Myths

Author notes

Bad Dog page 6

ConnorLachmanec

on May 19, 2020

“Hey you!”

The occupants of the table turn together to see the source of the commotion: four rough-looking characters stand confidently in the middle of the dining room, the other prisoners giving them a wide berth. A smirking ginger satyr stands arms crossed next to a stocky centaur with a standing bright red mane who raises a cheap bronze goblet mockingly in one hand. On his other arm, hangs a lithe half-dryad with bark-brown skin and spiky green hair in a modified tunic cut jaggedly at her upper thigh. Behind them all a great green telkhine with a walrus mustache towers menacingly. The centaur calls out again: “Hey you!”

Kat pales and turns away, covering their face with their hands and breathing shakily. Bad Dog’s sensitive ears can hear their heart pounding. Akantha grabs their trembling hand in her scaly talon and squeezes it. “I got you,” she soothes, “just breathe slowly.”
Helga snarls and her glowing aura shifts from a calm purple to dark red. “I swear to Odin,” she growls huskily, “if those arselings touch you again…”
Bad Dog barks a question and Akantha turns away from Kat but keeps hold of their hand. “They’re Dionysians,” she explains, gesturing to the now approaching foursome, “They will try to provoke you. Don’t let them.”
The Dionysians close the distance between them, the centaur leaning into Bad Dog’s face. “Hey Dog-face! I’m talking to you!” He tips his goblet upside down, dumping the contents onto the table.