- A Year of Luck in One Cask
- Pippa Drank It
- Follow the Hiccups
The Lucky Dregs
She is trouble with wings, charm with no brakes, and the reason several taverns now cover their cups when the laughter gets too high-pitched. Barely larger than a human hand, she flutters through candlelight like a pink-haired rumor, leaving spilled drinks, baffled witnesses, and suspiciously improved moods in her wake. She is not malicious, exactly. She simply believes rules are decorative, consequences are negotiable, and every quiet evening deserves at least one dramatic interruption.
Her good heart is real, even when it is wearing a crooked grin and holding something it should absolutely not have touched. She gravitates toward the lonely, the overlooked, and the overly serious, usually deciding they need cheering up before asking whether they wanted help. Her pranks are messy, loud, and occasionally sticky, but there is often a strange mercy beneath them: a cruel noble embarrassed before they can strike, a frightened child made to laugh, a dangerous secret exposed because she mistook it for gossip with handles.
Around her, danger becomes ridiculous before it becomes survivable. She flirts with lamps, insults locked doors, negotiates with puddles, and forgets half her own plans before the first step is finished. Yet when trouble tightens its grip, she sees tiny openings others miss. A loose latch, a distracted guard, a dropped key, a guilty glance — all become part of the dazzling disaster she calls strategy.
- Perpetually Plastered
- Chaotically Curious
- Prankster Extraordinaire
- Dark Fey Haven
- Watching Shadows
- Lost Paths
The Shadowed Thicket is a goblin town hung on giant ancient trees: rickety treehouses nailed and lashed to the sides of the trunks, joined by sagging rope, vine and plank bridges over black water. Lanterns glow in every crooked window, and mist pools on the forest floor between mossy clearings and a dark lily pond. A huge gnarled tree whose roots form a tavern, a ring of pale standing stones and a council platform high in the biggest tree are the only landmarks anyone agrees on. Goblins live here, with the darker forest folk who enjoy their company.
The Shadowed Thicket lies where the generous warmth of the glade fails and the forest remembers how to frighten. Its canopy knots thick overhead, choking the sun into thin green-gray strands that barely touch the moss below. Roots twist through the ground like half-buried hands, black leaves glisten with old rain, and the air tastes of damp bark, cold stone, and secrets held too long.
This is a darker kind of fey settlement, hidden in hollows, root chambers, crooked tree-houses, and lantern-lit nests tucked between branches too tangled for ordinary paths. Tiny lights drift through the mist, but they do not always lead toward safety. Laughter carries from places no doorway can be seen, ropes and bridges vanish behind curtains of hanging moss, and every shadow feels politely interested in whether someone brought fear, coin, or both.
The Thicket matters because it is not merely dangerous; it is inhabited, clever, and alive with its own rules. Strange bargains are made beneath bent branches, warnings pass in whispers, and those who belong here know how to survive without ever stepping fully into the light. It is a home for mischief, memory, and darker wonder — a place where refuge and trap may look exactly alike until the door closes behind you.