“Ah, my old adventurer’s tent. How much I miss the days of my youth when I’d gad about the countryside, chasing this purple temple or that magenta stronghold. How my young limbs used to love a stop in the dangerous wilderness and break my fast with spring water and berries.”
“Whereas now your regal buttocks become inflamed unless they are warm and cozy on your mighty mattress.”
“True, slug-mother, true. Now get my warming pan ready and boil me some frothy milk for my supper or I’ll have you lashed.”
“No, no, master, another woman. This one is selling something.”
“Tell her to go away. I tire of interruptions.”
“But master, she claims to be the only black pudding-rearer this side of Glacierland!”
Let’s face it, some people have some pretty unusual jobs, and sometimes it’s hard not to be jealous of someone who seems to have an easy life or who is good at something no one else is. Conversely, it’s hard not to feel sorry that some have achieved their somewhat strange station in life in a job perhaps few would wish for.
“Yes, master. What is that curious collection of distended and dislocated limbs pierced by shards of bones?”
“My last homunculus. He asked too many questions of the demon prince Sprathcrorsche, Prince of Dislocating Death. Now, lance this boil, and hurry up about it.”
