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You're not sure you really want more weed right now, since you still have the joint Pot Monkey gave you earlier. But a little advice wouldn't hurt. "Hey, guys. Thanks for coming," you say as you approach your pals. "OHMYGOSH IT'S THE LADY OF THE HOUR! HI AGAIN ESHER!" Perry screams apparently...

"Before you go, uh..." You tap your feathers together a little anxiously. "To be honest, I'm pretty sure they're gonna exile me. I have no clue where to go. If you were exiled too... do you have any advice?" Master Tibius shifts his weight a little. "Hmph." Then he starts drawing something in...

You jut your leek out and raise a fist threateningly. As threatening as one little duck can be, anyway. You might not look like much, but your trusty leek can pack a wallop and has defended you against rogue wilds on more than one occasion. If your restaurateur mother taught you anything, it's...

Why the hell would you take the leeks? You already have a perfectly good leek of your own. Fetch'd don't dual wield! First thing's first: that pidgey has gotta go. The shrine of the Forest Goddess is no resting place for a bird. Well, except for that it's your father's final resting place, and...

"Anyway, Perry, would you mind helping me out with something?" you ask. "THAT SOUNDS LIKE A LOT OF WORK!" he shouts back. "I haven't even—okay. I'm just wondering if you could tag along with me to the Forest Shrine. I've been neglecting it for a while, and I might be leaving for good soon so...

“Hey guys, check this out,” you say without answering One-eye Perry’s question. The dope can wait a second. It is strictly necessary for you to do a sick backflip right now. You leap into the air and your wings become a flurry as you do a cool swoop. You land back on your feet gingerly with a...

Much to consider. The thought of dashing town crosses your mind—why wait around for the inevitable when you could get a head start? But you don’t want to disgrace your mother’s name any further by failing to show for your trial. Besides, this could be the last time you have in this town, the...

You awake on the day of your trial with a stone in your stomach. Both metaphorically, in the sense that you are freaked the fuck out, and literally, in the sense that your tummy was upset last night and, being a primitive fowl, you had to swallow a big rock to help grind up your food. And the...

Yeah, this is gonna be a fucking toughie. You take a deep breath, muster every molecule of willpower you have, and release. Alright. "So." It takes the better part of a quarter hour to recount your antics. In the moment, it hadn't seemed like all that much—one thing had left to another, and...

Against this incorrigible miscreant? Oh goodness yes. Once upon a time, you had quite the physical set, but these days you’ve specced mostly into trying your best to forget why you’re here. Except for your backup move. Fortunately, you’ve done a good job making sure you’ve forgotten what your...

You hate to admit it, but Peccary Pete is the only person in this building that doesn’t want you dead right now. “Look, Peccary Pete, I know we don’t have the best relationship,” you begin, trying not to let his impassive facade dissuade you, “but, look, I’m in big trouble here. Like, big big...

"Oh, nothing much," you reply to the warden. "I just had a question about your hair." "Oh," the warden says, and his stern expression softens just a smidge. "Go on then. I have important matters to attend to." You kind of doubt that, but you hold your tongue for now. "I was just wondering...

Boo-boo bump!? That's your hair! It's not very utilitarian to have it hanging down all the time, so you keep it up with a pair of chopsticks. Fortunately, warden never thinks to take them from you. Not that they're much use. You've tried picking the lock with them before, but it's not really...

Your name is Eschalotte Kurrat the farfetch'd, but your friends call you Esher. No one will be calling you that here, though, because you are in the town jail for the twenty-sixth time, and everyone is starting to get pretty sick of your shit. You don't mean to end up in here so much, really...

In which a scallioned rapscallion gets a bad rap. This post is reserved for future indexing.