*With a flicker of light and a soft "bamf" of displaced air, a small figure in a bright shirt comes tumbling out of the sky, landing in a convenient stack of hay. A moment later, they come tumbling out, landing on all fours, and swish their tail, freeing themselves of the last of the straw.
They are a small, slender ratfolk, wearing a sleeveless coat decorated with a field of stars over a blue, paisley print poet shirt, cropped to show their tummy and the navel piercing they wear, and a pair of plaid patterned knee-length breeches. A quarterstaff, though really nothing more than a stick they picked up one day, is slung over their back by a leather strap. The stand up on their legs and finish dusting themselves off, as a small dragon, about the size of a housecat, comes out of the hay and flaps up to land on their shoulder.*
"Well, where have we found ourselves this time, Draco? Oh don't look at me that way, it not MY fault we keep finding ourselves tumbling through portals."
*The ratfolk has a shock of long ginger hair, a single lock dyed blue in the front, that is shorn off in an undercut around the sides and back, and comed over to hang off the right. Both ears and one eyebrow are pierced, with one ring in the left ear lobe decorated with three small, brightly colored feathers. They were a pair of small, clip on spectacles, and they walk over and sit down on a bale of hay, taking them off to polish them.*
(Hey, all! Dunno how busy I'll be around here. I used to be on this site under a different name, but it's been a LONG time ago, and I barely remember it. So, this is me now, signing back in to see where things take me.)
