"Tell me truly, someone, anyone," (Patreon)

Typantronn called loudly.  "Did yon lowfolk mistake our lord and sire for a little girl?"

"YES," Rowan and Estvan answered simultaneously.

"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."

"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.

"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.

"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.

"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.

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

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

"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."

"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."

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