvien did these days. It was unclear what this person was, or what their motives were, but that was something Kivvien was willing to deal with should things get nasty.

He entered warily, cranking as quietly and subtly as possible. "Thank you." He was taking a ridiculous risk, but he was doing this for his master. It would be worth it in the end.