sonicinterface

(Part 1) The Scaleglaze Tea House looked relatively unassuming among the other brick-and-marble buildings of South Dierdre, but it served the best tea in the entire desert country, at least according to its regulars. Patrons drank special blends of tea from heat-resistant tea glasses (made of dragonglass, of course), though it was also common to take tea to go in more disposable drinkware, or even buy teabags for home brewing. It was now early in the morning, and Hari Scaleglaze the Fourth, the dragonfolk who owned and ran the tea house, shuffled about the kitchen, making sure everything was ready for opening hours. All the tables and chairs in the seating area were in order, the till had the right amount of currency in it, she had enough spring water for a whole day's worth of tea, and Gynosphinx Greenmint (one of the establishment's most popular tea blends, named in honor of a particular high-profile customer) was well in stock. Nodding in satisfaction, Hari made sure there was

(Part 1) The lunch rush was in full swing at the Necropol Inn. Chelai (shuh-LAY) had just finished the last of her meal. Wiping her face with her napkin, she put it down carefully on the table to indicate that she was finished. A human city girl from birth, Chelai had taken up the life of a druid largely out of rebellion; she'd gotten sick of urban life, and wanted to get in touch with nature. Currently she was on a pilgrimage to catalogue all the plants and animals she could; her trip to Necropolis had proved fruitless so far, due to a combination of the obvious and the fact that no wild animals from the walled city were likely to visit Market Keep. And I suppose it's pointless to propose the addition of a petting zoo here, Chelai mentally added. The idea would never gain traction. The druid was about to signal for her plate to be collected when a gray blur suddenly streaked across her table, removing her knife and fork from view. She looked over just in time to see a rat scurry off

(Part 1) People-watching was a popular activity in Market Keep. Both the Necropolins and the outsiders who visited the area were quite diverse, so no matter which side of the blackstone walls you were from, the variety of people showcased in the Keep was practically second to none. Those who could fly or scale walls had it even better, as they could get a bird's-eye view of the crowds. Takeshi Kaavu, a magical kitsune currently in the form of a harpy, perched on the wooden palisade that defined Market Keep, admiring the masses. Every now and then he'd pick out someone and try to imagine what his or her story was. His attention eventually wandered up to higher ground, and at the few other high-perching individuals doing the same thing he was. His attention settled on a Necropolin bat perched above the gates to Necropolis proper. Curiously, most of the bat's attention didn't seem to be at the ground or even at the walls, but rather at the sky above. Weird. The sky isn't anywhere near as

(Part 1) As the sun rose over the Shadow Mountains, Trick stepped out onto the balcony of his home and stretched, a quick breakfast already in his stomach. Today was beat day, the day the Necropolin secretary bird visited all the major locations and districts of Necropolis to gather potential stories for the Necropolin Post. This was half of how he earned his bread and butter, the other half being turning those potential stories into written articles. Patting himself down to make sure he had his note-taking essentials, Trick climbed up on the balcony's railing and spread his wings. A hop and a flap, and he was soaring over the cityscape. His first stop of the day, as usual, would be Market Keep, to gather material for his Beyond the Blackstone column. The Tigris fighting instructor-- who'd introduced himself earlier as Master Ojoku-- threw kicks and punches in rapid fire. Trick stood firm against the onslaught, holding one of his wings in front of him as a shield. Not one blow made it

(Part 1) A featherdasher darted across the desert sands, the tanuki Hiroshi Yotokama holding on tight to his reins. Hiroshi was a shapeshifting tanuki, one of many youkai that inhabited the hidden city of Sakurai; he was the head librarian at the Sakurai House of Books, and took pride in making sure that every book and scroll within its walls was right where it needed to be. Today, he had taken the week off to travel and catch up with an old friend. And here her home came now: an innocuous temple in the middle of the desert. The featherdasher screeched to a halt in front of the temple door, his claws kicking up sand. Hiroshi dismounted and, reaching into the fluff of his tail, produced some beef jerky as a tip for the ride (he'd paid the base fee up front). "Meet me back here at sundown. I'll want a ride back," the tanuki instructed his taxi. The featherdasher nodded, already chewing on the beef jerky, before dashing off. Hiroshi glanced into the canvas bag he was carrying

(Part 1) "Cub Scout cookies! Wide variety of flavors! 750 yen a box!" As the sun rose over the youkai city of Sakurai, Takeshi Uta found his curiosity piqued by the shouts that came from Main Street. Following the noise, the clay tanuki found a small stall set up in the shade of one of the street's iconic cherry trees. Two children in matching scout uniforms, a bearfolk and a painter cat, were loudly advertising the boxes of cookies on display. Seeing the tanuki, the children stopped shouting and addressed him. "Good morning, sir!" "Would you like to buy some cookies?" "They're 750 yen a box!" "All proceeds go to a good cause!" Takeshi examined the boxes, occasionally picking one up and looking it over. For each flavor, the front of the box depicted a youngster of a different humanoid race in Cub Scout regalia, while the side of the box offered a description of that race. The back of each box, meanwhile, featured a blurb about the Cub Scout program. The tanuki looked over his options

Garnet paused as she came to the edge of the ravine, peering down over the edge to the rapidly flowing river ten meters below. Nearby was a rickety looking rope bridge. "That looks safe," she murmured to herself. "It's the type of bridge I'd expect to see in some corny adventure story." The weremouse sighed. The bridge was the only way across the gorge, unless of course, she wanted to lose a few days travel by backtracking in search of another route. Garnet shrugged to herself. She couldn't afford to lose too much time, and so she resigned herself to the crossing. Slowly and carefully she stepped out onto the structure, her hands gripping the rope railing tightly. To her surprise the bridge felt sturdier than it looked. The wooden planks that made up the deck were thick and firm, and the rope supports seemed new and unfrayed. It was almost as though whoever built the bridge wanted it to look old for aesthetic reasons, while remaining relatively safe to cross. "Probably built for

(Part 1) The Tigris, the tigerfolk of the eastern peaks, dealt in an unusual commodity: martial arts. It was their belief that anyone could and should learn to defend themselves without a weapon, and prided themselves on providing appropriate training for all races at all skill levels. Tigris training put a heavy emphasis on utilizing one's own natural advantages; they believed any natural advantage, no matter how unlikely, could be weaponized. Broad wings could be used to shield against blows, or carry their bearer quickly in or out of close range with a flap; a long tail could trip or snare an opponent from an unexpected angle; a large body was more resilient, while a small body was quicker and harder to hit; keen senses could keep track of an opponent in situations where normal sight was unreliable. Moreover, the Tigris had a knack for learning a person's physical strengths and weaknesses just by studying them with the naked eye, an ability commonly referred to "the eye of the

(Part 1) Tracy Flashtail deliberately dropped her altitude as she drew close to Market Keep. She couldn't look at the blackstone walls of Necropolis without being reminded of the day she'd gotten attacked by the Praetorian Guard for accidentally entering Necropolin airspace. Ever since then, the mountain harpy was very careful about flying near the walls, and did everything she could to avoid crossing over the walls again. Still, the wooden palisades of Market Keep were significantly lower, and Tracy could comfortably fly over them before coming in for a perch in an empty area. "Flashtail! Over here!" Tracy perked up at the voice. Glancing around, she quickly spotted a Necropolin secretary bird waving to her, and waved back. "Trick! Good to see you again! Wait until you see my latest batch of photos!" Trick was a reporter and writer for one of Necropolis's major newspapers. The secretary werebird (weresecretary bird? Necropolin etymology isn't so clear in these cases) was best known

(Part 1) It was early afternoon in the Wild Horse Plains. A Cub Scout troop gathered near one of the entrances to the underground portion of Darkgrove, their bearfolk leader standing tall over them. "Okay, everyone, listen up: we're about to head down to the commercial level of Darkgrove to sell scout cookies. As a reminder, the underground regions of Darkgrove are notorious for being busy and mazelike, so it can be easy to get lost. Look for the signs posted around the area to get your bearings, and remember to stay on task and avoid getting distracted. We will be using the buddy system, just like we do during wilderness exercises. No scout goes anywhere alone. Is all that clear?" A series of affirmations echoed among the group, and the scoutmaster nodded. "Good. Come sundown, everyone should make their way back here; I've already arranged our lodgings. Now, I've got a map of the general layout of Darkgrove right here; let's decide which area each of us will be covering..." Charlie