A Touch of Creative Flair

Consumed as he was by the task at hand, Aesir was oblivious to the approach of another. When he voice split out over the sound of the babbling stream, he held in a sigh. Was there no peace to be found in this world. He turned slowly, looking over his shoulder to take in the appearance of a dark pelted shewolf, tinged with a slate-like blue. She was tall, wore a feather behind her ear, and was looking at him in wry amusement. It earned her a thin smile in return, with very little warmth in it. "Some would argue that there is no good season for a bath. If you come much closer, you may come to find out which side I'm on." It was a thinly laced threat, but one with very little heart in it. Aesir wanted to drink far more than he wanted to fight. Besides, there was always the potential to con this woman into helping.

He turned to face her more fully. "To set aside any curiosities, you've interrupted my planning. I'm thinking of ways to make clay containers." He grumbled under his breath. "And I've yet to come across craftsmen of any real skill in these lands." Returning his gaze to the woman he sniffed as the wind changed. "You smell of pack. I don't suppose you'd know of anything like that?" He would be surprised if she did. The wolves here all seemed to be woefully uneducated in the finer ways of living. A bit barbaric, really. Well, that could be changed.

He had a hard time believing there was any realm where some living creature had not yet come across a way to ferment fruit. Perhaps his grand quest to redemption could revolve around enlightening the poor sods, surely that would be enough to please his gods? Aesir chuckled to himself. A brute could dream.

"Aesir Speaks" "Aesir Listens" Aesir Thinks
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