"I'm not ready!" (Patreon)

I wailed.  My heart was still beating rapidly from the terror of the dream I just had, and I started to hyperventilate.  "I can't put a whole show together in less than an hour!  It has to be amazing!  It has to be flawless!  These are a bunch of moody, insolent, young social outcasts!  AND they're lowfolk!  If I don't impress them immediately, they'll lose interest and leave, and spread stories about how dumb and lame I am!  The whole project will be ruined!"

"Why would it matter if a buncha losers think you're lame?" Burnside asked.

"Outcasts, not losers," I corrected her.  "They know things that the common rabble can never appreciate.  These are the kind of people I need to impress, but I'm gonna blow it because I'm not ready!  Oh this is awful!  Maybe I should just hide."

"Begging thy pardon, Sire," Typantronn interjected.  "Standing here panicking is only going to waste time that would be better spent in getting ready.  Dost thou really need to put on a huge show?"

"They're not coming all this way to hear me tell jokes and sing songs," I retorted.

"You could charm 'em with Elfsong," Burnside suggested.  "That's a thing, right?  I remember hearin' about it in the Changeling Orientation sessions."

"It won't do!" I groaned.  "Elfsong is only good for hypnotizing and confusing them.  We're doomed!"

"What would Miss Vernier think if she saw thee in this state?" Typantronn demanded sternly.

She had a point.  I was being silly and wasting valuable time.  If I was going to make it as a Lone Elf, I would have to learn to think on my feet.  There would doubtless be many more situations like this, or even worse, in my future.  Time to start dealing with them, now!

"By Fuma," I declared, gritting my teeth and forcing myself to focus.  "You're right!  Battles are not won by surrendering!  He who would succeed must strive with all his will!"

"That's the spirit!" Typantronn cheered enthusiastically.

"I would have liked some time to write a speech and rehearse," I mused aloud, "but instead I'm going to have to improvise.  Now then ... lowfolk are easily impressed by a bit of theater.  The first thing I want them to see when they emerge from the bushes is Burnside standing guard.  I gather that she has become a local legend, and it will surely impress them to see that the famous 'Raccoon Monster' is working for me.  Or wait ... will that come across too grim?  I don't want them thinking I'm Unseelie.  Hmmm ... Burnside, your part will be simple.  You just need to look intimidating, but not TOO intimidating."

"How do you mean?" Burnside asked.  "Is a fist full o' daggers more or less intimidatin' than a machete?  Should I be naked, hunched over an growlin' or dressed, standin' up an talkin' proper?  Should I go kill somethin' real quick an smear its blood on me?"

"Uh," I stalled, momentarily losing my train of thought.  "Just be sort of stern and quiet, and look mean but not scary.  If you still have that assassin's cloak, wear that ... and I guess use the machete unless you've got like a wicked looking pole-axe or something.  You're the dreaded Raccoon Monster, but you've been tamed in my service.  This will give the impression that I am a, what's the term?  A bad-ass?  Then when the witches approach, instruct them to enter the stone circle if they are worthy and brave enough.  At this point they should see that I have more servants, so the Ixies need to be buzzing around, looking busy like they're doing something important.  Yeah yeah, we're setting the stage!  The Ixies notice these intruders and start rhetorically asking if they're worthy and maybe argue amongst themselves if they are or aren't."

"Soundeth good," Typantronn declared with a nod.  "Can we bet on it?"

"Better not," I decided.  "We're trying to look professional here.  You can argue with each other a little bit and maybe taunt the coven over their 'worthiness' but don't get carried away.  Remember you're supposed to be working, relaying messages or whatever, so you wouldn't have a lot of time to dally.  Once they're sufficiently softened up, then you, Typantronn, can declare that I am approaching.  You all scatter and disappear.  A suspenseful silence descends over the stone circle."

"It giveth me chills just imagining it!" Typantronn exclaimed.

"That does sound purty good so far," Burnside agreed.

"Good," I chuckled.  "Then you understand the effect I'm going for.  Now, at this point I have to be careful.  If Rebecca's early behavior is anything to go by, these people turned to witchcraft hoping to gain power to wreak some sort of petty vengeance on society.  This is what I want to steer them away from.  Therefore, my dramatic entrance should make me look intimidating and powerful but also make it absolutely clear that I am a spirit of seeliness and goodness ... an agent of light.  Yes, that's it!  I will appear with bright lights and a swarm of butterflies, and give myself a godlike booming voice.  They'll see immediately that I and my enlightened ways are far more powerful than whatever dark, demonic spirit they were hoping to find.  Ooh!  I'll declare that they have wicked desires in their hearts and this displeases me.  Do a little bit of Elfmind on them and tell them what they're thinking.  That will be easy, and it should definitely put the fear of Fuma in them!  At that point they should be open to becoming agents of good and messengers of Fuma.  Once they're on board, I can dispense with the light show and become a little bit more approachable.  That's it.  If you have questions, ask them quickly.  You need to get in position and get ready, and I need to catch some butterflies."

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