Master Sniff’s Ferret Men
Master Sniff’s cherry fellows as I like to dub them, are at times also referred to as the cheery chaps or merry fellows. In this, story a group of four marches with pride and weapons under the orders of the Rat Man. As to be expected they are half Murdock and half Ferret.
Thieves and long time smugglers, these Ferret Men revel in the employment of Master Sniff and his lucrative business dealings. Of course, they are guilded, like all good thieves, answering to the summons of the Silent Man when they are called upon. Giving him a fistful of gold as a token of the call, it’s a way to keep a member loyal, at least that’s what the Silent Man says.
Everything about these Murrdocks could be called sharp: it’s a useful word when one is describing them. Narrow faces with narrow jaws, narrow noses that stick out sharply on their long faces. Yes,
everything was thin and sharp. A Ferret Man’s head is cropped with short, fine hair that extends down his long narrow neck to erupt in plentitude over the rest of his body. Hard eyes, sharp teeth
and long thin fingers which itch in happiness whenever they’re asked to fight, how they love a good scrum.
Take Ferret Man One for example, and yes they answer to their given number for it was their mam who had called them as such. It has never occurred to them to change it, there were sillier names out there anyhow – Fluff, Poppet or one of many other stupid labels indicating what you could be called. So, for them it was Ferret Man One, Two, Three and Four: a name or a number it didn’t matter you see for not one of them liked upsetting their mam. She had a heavy hand when she thought they were getting out of line, so these skinny creatures stuck with the numbers and got on with it.
There are a couple of very important facts that must be touched on when talking about a Ferret Man. Loyalty for one and of course, the mention that they don’t come cheap. You can’t buy off a Ferret Man, his loyalty is to his guild and the contract and Master Sniff’s pocket’s ran very deep.
Skilled in weaponry, whether it be sword, knives or a bow, a Ferret Man is worth his weight in gold. Master Sniff knows this for a fact so he looks after his merry fellows and they in turn look after him. It’s a happy partnership in all and at the end, no matter what the story, the plan is to finish up as rich as they can be.
Quaverit the Stork Man
Quaverit – pronounced (Quar-ver-it) is a Murdock, and if asked what he favoured as his better half, he would be sure to tell you it is being part Stork. Not the human part, but the bird, for you see he loves his feathers. Bright white feathers that adorn his head in a plume of rippling glory and of course, we can’t forget those tail feathers – that stand out proudly from a hole in his pants.
Quaverit is proud of his standing with the Royal family of Kinaloch, the capital and namesake of the Murrdock realm. His office of chamberlain satisfies his compulsive disorder of having everything just so. The cleaning and conducting of a royal’s life is most satisfying. It may seen all a little tedious for some, but not for Quaverit.
Picture him, as you will, a very thin, tall Murdock, with bouts of flurried movements whenever he’s feeling stressed. With very long legs and a thin neck, Quaverit finds fitting in rather difficult, so self-conscious is he of his self-image. Soft downy hair covers the rest of his human looking body and a longish nose serves to finish it all off. Its’ not a wonder, he holds true to the pomp and ceremony that serves to cover up his own failings.
But as far as he is concerned, the badge of his office makes up for it all, a much-envied chain of gold with its shiny royal pendant, a bling like no other. It is to be envied amongst the other servants, and when he is wearing this fantastic piece of jewellery, he at least feels worthy of being Quaverit, the Royal Chamberlain. Proudly draped over the front of his bright blue vest, that sits snuggly over the top of a pale blue shirt and pants. It all makes up the uniform of a days worth of work and I am sure you can see by now just how important that is to a Stork Man like Quaverit.
Litila – Forest Fey/Warrior
You couldn’t call Litila beautiful for she far surpasses the word and any other that offer a flaterring tone to the sublime; to look upon her fair face is to call even the sun dull. Her connection to Tarkeenia, along with every other living Fey is bound by Wild Magic, in life she willful and proud, ethereal full of purpose.
Imagine if you will, a woman who physique carries all the right curves in all the places and with it the pose and confidence to match any and all, expressions of admiration. Litila is a Mage to the Halls of Coowic, a royal in her own right from the Farmoor Forest and a skilled soldier.
Four and half feet tall, she walks in the Light with hair, when unbound kisses
a set of perfect hips as she seductively walks the Halls corridors. Her laugh graces the darkest room, her eyes when she is in an agreeable mood shines an emerald green and her hands, though delicately boned never misses a target when she holds a blade.
It sounds too good to be true doesn’t it? And I suppose in a world of fantasy it can be, but don’t be fooled we all have faults and with Litila it is her temper. Sharp and unforgiving when its unleashed, but a Fey’s anger is as quick to fire as it is to cool.
In life, Feys live and work in harmony with the land, tending to their forests in tight knit communities, wary of outsiders and the pain they bring. Music and song, dance and truth bring joy as they live their long lives in peace.
Every thing dies, why should it be different for a Fey? But for them they are luckier than most, for after in death their essence still lives on. In the ground they go, buried like a waiting seed and as the new season dawns in the place of a rotting body, sprouts a tree. A tree of surpassing glory, with a white grainy trunk whose boughs lift in joy to the suns warmth and leaves all year round that shimmer gold.
Memories and the wisdom of each passing Fey, lives on in death as they once did in life, stored in the tree’s grainy skin. Only another Fey can touch upon its secrets and at the Halls, Litila keeps her family close. A grove of Goldtip trees basks in sunlight, swaying in dance to the wind and during her hour of mediation each day, our warrior Fey lovingly catches up. In silent communication with the dead Litila absorbs life times of recollections and sagacity.
As for her Calling, for each Mage has one, Litila’s is truth. She has the capacity to gleam it from within the heart.
Read about her in the coming chapters of The Unseen Promise.
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