The Ballad of Adler Young, Canto 2.5

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>Typantronn: Did the lowfolks mistake him for a little girl?
>Everyone but Adler: Yes.
>Typantronn: Pay up girls!

"Tell me truly, someone, anyone," Typantronn called loudly. "Did yon lowfolk mistake our lord and sire for a little girl?"

"YES," Rowan and Estvan answered simultaneously.

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"Ha ha! Pay up, sisters," Typantronn gloated. "That's fifty aphids each thou owest me."

"I'm ruined!" one of the other Ixies groaned.

"AHEM," I interrupted. "I sent you on a mission. What news do you bring of the Duchess of Daisies?"

"She has left Eire, Sire," Typantronn replied.

"Those bugs work for you?" Rowan asked with a slight tone of wonder. "That's .. almost impressive."

Typantronn: Realize you have been working more than three hours ask for another promotion.
Adler: "NO! I just gave you a promotion!"

"Pardon, Sire," Typantronn interjected. "In light of my exemplary service, might it not be appropriate to bestow honors and promotions upon my dutiful self?"

"Certainly not," I scoffed. "I just gave you a promotion the last time I saw you, and all you've done is what I ordered you to. You haven't gone above and beyond the call of duty - and furthermore, you've been gambling again after I told you not to. Be grateful I don't bust you down to Private and assign you to latrine duty!"

"Yes, Sire," Typantronn replied meekly.

(Feral Mustelid) Weasel-war dance all over the place.
(Estvan) Use your powers to harmlessly hold the little tube-beast in one spot.
(Estvan) That's hard work. Reward yourself with a drop of the craytur.

"Beggin yer pardons," Estvan piped up. "But sure an oi'm gettin' a bit weary o' holdin this angry weasel in place with me powerful elfly magick. Tis thirsty work, bedad!"

We all looked at the feral weasel writhing and thrashing in place.

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"What is it doing?" Rowan asked as we observed the animal's zany contortions.

"An ancient feral war-dance?" Angela theorized.

"It looketh like a low-level Frolic to me," one of the other Ixies suggested.

>Tricorn Merc: Can you please change him back? He owes me money.
(Tricorn) Ask HM to change his friend back.
(HM King Adler) Decline.
(Tricorn) Ask HM to please change his friend back.
(HM King Adler) Decline!

"He's trying to get our attention," Tricorn Hat murmured woefully. "Change him back."

"Why should I?" I retorted.

"Because he owes me money."

"Too bad."

"Please? Pretty please?" the lowfolk wheedled.

>Adler: It would be counter productive to leave him like that. Only two lowfolk saw it and you need all the help you can get right now. He wants to call you a little girl? Well, for his punishment he can be a little girl for a while. You'll change him back when you need some extra muscle.
Estvaan: Take a "Sip" of whiskey from your flask.
(Feral Weasel) Be changed. Quite dramatically.

"Oh, fine," I grumbled. "He's no use to me like this anyway."

I carefully composed a Gramarye and directed it at the weasel.

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"For insolently calling me a little girl," I scolded, "it shall be your fate to remain a little girl yourself, until I choose to do otherwise."

>Little Girl Merc: ... Can I still have a Salon?
>Adler: I'll think about it if you behave.
Little Girl Merc: You're not really bothered by this change as long as you get your Salon.
(Adler) DEMAND that you be listened to.

"This suits me okay," the little girl mercenary chirped in her high squeaky voice. "As long as I can still have my beauty salon."

"You're in no position to make demands!" I pointed out. "You've entered my domain, and I have unimaginable power over you, so you'd better start taking me seriously!"

"You want mercenaries; I want a salon," she insisted. "I'm sure we can work out a deal."