Wicked Wicked

“Bit more complex than that I’m afraid.” He purred, sitting on the rock and coiling his silky tail around his legs. “I’m no healer if that’s why you’re asking Cher.” He said simply, attempting to swallow his pride and not be offended by someone who thought he could simply “teach” his knowledge in a day. “I’m what you might call a priest, I heal the soul, not the body.” He said simply, still smiling although his already thin pupils had become needle thin in his deeply hidden ire.

“Although…For a price, I’d be more than happy to grant you my services. Give you a little demonstration so to speak.” If he were back in Bontemp, where the wolves had learned to use the machines once owned by man to turn ordinary plants into delightfully intoxicating highballs that could leave him in a daze for a week he would have asked for such an offering before entering the crossroads. But these were simple wolves as far as he could tell, for all he knew they didn’t even have Seers- mystics that had been taught since birth to decipher the text left by men. Still, a meal was a meal and would be greatly appreciated after he puked half his guts out- as was inevitable with his rituals.

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speaking
sɹədsıɥM əɥꓕ