Sweet Cinnamoth
EXP: 37,766, Level: 8
Level completed: 31%,
EXP required for next Level: 6,234
Even as he clapped, a little tiny part of him was disappointed. It wasn’t that the story wasn’t good — it was a very good by Fenn’s standards. Sneakery! Wiles! Deceit! All recipes for fascination. He'd make a mental note of this story, as he did all entertaining things. But if there was one thing he could discern about it, it probably wasn’t a truth truth, but a storysake truth. Of course, he shouldn’t have expected anything else, come to think of it. The veracity of a storyteller was… limited. They were entertainers by nature, not strict historians.
INFORMATIVE EH. DID LIKE. STRONG VOICE, GOOD STORY, Fenn scrawled on the table — and glanced up as his arm bumped into a plate. What was this? A jar of honey, several glasses of milk, and a platter of bread arrived. Oh! During the performance, his food had arrived. The gleeful, greedy fae took a moment to shove several pieces of bread first into the honey jar, and then into his mouth.
As he did so, he kept writing. There was no such thing as talking when your mouth was full when one was voiceless.
HAVE TALES TO TELL MYSELF, the boy-puck wrote, chest swelling with pride. STOLE FROM DRAGON. BESTED KELPIE. ESCAPED CREATURES OF OTHER WORLDS. LOOT OF SPOOKY PLACES. VERY CUNNING, CLEVER. Most people would not agree with that last statement. YOU MAKE TALES YOURSELF, NEVIN, SKETCH?
Briefly, Fenn wondered why beanpole was called Sketch if he was a taleteller and not an artist. This question, too, was jotted down.
Last edited by FennWenn; 02-05-2018 at 05:53 PM.
