Hideaway Strath stjärnbild

The large woman spoke; her voice was a mountain rising from the depths of the sea, her gaze the dawn at its peak, piercing in to the lowly rat that was Rosenskärm — or so it felt!

The little one with a storm for a coat, spoke up then. Explained with their puny voice; to Rosenskärm this was akin to watching a member of the fair-folk try and make peace with a yeti. It was possible, as everything was possible if you got right down to it, but unlikely, and one oft feared for the sake of the fey.

I—I, my name, Rosenskärm. The man meekly introduced himself, still groveling. Smeared now with mud along the belly and cheeks. He flashed a worried look to his would-be escort as if to beg, save me please!