"Sounds like we've got another guest coming," (Patreon)

I chuckled nonchalantly since the trees hadn't alerted me to any danger from whatever it was.  "I guess I should extend some old fashioned elvish hospitality and offer them some stew."

I projected my thoughts to the Royal Pantry to apport another bowl.

Instead I produced one of an extremely tacky set of cheap Vulpitanian dishes that had been acquired during the reign of Sartorius the Dissolute.  I shuddered at the memory of eating lunch off of these things a few times when I was little.  Why did they keep these?

"CLOWN!!" Burnside shrieked as soon as she caught sight of it.

She grabbed the plate out of my hands and immediately smashed it against the stew cauldron, then stood there panting over the shards for several awkward seconds.

"Um, are you -?" I started to ask.

"THAT WAS A CLOSE ONE," Burnside replied loudly, but with an uneasy quiver in her voice.

"Pardon me," Rebecca called out as she emerged from the bushes.  "Am I interrupting a dark and demonic ritual?  Please don't stop on my account."

"Nope, just having some stew," I announced as I apported a bowl (successfully this time).  "My associate has an extreme aversion to kitsch, apparently, and took it upon herself to destroy a piece of royal crockery.  Would you like some stew?"

"Careful, there's moss in it," Lysander warned her.

"Yum," Rebecca grinned.  "I don't mind if I do.  Are there any other unholy ingredients?"

"Just some bugs and wild herbs," I informed her as I ladled out a bowlful.  "What brings you out here?  Do you have news of my hair cult?"

"Oh, my Dark Lord," the rabbit girl declared as she dropped to her knees.  "Your insect servitor has summoned me here to beseech your forgiveness.  We have failed thee.  You left us on our own as a test, I'm sure, but alas ... it only took a fortnight for us to be completely undone.  The shoe people have money, thanks to their patroness the Lady Hawk.  They spent it in bribes for local officials and donations to the Church of the Blessed Baby Bunny.  With the Church on their side, they made short work of our hair salons."

"Was the battle short and bloody?" Burnside interrupted with sudden interest.

"Nay, there was no battle at all," Rebecca sighed.  "They bought our holdings and foreclosed our mortgages and verily we were out on the street.  The hair cult is outlawed.  No-one will do business with us, and upright citizens will not even converse with us.  We are all social pariahs, and most have fled the county to escape persecution.  Persecuting, you see, is something my people are especially good at."

"Why are you still here?" I asked.

"I am from Bunkirk and so I have the option to repent and rejoin the faithful," she explained.  "I was considering it when your insectoid arrived, and that's when I realized that my true Lord is one who has loathsome buggy servants to do his wicked bidding!  You turned my father into a poodle!  Surely hairdressing was just a ruse for a being wielding such power as that!  You have summoned me out here into the middle of the woods where you are hanging out with unsavory persons like Lysander the Merchant and what appears to be the Demon Raccoon Monster of the North Glen.  I passed unscathed through the tulgey wood which is impenetrable to any other rabbit!  I am chosen!  Now I wish to partake of your sacrament of stew and embark on the dark path of evil!"

"I like this'un," Burnside chuckled.  "She's a keeper for sure."

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