- Sep 12, 2018
Woodsworth Village was a quaint little place. Within its confines, it was small, concentrated, and lovely.
A young one, who could be called neither child nor adult, hung around the Woodsworth tavern. Whether it was the voice or the look, the gender of this individual was not clear in the slightest. As it is unclear, the young one will be referred to as a 'he' for now. He was not here for a beverage, but something else. He peers at the job board - the perfect place for a good allowance.
"I wouldn't reccommend that job for squirts like you," the tavern owner says as he cleans a part of the front table, "direwolves eat kids like you for breakfast when they run out of deer, and even an idiot would know that you're an easier target than anything galloping on fours."
"Sounds dangerous," the petite one said, "b- but it's certainly pretty basic compared to what I have back home, I hope..."
"Back home?" the owner, curious, asks, "where is back home, anyways?"
"Somewhere far away," the young'n replies, "the cold, tundra areas."
"And what would an chick from the arctic be doing here?"
The chap takes the job and prepares to leave via the door, turning back for dramatic effect.
"I'm an adventurer, what wouldn't I be doing here?"
The self-proclaimed, 150 centimetre tall adventurer takes his leave, with job in hand and a nervous expression decorating that androgynous face, seeing his eventual reward not as a greedy sum to chew on, but the savings he needed to survive. His current destination - the Woodsworth Forest.